Stone

It is in my history; I loved a Black man.

It is in his history that he left.

Wordless, without warning.

It is in my history I have not recovered. 

Cannot recover, such is the hurt. 

The empty. The damage. 

It is in his history he has moved on. In geography, in experience.

More have followed. I doubt any as devoted as I. 

It is my history, none have come, none are allowed. 

In my history I question my choosing’s. ‘

Wrong at every turn. 

I will make no history with men again. 

I shall not share body or bare heart. 

His history is written in sand and 

My history is written in stone. 

beb 04/23/23 1:00 PM

Lynne Johnson

  · 

A very loved friend of mine passed away last night. I’m not looking for sympathy or hugs, they will not close the hole left in my heart. I only want to leave tribute to the loss. Lynne Johnson was a lover of animals and people, pet shop worker and home filled with wonderful creatures. Home health aid who took to heart her charges without prejudice of any form. Humor and easy laugh, warmth beyond all. She and I shared our pains and triumphs becoming family in the process. Extending to her late husband who also became family. Empathy could have taken her long ago for she felt each arrow advanced to her and others. Her difficulties in life never dulling the laugh but weakened her physical heart. My own broken with the news, I will always be wounded by her leaving, such was the bond. Lynne lives on in the love that is shared. May Peace be your rest.

Lynne Johnson 4/23/57 – 4/19/21

THE KEY

I will no longer be held hostage by my heart,
waiting for the man with the key.
I have possessed the key and given it only to few.
Never in haste, always too late.
Guarded by the past, history burned within.
Holding the heart prisoner in its pain.
Not seen by Uninvited, not seen by the invited.
Secreted. Buried. Blurred to even the most keen of sight.
Him. I gave him the key.
Unlocked the room and knocked the cobweb.
Understanding the risk, knowing the potential.
New layers of pain.
New scars.
New lock.
New key.
Never again.
I keep my heart hostage now.
I will keep the key forever.
I will never give it to another.
Past is past, I carry it with me always.
Look deep at the door, it’s locks.
The scars, secrets, pain within you will never see.
I will give again, but not the key.
The me you know is only half.

beb 3/18/18 12:21PM

Age 9

I was 9 years old when you died that November. The Grandpa I adored, dad’s dad. Through Mom’s alcoholism and troubles at home you were just across the yard.

The accident that took you did not do so swiftly, you were kept on by tubes and wires 18 days. I was not allowed to see you, say goodbye. I knew in my heart you would die.

Even the funeral I was not allowed to the cemetery, only the service. My goodby was very public and not intimate with family. I still feel that.

I was in 4th grade, I don’t remember the teacher, I don’t remember much of anything after being dropped at Aunts house with the Maid to watch us children as you were buried. Odd, isn’t it, I remember watching the car pull away and nothing else.

I forgot how to read, instantly I guess. We read Sundays and watched a game if baseball was in season. you were never a Yankee and couldn’t cotton to the Red Sox so it was the new team. The Mets. I sat in the big chair with you. You were mine. My peace from all else. Is it no wonder I forgot to read?

Dad thought when he received school reports that I was dumb, That the childhood illness caught up with me. That it was mental and not emotional.

Having two emotional would have been more than he could have handled. Mom had been sober a few years now and home was a bit more peaceful.

I was kept back, failed, couldn’t read or do math. letter and numbers were just a mass of things, made no sense.

The next year I had a good teacher. One I had known all my life, small town life as it was. Mrs. Williams was the sister of a neighbor, Mrs. Johnson.

Mrs. Williams knew everything. She was kind and patient. I think it was she who arranged another “special” teacher to work with me on reading. Mrs. Koslowski was also a family friend. She and Dad had a few dates when in high school. Like I said, small town life.

Mrs. K. was great. she let me be me and worked on reading. from the ground up. Some days she just let me cry. That was not allowed at home. Some days we talked about Grandpa. She healed as well as taught.

When I reached a point where I could read basic but still behind my fellows my aunts’ father-in -law stepped in. Wilbert Snow, he was a Wesleyan University professor of english. He arranged for me to visit him at home and to visit with Wm Manchester as well. Grandpa Bill had also told me when Grandpa died that even though he couldn’t fill everything he could and would be there. He was, right to the end.

Those four were my teachers. My mentors, My place that year. I caught up with my classmates, even though I was still a year behind so many friends having been kept back.

I have been very Blessed, lucky, stars aligned and any other, all other forms of charm.

Right now, I simply want to acknowledge four.

Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Koslowski, Wilbert Snow, WM Manchester.

Thank You for years of joy in reading and writing.

beb 11/14/22/10:52AM

1 / 3

Many years ago the Man I was seeing and I spoke about marriage in bed after sex.  

I told him then if he were single ( not married to a female ) I would gladly live with him the rest of my life. He also confided in me his feeling that he had slipped closer to the gay side of life and farther from the straight.  

We spent many happy times tougher. Not as one , but as two singles as greater than one.  

When he was divorcing he asked me to marry him.  I asked him to repeat that question. He did not. I said “ I think I heard you and I will answer when the time is right. “ He was still married and I did not want to say yes until he was free to actually be with me.  

I have a fear of abandonment. I have great difficulty getting close. It takes me much time and pain to open myself to anyone. So I did not commit. He left a few months later. Not a word. Not a call. Just no return calls.  

He believes he told me he was going in another direction; I do not remember any conversation of that.

I went through a great deal of pain with that absence and the loss of a very close friend, sudden, suicide.  

The following February, this man called, I answered and we picked up pieces. I did still love him.  

With my own trust and abandonment fears, I took much time to allow myself to be as open as the sky. During this time I had txt affair with someone from my work. This never became anything more. Txt and photos. But just a s damaging I found.  

My love did not know, but it brought me a resolve to get over my own fears and commit fully to the future with this one man. The one I had loved for many years.  

We had many happy days with one another. Grew closer. I opened more and more.  

My love found the txts and photos on my laptop. All went sideways. Trust lost. Love damaged.  

I told the truth, this was my porn. The fears of an old man played out in porn.  

I told him it had served to bring me to the place of greater commitment with him.  

We recovered I guess. Spent vacation in one bed. That was bliss.  

August something happened between us. I still do not fully understand. He has had anxiety attacks. I had a break from the pressure of work and house and all the disappointments of life. Just at the time of my close friends death.  

My love could not help me. He left. I was again abandon. Just as I had been by all who left before.  

Some by death, many just walked out. My 1st and 2ed boyfriends did that. Just left.  

2 / 3

My family did the same, brothers just left. My most loved family passed away at early ages, both theirs and mine.  

All has made me quiet, closed, afraid to share.  

All has made it very painful for me to share.  

And I want to. With this one man. The one I fell so in love with that he made me shiver. The one who when he looked me I almost cried from the love.  

We have been talking again. I have wanted him to know I still want him. Not as a friend. Not just over the phone. But want him every day. Next to me.  

Today I just let it go. I asked. I asked would he be my partner.  

I was told to behave.  Behave?  I said I was very serious. I have never proposed to another man in my life. Never wanted to. This man is different. This man is the one human I want to spend my life with.  

The response to me saying I was serious was that he always took my words to be so.  

That was the last communication. The last word between us.  

My heart breaks. I want to hold him and be held by him.  

I want to make all he fears go away, all he desires be his for the taking. I think he wants that for me as well.  

I have difficulty leaving it all up to God to sort out. I took it in hand and asked.  

I pray my love considers with all his heart, the question.  

My love told me a few weeks ago to not count on him romantically. He offered no explanation beyond “depressing situation”  

Was my openness what drove him away? Was I weak when he needed strength?  

I can’t begin to know.  

What I am sure of. What I know to the marrow of my bones.  

I love the guy. I want him with me as the life journey goes on.

As partners.

As lovers

. As spouses.  

b.e.b. 9/19/14 8:18 PM

3 / 3

October 2, 2019

COPD It is a long term slow death. It takes not only your breath, but your ability to live fully. Small things you once took for granted now gives you pain. Food smells, a light dust of flour, even the air temp change as the oven opens can give you a reaction. The lungs that give life become the thing you hate most. They hurt, wheeze, rob air, give you choking fits and headaches. My joy and career was cooking. I loved cooking for others. Now just for myself is a chore. The times I need to stop and chill are not always good for the recipe. Trash eats well those days. Yet I continue. Even in the bodys trials the spirit needs the peace of cooking. The sharing of it’s success. Most often with those whos abilitys have diminished and souls cry for the joys of love shown with the gifts of food. Selfishly even as I diminish in ability I grow in the giving. Just as a fire dies down the embers grow stronger untill the last is called and it’s spark rises in the night sky. COPD can not be be predicted when it flares. Can not be expected to remain calm. But. It will not keep me from my spoons. I write this as I sit. Calming my lungs. Thought I was good. The smell of flour so much a joy in childhood gives pause today. Give the fit of chocking. The flair up that lays me out for hours. COPD. Some day it will win. But no today.

Gerrymandering a court

McConnell and Graham held Obamas justice nomination for months because it was the last year of his term. They wanted to give Americans a voice. Americans had a voice in electing Obama twice, but never mind. They rolled the dice and behold a fellow republican became president.

Now just weeks prior to an election they have vowed to put through the presidents nomination. Showing the hypocrisy of not just their own moral bankruptcy, but that of the party in which they belong.

One theory is to do so will protect the president should he lose and contest the election results. Again they are rolling the dice. Playing for a justice that would bend the constitution to the will of a corrupt party.

Jumping the shark for a moment. Trump gets his pick. They are sworn in and Trump loses the general and the states in contention are so close there is no chance for social distancing. It’s a full sweaty tango.

The issue becomes a Supreme Court case. All other business is put on hold as the court, now overwhelmingly conservative. Days pass in silence. The ruling handed down.

Trump is not to have a second term. Both of his appointments have sided with majority.

I can dream, can’t I. 

beb 9/20/20 9:06 AM

11/13/22

Good morning! It’s bright sunny fall day. The leaves are crisp and the vibrant colors make for a klidiscope for the eye! The smell of leaves apple cider and pumpkin spice is absolutely nauseating. The rain wet leaves make for traitorous driving and walking. The damp chill making the morning farts a warm welcome. (This is going south fast.) Sweet smells of fall baking mixed with the sipping whisky makes for a fight waiting. As treats are frozen for the parties No one wants. Stress Diarra blowing up every bathroom east of the missipp. Fall. Holidays. Joy joy joy joy fuck. Back to bed. Covers up. See you in the spring! Hibernation activated!

Been awhile

It has been a while since I have written here. I got a new laptop and can post again. The old one of 14 years, was done, cooked, given last rights and I pulled the plug.

Today I added lots of musings from what I have written over the last many years. Things written to some and unsent, some political and some human nature. None chronologically ordered. That may come later. I am sure there are repeats as well. So be it.

The last 8 to 9 months have seen my sight suffer. almost to blindness in the right eye. I had initially been diagnosed with a puckered macula in February. I was awaiting the call for schedule that never came.

It was to be that my file was misplaced, and corvid took the opportunity away. I called in June and got back in the que. October 13 was the big day.

With another visit to the retina specialist prior to the surgery she noted that the issue had become far worse. I knew that. I had a large black hole in the vision and the rest was extremely blurry and wavy.

I had given up reading mostly, writing, and driving.

The fear of having someone in my eye was horrifying. I did talk to a few about it but still. Right up to the day of I was thinking of backing out and just getting a white cane.

I did hold though. The surgical team and Dr were far and above. They helped me to feel comfortable and calm. In the end I felt nothing beyond the tiny prick to the cheek for the local. Not even the mild general was felt, so good was the nurse. During surgery as the macula was manipulated found were two tears to the retina as well. No wonder the sight had become so bad. If I had so much as moved wrong prior to the surgery blindness was a given. I was extremely blessed, lucky, whatever to have been where I was when I was.

It is a few days from one months’ time and my sight is so much better. I had noted in the kitchen when slicing and dicing I could not tell where the blade was. I can now. Driving I can tell the shoulder and how far any cars are next to me. I read the papers again, admittedly I still remove my glasses at times, but I will need a new prescription after 6 years and the surgery.

The landlord’s son who lives above me got a dog. A mixed Labrador. We talked about it because he works, and I would hear barking. I am now the dog’s day care, uncle, half dad. She is a spry 8 months. I am walking more because of her, I’m sure my Dr will be happy. So, it seems I have a dog without any of the financial to go with, couldn’t have asked for more. A different name… Bogey as in golf is the chosen. I must remind myself often the pup is not mine. With that I tell myself it is Bogie after Bogart. That satisfies me. She is a black beast. Strong and needy. I wish only that we had a fenced in yard for all the energy. So, we walk.

beb 11/12 2022 10:21PM