What Time Is It Anyway?

The clock in the office says ten till seven, the one in the entry says ten after.
The clock on the oven says twenty past eight.
The computer & the cell phone, the only true indicators of what time it is to the rest of the world.
Looking at my utility bill history last night online, I realized I had lived in this house a year longer than I realized.
Talking to my SisterLove Kimbies Saturday, I realized I am a year younger than I thought.
Time...
I can't keep up with it.
Looking at all the various times on all of my clocks...
I see that it's okay
As long as I deal with my here and now.
And try to have a good time...

Love Letters & Love Notes...Revisited

Enrico Carusso....I believe that is the name of an old Spanish Opera Singer. My Mom had very old clay records she would play on the Victrola of his. When I say that name, I kind of roll on the R's & I like the way it sounds. I first said that name in 3rd grade.
3rd grade, 1975, saw a move & change of schools, which can always be good or bad. In My World, this move could have been better. I didn't like the wide paved roads as much as the small brick road we had lived on. The neighborhood didn't have all the mature fruit trees & old Oak trees that I was used too. The school was bigger & there weren't as many kids in the neighborhood to play with. Actually, there was probably more kids...but these guys played inside & I rarely saw them.
I met a boy in class & he befriended me. He would walk me to the corner of my street & then go back to go home himself. At the corner, often eating candy or popsicles from the ice cream man, we'd talk. I told him about my old neighborhood, the brick roads, the floating docks & canoes, the orange trees & banana trees and of course, The Big Old Oak Tree. Before moving here, I thought every neighborhood had a Big Old Tree. He told me about His World. How his Momma didn't speak good English & his grandmother lived with them & his father worked hard & about who he liked & didn't like at school. I never invited him to my house...we would meet each other at the corner & say good bye at the corner.
Except one day he just stayed at the corner and I didn't realize it as I walked on. I was about 1/2 way to the house & he came running up behind me. When he caught up with me, he handed me a note & said 'The Big Old Oak Tree...even though I've never seen it.' I took the note, it was tightly folded up into a football & asked what he was talking about. He said, 'Read that when you get home & you'll understand,' and then he turned and ran! I held the note, fumbling it between my fingers, as I watched him dash away. I finally turned and walked a few steps before tucking it into my pocket.

Arriving home, I promptly forgot about the note. It wasn't until bedtime, when I was hashing over the days events in my head, that I remembered the note. My sister & I shared the room next to my parents & the whole house was asleep. I quietly got up & retrieved the note from my crumpled up pants. I turned on the light to my sisters vanity mirror. Hunched in towards the light, I read my note. This is what it said...
"My Dearest & Most Beautiful Paiger~
I would like to kiss you as many times as there are leaves on the tree. I Love You. ~ Enrico Caruso"
Short, thoughtful, passionate, romantic, to the point & filled with lustful desire, this was a true love note...

(This post was originally written almost 3 years ago, but I thought I might bump it back up for Valentines Day...Much Love People)

Pad Locks & Pixies

It was just a crazy dream with an image of my Vilulah girl standing in the doorway of the shed outback, doors swinging wide open, but it stuck with me all day.

And then it was real...only the doors weren't swinging, they were just wide open.
And Vilulah wasn't standing, she was sitting.

It was cold, real cold but not rainy or windy, so I simply let it be...

When the weatherman threatened rain a couple days later, I slid the padlock back through the male and female parts of the latch, spun it so that it would appear locked & cinched the doors shut again.

It wasn't but a day later when the doors were found open again, this time swinging in the rain, padlock clanking coldly, dangling from the male part of the latch.

In nearly 8 years this has never happened, but it was cold so I just let it alone....knowing.

After the rains came and went, I fed the padlock through both sides of the latch again. I looked around...out into the shadows, to see if someone was watching and I ventured back into the fire-fed warmth of my house.

I found myself once again, just a few days later...outback, after dark, re-latching & mock-locking my shed. It was just too dang cold to snap that padlock locked.

Really, I live in the friendliest ghetto in town. It really quite quaint & I am afforded some of the best people on this green earth as my immediate neighbors.

Sometimes I forget to deadbolt my backdoor when I leave. Sometimes, I forget to do that for weeks or months at a time.... until something small reminds me....
like a 5 gallon change jar left empty in the yard or a broken piece of pottery with all of it's splattered shards gathered and tucked safely inside, resting safely more centered on the table or a long forgotten jewelry box pulled from the bowels of the bottom shelf, emptied of it's costumed artifacts and left sitting on the pillow ...little reminders that Pixies are real.

But they never take the trash out.

While at work, a neighbor with keys to my house came to borrow something off of my entryway table.
She was surprised to see Vilulah inside & Smokie out on such a clear, sunny, even if cold, day, especially knowing that I would be gone for 12 hrs. I was equally surprised when she called that evening to inquire because Vilulah was out when I left & out when I returned.

So it began with a dream & it ended with one too. I dreamed of a boy I once faintly knew, a boy who knew my dogs better than he knew me and better than I knew of.... a boy I once knew to be homeless.

Trash day...

I stumbled in the pre-dawn hours to the back door and found a tiny pane of clear stained glass window to peer through and I some him.

He wore all blue and jumped my fence. I thought about popping the backdoor open and saying something & thought better.

Even in my foggy morning head, I knew Spring was just around the corner.

So, I gathered the trash & took it out.

Two days later, I popped up out of bed & headed right back to that same little window pane. I don't know what I woke up looking for but I know what I saw.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, re-focused... there he was.

In the alley, just outside my fence... peacefully getting into the back of a police car.

Later that night, after work, I checked out the shed. So, maybe I am missing a couple sleeping bags...a tent...

I cinched her shut tight, spun the padlock & clicked it tight.

And when I left for work the next day,
I deadbolted the back door...
knowing Spring is just around the corner...

Keepers...and such

Maybe I was 4 or 5, I don't know. BrotherLove had been sick, really sick & he was in and out of the hospital a good bit. And when he was at home, he got special foods and in my young eyes, special treatment. I don't think I resented him for it, but maybe I did... 'Look Skinny, I got this just for you.' 'What?' "Look. It's Emerald' My brother. A year and a half older than me...maybe 6 or 7. A tiny little ring with a heart-shaped 'emerald' ...from him to me. And I still have it. I don't keep it out for the world to see. I may not even look at it for a year or two at a time. But sometimes I slip it onto my pinkie finger...a keeper.

I might have been 16 or maybe I was 18. Not sure...it was a while ago. I was camping with the guys and had my lawnchair plopped into the icy creek. Every swill or two of beer, I would reach down, grab a rock and 'Ker-plop,' I would sink it about 15' downstream...slowly building a dam. Lynyrd dropped his chair next to mine... 'You're building a dam?' 'Kinda, I guess' 'That's against the law.' 'What?' And as he went on to tell me about some fishing and forestry laws, I reached down for one more rock... and I discovered that what I thought would be my last would really be my first. My oldest heart shaped rock... On the floor in my bathroom... a keeper.

Maybe I was 20 or maybe I was 22, I don't recall. I just remember my room-mate & her sister... 'Those shorts are disgusting Skinny. You need to go shopping!' 'But, I love these shorts.' 'Hahaha...weren't they your brothers in high school?' 'Hee, hee, hee...yeah, and they were my sisters in high school before they were his.' From Kimbies to BrotherLove and on down to me... busted old Levi's Yeah, I still have them. I don't wear them all the time. But I still pull them out when it feels right ... they too are keepers.

Maybe I was 5, 19, 27, 35 or 42. I can't remember. The years are like the sky over a sunless, moonless sea...hard to tell where one begins and another ends...like maybe they just go on for all eternity. But whenever it was, I discovered love....good love... pure, truthful, soulful, profound, kindred spirit love. "That's not love Skinny. When you love someone, you want to settle down, have a family. You have never wanted to do that with him...never! That is not love." "Hmmm... maybe it's just a different type of love? OK?" "What would you do if he said 'Marry Me or I'll never see you again?'" "Hmmm... he wouldn't do that but, I guess I'd have to say 'See You Later.'" "See! That is NOT Love. Have you ever stopped to wonder why you guys say you feel the way you do?" "Nope. I think we just accept it for what it is and for a generation now, simply accepting it for what it is has worked. " "How can you say that it has worked?" "Because we still have peace & we still have love..." He's a keeper.


I don't know if naivety or wisdom... selfishness or selflessness... fear or conviction... and honestly, it doesn't really matter. It is what it is. Keepers. We all have them. We all want them. We all need them. Sometimes, in my opinion, my experience... In order to truly keep them, you can't always keep them on your pinkies, on your hips, in your rivers or even in your daily life.
Elasticity. Peace. Love.

Last summer I found myself escorted by heron....down the river and again, at the beach.
They watched me.
They followed me.
And as things always seem to go full circle, they led me.

Everything means something to me & I believed these majestic, primitive beings were a totem of sorts...

patience...followed by assertion
innate wisdoms...coupled with balance
self-reliance...and time management...

I remember watching them watching me...
I remember reflecting on my life...
ninety miles to nothing, running in circles & going no-where, appeasing this one and that one just to have a moment of peace, surviving but not quite living

So, I listened to my gut and I put on my boots of patience. I laid my head to the ground and I listened and when it was time to get up and dance, I danced... all by myself, alone... in my kitchen and in my living room and sometimes even in the bathroom and when my gut said 'sit this one out,' I sat. I watched and I waited and if anyone caught me watching them, as I had caught the heron watching me, I simply smiled.

When I left home two days ago, I stopped with two tires in the road & two on my brick pad. Under the shade of a great oak tree, filtering the sideways sun shining down on us, I saw the shadows of LoVe.
Climbing that tree... stretching up and reaching down, dipping into the crevices that only fairies and ants knew about. And down below, in the midst of icy cold dirt and dead leaves, a sprinkling of green and one simple word...Grow.

In the past two days I have been shocked, surprised and greatly honored with some of the greatest rewards life can give.
Hugs.
Lots of them.
Patting ones and rubbing ones, squeeze ones & nestling ones, ones coupled with kisses & ones coupled with tears.
My reward for believing.
I have been inundated with treats and drinks & heartfelt gifts.... unbelievable stuff.
Handmade Peruvian belts from forty years ago, baby azalea shrubs, pewter peace keepers, written words in the name of art and expression that moved my spirit...
and most importantly...
LoVe...pure, sweet, simple, accepting love.
I am such a lucky girl...

One Moon & A Million Moods

Thoughtful & sincere ... a sweet soul, dear to me, sent this to my way.


If you found yourself captivated by the world she stirs...there is also this fanciful & imaginative little poem by Zora Bernice May Cross, which you might enjoy.

The New Moon

What have you got in your knapsack fair, White moon, bright moon, pearling the air Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free, Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea? Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold? Roses and lilies, romance and love, Still moon, chill moon, swinging above? Slender your feet as a white birds throat, High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat Into the murk of the world awhile, Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile. Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss, Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this, Under the spell of your witchery, Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me. Zora Bernice May Cross Austrailia (1890-1964)

Artwork By Singleton of JustGiveMePeace

Falling, Flying & Fast Cars

"Faster, faster! We want a new Master!'
The kids voices chimed out like they belonged on a Pink Floyd album or something.
They were on the Merry-Go-Round and an older boy was running Sambo circles around and around, pushing them as fast as he could.
His legs looked like a blur to those of us on-looking. I thought they might turn to butter.
Still, the spinning children just wanted to go faster and faster.

I think, every town has a road called Dead Mans Road, or maybe it's just a bend in the road and they call it Dead Man's Curve. Passerbys may notice it by the small white crosses popping out of the ground.

This town had one on the outskirts heading out towards the mountains. It was two lanes, curvaceous and hilly. I never saw any white crosses, but I had heard the stories.

There was one super hill and it was known for sending fast moving vehicles air born at the crest. Problem, according to the lore I had heard, was that shortly beyond the crest of the super-hill was a relatively sharp curve... and it was a favorite strip for the youth to race down.

Tommy had an old black BMW that he was constantly tinkering with. I don't recall what the shut off number was on his speedometer, but I can remember laughing and telling him that I had never had a car that went as fast as this one. He laughed and said with a childlike gleam ...'Silly thang. The speedometer only tells you half the story'

Booking down the road...before I knew the lore, we caught the wind under that BMW cresting the super-hill. I lost my stomach for a split second ...'Woo-Hoo! That was fun!'
'That's Dead Man's Hill, Dead Mans Curve or whatever you want to call it.'

The next day, headed to the shoals, Tommy smiled over his shoulder at me and asked if I was up for the ride of a lifetime.

I smiled, 'Whatchoo tawkin' bout? Ah, never mind...I am along for the ride'

'Buckle up baby.'

I watched the speedomoter rise higher and higher, shaking. 110..120...130...140. Then it stopped shaking and it leveled out beyond the point of reading & still we gained speed.

The engine hunkered down and I could feel the tires barely skimming the paved road like the furthest flung skipping stone across steady waters.

AS we neared the crest of Dead Man's curve, I did something perhaps the dumbest thing I could have ever done in such an 'along-for-the-ride' moment.

I unsnapped my seatbelt.

'Mark was hollering out at the top of his lungs...We're gonna do it Man! Donnie, this one's for you brother! We're gonna do it.'
Tommy pressed on...
and we flew...
to the top of that hill...
and into the air...
the tires free of all friction...
the air, our only fiction...
silence...
my palms pressed firmly to the roof of the car...
no revving of the engine...
flying...
free...
for the moment...
and when we kissed the earth again, we all breathed again
and then we hooted and we hollered.

Later, at the shoals, when our adrenaline rush was all but forgotten about...
Tommy spoke softly 'Paige, you scared me earlier. Why did you undo your seatbelt?'
Sigh.
'Because life is for living Tommy. '
'Huh! Yes, and if we did man, you didn't have your damn belt on!'
'I know.'
Mark chimed in ...'If we had landed just an inch to the left or the right...girl, you just don't know! We could have wrecked and you, well crap, you would have probably have been killed...WTH were you thinking?!'
'Guys, come on. I was along for the ride & you said it was the ride of a lifetime...'

Brother-love, the Train Ride & Strangers

An empty checking account and a crisp one hundred dollar bill in my Levi's.
She drove me to the gravel lot in the woods by the tracks.
I wondered out loud 'Is this right? Is this where I am supposed to be?'
"I'm telling you....This IS the station."
'It's weird. No-one is here. There's not even a building...hahahaha, the lot isn't even paved. Hell, there's not even a light out here.'
"Welp, there's the moon.'
So we played eye-spy man-in-the-moon until dark-forty-five, when a barreling train suddenly came to a standstill in the middle of the woods.... for me.
It was dark and quiet and an usher escorted me to my dank little seat, where I remained for maybe five minutes.
I tugged my backpack over my shoulders and cruised the ill-lit cars until I came into the club car. It was nearly empty so I just scooched into a four-top that had chairs on 3 sides and a car-long bench on the fourth side. I lit a cigarette and pulled out my book, but found myself shaking one foot and staring into the smear of darkness out the windows.
I put the book up and went to the lonely tender of the club car where I got myself a can of Budweiser...two bucks plus a dollar tip. Three bucks would hopefully serve as a sedative for me.
Then, I slid out a frayed deck of cards....tttttthhhhhhhumpppppp.
Thirteen.
A solitaire game taught to me by my mother as a kid.
A pyramind of hearts and diamonds, batons and spades.
"One is the lonliest number that you'll ever do"
'Excuse me, do you mind if I play cards with you?'
'Um, sure!'
'Great! Next beer is on me!'
'Hey! That sound great!'
We began with a simple and silly game of Go Fish and two cold beers.
"So, tell me your story..."
"Two can be as bad as one It's the loneliest number since the number one"
Before long, another transient asked if we would mind if he joined in and my original partner was quick to respond 'No problem...it'll cost you one round of beer and you will have to tell us your story'
So now there were three of us, three cold beers, and we moved onto the game of BlackJack.
"Three is a magic number...The past, the present, the future...Faith, and hope, and charity ... The heart, the brain, the body... Ya it is, its a magic number"
Oh, but it didn't take long for our table to swell and with each additional soul came one round of cold beers and a fresh round of 'Tell me your story.'
After the club car quit serving, the attendant said he left one door open and he pointed to a small fridge with hooks and a swiveled padlock, unlocked. I smiled. 'Now, just don't get caught back here, okay?'
Behind that small door was six cold beers, a bowl of creamer, a single packet of coffee.
We made that last six pack last as long as we could and somebody asked for the story of me about the same time we broke into the java.
Yeah, I was drunk and silly by then. I was all mushy.
"I am loaded, I have the love of my life and I am still totally free..."
"What do you do?"
"I live. I laugh, I learn and I love..."
"Wait a minute...your'e loaded? What do you do for money? Does your old man have money?"
"Hahaha, no....I'm loaded, as in I am drunk but I have discovered I love you guys, all of you... so different, so special, so gifted in your own ways, and right here, right now you are the love of my life. I'm free to say that, to feel that way, right?"
"Yeah" "So True" "Wow, I feel the same way" "Damn, you got a point"




At about a quarter to five in the morning, the train came to a standstill at my destination... I hugged the fireman from NY and the cop from Tampa, the comedian from Atlanta, the accountant from Boca and the transvestite from Miami...and well, anyone else who wanted to hug.
My brother stood waiting in well-lit landing.
I greeted him with a big ole hug and he laughed, as the guys back on the train were all hollering out to me...
"What's that all about?"
"Hmmm...I think its all about the love."
hic-cup
'Love?!'
"Yeah, well, strangers and the love"
"Are you drunk?!"
hic-cup
"Yup"
It took us about thirty minutes to get back to his place and he told me how he would blaze on to work and I could sleep all day, but he would be home by four.
He pulled his truck into a space facing the tennis courts. At the courts, I saw two guys playing tennis in the rising sun.
Getting out of the truck, I raised my arm and waved "Good Morning Strangers!"
"Good Morning" echoed right back to me.
Brother-love went into work & I brewed more coffee, breaking out my Crayola markers.

At about ten am, there was a knock at the door.
It was the two strangers playing tennis at daybreak...
They were headed to the shoals at the river...
They are only strangers until you get to know them...

Five days of planned vacation with my brother turned into five and a half weeks with brother-love and an ever-expansive circle of friends, strangers and loves...

Happy Birthday Mom!

As you can tell from this old torn, stained photograph... she's a natural beauty.
But her beauty is much too deep for any skin to contain.
She knows me unlike any other person, she knows my core and I trust her more than any other living being.

Her love & support is as unconditional as life & death itself.
Her determination could push an oak tree across the front yard.
Her wisdom eases pain & dances with pleasure.
Her strength carries the strongest of the strong through rough times.
Her thoughtfulness inspires family, friends & strangers alike.
Her motivations are good at heart & her own generosity is humbling.
Her sense of humor leaves tears in your eyes.
& her ability to cry without making distorted faces is amazing.
She is so much more than just my Mom, I know...

She raised us to know the things she values & to value the things we know.

I Know I Absolutely Love, Adore & Admire this Woman... Happy Birthday Mom!

Flowers, Books and Covers

Judging books by the cover.

Long, skinny hair & a waif-like body
A reserved demeanor with liberal smiles
make-up? probably not.
hand-me-down levis' and a faded peasant top
home-made hippie beads & a long leather chain
wooden beads and open toes
slowly sipping on an ice cold beer.

Clink! Tink! Clash!

Lips painted the same color as her nails.
red.
face freshly powdered
hair short & well groomed
eyes bright with a reserved smile
gold on gold & definitely no leather
pressed shorts & closed toes
fingers from both hands wrapped around a wine glass

...

'So, what do you want to do when you grow up?'
A quick flip of the hair and a pixies wink over her shoulder
'Sellllllll flowers?' Sarcasm, the nectar of her words

The corners of my lips curled up into a smile.
I was an adult, at the time in my thirties.
And, I'd been down this road before.

'No, but funny you should say that....'

Silly woman...
I guess she didn't know not to ask questions that you don't want answers to & that a true hippie would simply give you a flower...

(Hippie art, of course, by Sister Singleton;)