“A Rainy Night In Georgia”

It’s raining; it seems like it rains all the time. I tend to believe, partially facetiously, that Georgia is now part of the Tropics. We have a dry season, and then we have a rainy season. It was not this way when I grew up. I seem to remember, though my memory has compartments, that there used to be dew on the grass every morning. Mostly rain was at night. Understand the assumption might be fanciful. I have notions. At any rate, this drift into tropical seasons has escalated over the years.

Alex lived in Nevada for a while, near or in the desert. It rarely rains. We both tend to think and imagine better in motion, walking. He told me, “Thanks so much,” for bequeathing that anomaly to him. This evening, Alex went out in the pouring rain to listen to the novel Armada, and his writing block broke, so he began listening to music and continued walking.

He is moving back to Georgia after traveling the world since he graduated from Alexander High School in 2006. I assure you all his adventuring was not for pleasure. He has been far from a vagabond. Since he has been home, the rain has been pervasive. Rain in Georgia tends to be cold, and there is always high humidity, even when it is dry.

I walk, it is how I lost a significant amount of weight, which I have begun to regain to my chagrin. I do it mostly indoors.

Alex came back in totally soaked, and shivery. He brewed coffee, which we got at Kroger, and has been working on his novel with his headphones on.

Every time I tried to work with “The Dell from Hell” (pardon me, this is the only accurate description of the computer), it was slow as a sloth. I intended to do this post on it, but found, as I suspected that it wanted to update, so I pulled out the keyboard for my tablet and am finishing this on it. I have my headphones on and am listening to YouTube. The tablet/keyboard combination works reasonably well, but I keep wanting a mouse.

You should listen to the song, “A Rainy Night In Georgia.” Had things not become obnoxious with The Dell, I would have linked it. I do not trust myself to do it on this sweet tablet. I have never even used the keyboard with it before, but desperation breeds courage.

Many are the times I have wanted to chunk the Dell against a wall, or shoot it, (I have no gun for secret reasons), but the money invested in the piece of junk does not permit it. When it ate all my files made over two years, I had to talk to Jesus for a while to ameliorate my rage. I still do not have those files, that is why it has the unusual sobriquet.

I have been drinking coffee, even though I got up on Thursday morning and have not slept since, I am probably up as long as Alex is, and he is drinking coffee too. I finally left that lethargic state behind.

I am currently reading, The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow, and am enjoying it immensely. The cover is gorgeous, and covers can get me every time. This book is about Words, and I adore words.

I would write a poem, but it seems Shift+Enter does not make single line spaces on this device combination, so that will wait.

It looks as though I am rambling a bit. Often happens when under coffee’s influence. So I shall bid you adieu and find something else to entertain me.

Casting Cooking Spells

Those of you who know, and hey, if you don’t here is the news: Fact – I hate to cook. I “cast the spell” and prayed for aid in making spaghetti tonight after not having done it in a while.

When I said a while, it is over two maybe even three years since I have done my hybrid-homemade spaghetti. Mom always said mine was the best she ever ate, but she helped with cutting fresh veggies because I am a disaster with knives as pertains to cooking. She also advised on timing and such.

Tonight I had to do it on my own, with Prego base and frozen veggies, and my unknowable, magical mix of spices.

I gave Alex, my son, a large plate. It came back empty, and there were no complaints. My mouth, on the other hand, was on fire, but yeah, I shall survive.

The prayers and “spell-casting” must have worked. If you saw the way I handle spices, you might think I was conjuring things.

I am a past Dungeon Master and played some Advanced Dungeons & Dragons magic users, all pretend my dears, creativity unleashed. So I mix it up a bit.

A Pardon

I do not forgive
Myself a single evil
The shame, guilt, riot;
Peace, like a snow-white dove, flees,
Its presence is often foreign to me.
If I allow some pleasant dream
To linger, spreading love within
My wretched ebon starless soul,
The incessant voices will insist
I am wrapped in delusion reading
Positivity where none abides.
My tenacious unforgiveness would
Kill me, were I never halfway able
To believe Jesus is on my side;
Love, though at times I fail
To recognize because of a mind
Almost drowned in a gulch full
Of mistakes, failures, horrid
Transgressions that append despair,
Oh, Lord, precious Lord, be You near.
The shield I raise to conquer
All these damaging despondencies
Blazes with Christ set flames
My freedom to ensure from each toxin,
Every torment, vicious pain, all fears,
That would pierce, destroy me
Heart and soul.
You, my Lord, make me
Powerful, whole, encourage bravery, boldness,
Inspire me to reach beyond me
For Love, the hope of Heaven, and success;
Lord in You, I find a desire to continue on,
Despite the darkest shadows of all hours.

This was written because of a prompt in Writing The Life Poetic, which is an excellent poetry craft and inspiration book. I have to have prompts from time to time too.

It is interesting how the suggestion perfectly fits, where I have been emotionally hanging out. I wrote the first draft, as you can see, in my journal. As it often does, bringing it to the screen brought changes.

I hope you find inspiration for your own creative work and bring to life something that will help you live.

Be well, do well, speak well, and love hard as you can.

If You Are Wondering… Bonus 🥰😍🤗

At times, I will neglect my creativity. I work better when I challenge myself and have self-imposed deadlines. The 2020 Creativity Project is a daily marathon of Creativity. I must post and, therefore, must produce.

When I create, it often opens the sluice gates on what holds all my wild in; the dam cannot keep my mind contained. I want to finish my novel and my book on creativity this year. I think I have a chance since I committed to this.

If you are a Creative, however, that defines you, you may find it beneficial to set tasks and goals of which you refuse to let yourself slip out.

I try to share inspiring things and prompts, but some of those posts get no views. I am puzzled by what is happening here, but I have this to do, whether seen or not.

I write everything here, and all the pictures are mine. I chose the design and outfitted it. Since three years old such things have consumed me. I cannot drop it and survive.

I have not run central heat all Winter so I could afford the site cost for Premium. Worth it, I declare. You see no commercials; I got the Entrepreneur theme. Thank God for my Mom’s electric blanket.

I posted so many times yesterday; it was crazy. I proofed for about four hours and took a semi-nap, I hardly sleep without taking pills to turn my mind off — the little perk of my disorder.

Maybe I say too much about myself, I apologize if you think so, but one of my dearly held purposes on the web has always been to raise mental health/illness awareness. It is one of my only ways to contribute as a disabled person. If only…

Now, away and away, business be done.

February is coming; it could sneak up on you, Valentine’s Day. I am all about love, so it is one of my most favorite days. The stores put out the Valentine goodies before Christmas is done, though. Does anyone else think it is shameless overkill? Oh, let’s get out of that morass before we are swallowed up.

I think love should be celebrated every day in every beautiful way, but for I Heart You Day: If you and your someone are going for dinner and a movie, why not ride a horse-drawn carriage. If that is too much, enlist a single person to chauffeur you. You lovebirds sit in back, stealing kisses and caresses on your way. A photoshoot where you go to a studio with costuming and get made and gussied up will be a forever memory. Alternatively, you could hire a photographer, dress in frills, make-up, for the thrills, and be photographed at a place near the heart of your relationship or a scenic spot that will become a new favorite.

I am single, you too? It is okay; we love it also. Pick up your most coveted meal fixings and prepare it beforehand, so you only need to heat it. Buy yourself something you have wished for; it does not have to be expensive. Wrap that up. Pick up a ravishing desert. Now, celebrate with a binge-watch of the shows you have meant to get to while enjoying the rest.

Any of you who feel the need could hire one of your favorite poets to write personalized love poems made to order; also, some might even be able to provide accompanying art, photography, or graphics.

Queen recorded some great love songs. Freddie, Bri, Roger, and John have always been some of my favorite artists, and now with Adam and their recent and current tours, there is plenty of work on YouTube. Take a listen, rock your mood.

Ah, work calls, you are released.

Hearts have this strange way, you know, like the magic which we never allow its slipping into the clouds. The lightning would be spectacular and potentially frazzle dazzle everything.

It Is For Such Days…

I am 56 years old, my son is 31. For years circumstances have widely separated us geographically. We have remained best friends through the wonders of technology. The kid got his first computer at age three. He is wildly creative, has over 100,000 words on a novel you will hear about soon enough. He has been home with me since early December, except for a few trips he took to visit others.

I irritate him a lot; I have bizarre idiosyncrasies. We get along, though, and we work together somewhat. He wants me to be bold, like himself, I am a coward. I asked him last night if he would go with me today. I explained it was Norma’s memorial service, for which Richard requested I write a poem and read it there. He surprised me and said yes. Alex is an inspiration to me always; we have been through so much.

We got Chick-Fil-A for lunch, which Alex puts up memes about being God’s restaurant. He allowed me to read the poem because I do not do public readings. He said I did it well. I thought, well, maybe I can do it.

We got there way early. My Mom always believed in being way early, and I seem to carry on her habit. We talked. We went inside, and I was reproached because there was an individual there, and I mentioned it to Alex. He was right, but… and he says there are no buts. Anyway, we went back outside. It did not seem many people I knew were about that early.

When we came back inside, one of the funeral directors talked to me and gave me an order of service. We spoke to Richard when the room opened. When we sat, one of my favorite people came up, and I got hugs. I love hugs. We promised to be better in touch. I hope it occurs.

When the service began, some very renowned poets were read by a very distinguished person. She opened the floor for attendees to speak, there was no movement or sound. So she said, maybe Jo Ann Jordan, who is a local poet, would like to say something. Yeah, me. I walked up to the steps and prayed that my knees would allow me to make it up to the podium. It was a near thing. You do not know my knees.

Next, I stumbled through the presentation.

Betwixt Times

Sometimes two people
Find the perfect match within
One another and mesh
So their souls permanently
Entwine, declaring them complete.

Cherishing each other
They come to understand
Their bond is so rich,
Their complement so pure;
Lives shared are exceptional.

Norma and Richard
Were always present to give,
Contribute whatever
Was required for their success;
And helping others do their best.

Love infused their lives
So there could be no doubt
Their dedication
To one another was sure and true,
Adoring, always respecting, the two.

Working together
They did it in perfect sync,
Creating things of which
Others could only dream;
They were a successful team.

Norma was a rare beauty,
Quiet in public, but given
To laughter and devotion,
Kind, tender, precious, sweetness,
Expressing love at home.

It is a tearful loss
Dealt out of season, against time,
The world a bit dimmer,
Without the smiles and gentleness
Norma so freely shared with all.

Her creativity
Dedication, work ethic,
Motivation we can
Hope to reflect, even as
We miss Norma’s selflessness.

“With Norma and our two kitties, we have had a home full of continuous love, respect, laughter, and adoration.” – Mr. Richard Nichols

I did the poem reading my large print copy with some muddling when I had to change pages. When I did manage to look up, there was Alex, smiling, which no one knows how that helped.

I got all messed up on Richard’s quote adding extra ands, but it really is a miracle I could do it at all. I love and respect Norma and Richard more than I can express. They have been mentors and friends to me. My copy editing is directly due to their influence.

I forgot to pray before I headed down those steps, and what a mess I made.

The service was the most inspirational memorial I have ever seen. Richard spoke, and I managed not to cry there, but I have tears now.

Norma had a truly angelic spirit and was one of the most highly intelligent creative people ever. She will be sorely missed.