Is YOUR Name On The List?

When did your love of writing begin? Are certain people responsible? I’ve been thinking lately about how mine began. The presentation of Auntie Hazel’s flashy script and grandma’s heartfelt poems filtered down through dad (both links lead to Sass and Vinegar, a tribute to two creative sisters who loved wordplay). I figured my interest came from dad’s side. After all, they were the letter-writers. I figured they’d been my inspiration.

Maybe I forgot someone.

I found it the other day when I opened a kitchen drawer looking for scrap paper.

names grandma wrote down_May 2016Mom. I can hear her giggling. This is one of her lists. One of hundreds, I’m sure. She has collected unusual names for years. If it tickled her fancy, it went on the list. (Not to be confused with poking fun at. No. Mom isn’t like that. One of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met, mom doesn’t think like that, isn’t made that way. She has a hard time cussing properly (when she should). Odd…my sister and I don’t have that problem. So sad. Yes. Well, back to mom. While we were growing up, the worst I ever heard come out of her mouth was shite. Rhymes with polite. Figures. So, no making fun of here. Simply, mom enjoys unusual names and likes to keep a list.)

Where did she find these people? Newspapers, magazines, flyers, books, catalogs, and just about anything in print were fair game.

Mom is 87 and still an avid reader. They say that puzzles, reading, even learning another language contribute to brain health. Are there any studies about name lists and longevity?  I think I need to change that first sentence to “Mom is 87 and still an avid thinker.”

And that’s when it hit: Mom had a hand in my love of writing, words, and wordplay. Lists like this were all over the house when I was growing up.

names list_June 2016 (2)Ingo Lemme, Barbar Ibach, Robert Baller, Gary Spanks, and Karen Brecknock made the cut.

When I saw mom today, I asked her if she had any name lists handy. I didn’t have to explain; she knew exactly what I meant. Not only did she find the above, she’d also kept this:

names list_June 2016 (1)You may have noticed the handwriting is different. It’s mine. Holy buckets! This is genetic.

Mom and I must have been fiddle farting sitting around one day, and, talking about names, decided to look for more. The phone book must have been close.

We did a teensy weensy bit of shopping today and came across those journals people are charging an arm and a leg for, the ones made from old books. I couldn’t resist.

img_20160601_193039.jpg

 

What better way to keep a list of names.

It isn’t my fault. Really. (Thank you, mom). ❤

A Horse of Another Color

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou

Think about that. Has there been a time in your life when something catastrophic happened forcing you to make a major life decision, and you found yourself in a new situation with new people, yet, you revealed nothing? On advice of others who were quick to say, “Just move on,” or “It’s an opportunity to start over,” or “Don’t let it get to you,” you bore it all, alone. Have you had a similar experience? Have you remained silent because you didn’t want to bother others or you didn’t think they’d want to HEAR it? 

Maya is right. Silence can be pure agony. Well. She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Some of you may have seen the poem I posted yesterday. It is called I. Am. Go ahead. Give her a click; the poem’s not very long. OK, now that you’re back, can you tell to whom it may have been directed? Does it scream scorned lover? Brutal landlord? Overbearing parent? Give me your best guess: _______________________.

Blatantly letting it all hang out is extremely therapeutic for some, but I need to mosey. I need time and mystery. There needs to be some question as if something isn’t quite clear. You’ve heard the term ‘fuzzy thinking’? I need fuzzy writing. Then it occurred to me: What better forum to tell a story than poetry? I’ve been trying to suppress a giggle ever since.

I have expanded the blog once again by adding a new category: CREATIVE WRITING. Yesterday’s I. Am. was the first poem I’ve written in some time. After thinking about poetry in general, I realized I’ve been dabbling for years, that I’ve been hoarding. I believe I wrote the following when I was about 12.

“Love is nature’s way, so beautiful and free,

like flowers, trees, and mountains, like you and me.”

~karenlee

My first thought is “Oh, brother,” and I’m a little embarrassed, but it shows I was thinking about rhyming and how words fit together from a very young age. That is a horse of another color.

I dug up my Sanford Lyne book. Inspiring! He authored this book about using poetry as a creative outlet.

Sanford Lyne book_May 2016

This drew me in:

page from S Lyne book_May 2016Miss Maya is right; concealing pain is ugly. When we are ready, though, when we dare to reveal, I believe positive changes will occur.

I challenge you to join me in my personal challenge of working through life issues through creative writing. It doesn’t have to be through poetry. It can be any form of writing you choose.

Taken from my front porch hanging basket, maybe the following will inspire (because this is so pretty it hurts):

This-n-that, July 2011 187

I. Am.

I. Am.

you think i need you.

how dare i disagree.

your smugness permeates

the air when i speak.

such grand, faux hauteur!

you say i don’t matter;

you yearn to shut me up.

our eyes lock; my tenacity shatters

your self-imposed, superior vantage.

you squirm that i see beyond the facade

of your fragile, padded ego.

i meet your insolent glare and

you’re nervous because you know that i know.

you know how long i’ve known.

you think i need you.

you want to silence my soul?

you don’t have permission.

only me. because

i. am.

~karenlee