About Me~, Uncategorized, Writing

Scrambled~

dccd353e9646b0e6e6192b9f0329aba9

 

Ferris wheels. I used to really , really love Ferris wheels. And roller coasters. I loved the up and down craziness of riding The Scrambler. The Flying Swings. Amusement parks were a ball, and I couldn’t wait to go every year with my Daddy to the company picnic to the big park and ride with him . I went with my friend James and tried to get him to go on the double looped Arkansas Twister with me, but he just stood on the ground firmly  in his wore out cowboy boots and swore that ‘s where he’d stay with his eyes closed , and pray until I was back on the ground  where I belonged .  I used to love to go to Hot Springs , Arkansas and ride the elevator up  Mountain Tower and stand 216 feet above the Ouachitas and look out over the heights and feel thrilled.

But then one day, I got very  sick. I had been pregnant, and I lost the baby . We found out it was because I had lupus .  My body turned into this alien thing that I didn’t recognize. It BECAME a Ferris wheel I couldn’t get off of. Around and around I went. I was on The Scrambler, screaming for the operator to let me off. I’m on the Arkansas Twister , but I’m stuck in between the loops, where there’s no solid ground for me to get back to. I know James is praying for me  somewhere, but I can’t get down again. The elevator refuses to take me off the Tower anymore. It’s been a long time since this horror park first started . I had a few years where I was lucky , and had a period of remission. Those were glorious times.

But the roller coaster has started back up again . I’ve had to go back on the steroids , the anti malarials, the high level Vitamin D, the major pain killers , and spent most of this week in either a state of insane insomnia, crazy fatigue, with my mouth covered in burn-like ulcers, my stomach in  toe-nail churning nausea, or  my body bent over in mind-blowing joint pain .

I no longer go to the “real” amusement park. I don’t find anything amusing in that anymore. My body is “Scrambled” enough. I am starting up the Mountain again, with a new rheumatologist. The one plus is , I really like this one, she seems to be really educated, and very compassionate. I can only pray that the view from the top of the Tower is worth this particular  ride in the elevator .

About Me~, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Discarded Treasures ~

women-bench-monochrome-sitting-window-panes-1762x1145-wallpaper_www-miscellaneoushi-com_76

I approached quietly , and left

a small piece of my heart,

on the  park  bench.

As if somehow leaving it there,

meant I was waiting for the day , no , not even the day,

my life!

to start,

for some permission.

Would he see it?

Would he care?

Or would it simply be one more

discarded, tumbled, forgotten grubby lost unknown treasure. I watch with all the hopes , despairs, confusions, joys, consternation…………. Abruptly  , the man who lives in the apartment above me  grabs my arm , and with  sudden fervor

pulls me down from my window perch , where I watch so anxiously . Racing , with a strength I would not , no , could not have thought his own bird-like body could possess,  hurriedly we go, skipping first one step , and then two steps at a time ………..and then we are there.

The bench.

The boy.

And me, the  girl. I am standing , out of breath, trying to think of the words to explain .

The painted rock.

The old man.

I am only a child  here.

My words are jumbled.

There is  nothing  for me to  say, it is  just a grubby , lost unknown treasure, I mumble.

It is okay, the boy  says. The old man is his uncle. The boy  is NOT new here, the old man says,  he has  seen that you like books, and walks. And benches. And wanting  to learn about quiet things, like that which is  discarded, and hopes, and unknown treasures. And  in time, together , you   will  think of the right words to explain.

About Me~, Uncategorized, Writing

One for Our Column~

1970sraphoechick

 

Yesterday was such a lovely day . I woke early and the world woke  with me , with  all the hints  that everything good might happen. My body even tempted me with promises of less joint pain, and energy enough to take a small walk down our lane into the sun-tinged air. The wee red fox who calls our farm home greeted me shyly on my way back as if to say, “Happy to see you out today! ” The birds went about their daylight  business looking for their breakfasts and for one golden moment I had a dawn  that reminded me of what my life had been like so many years ago. I did laundry, straightened my kitchen, and walked barefoot through my tomato patch as I had  done so many times as a tomboyish 10 year old , and my Grandpa was one row over again urging me , “Make sure you get them tommytoes off the bottom vines  there, PeeWee!” . I wish I could have captured that moment in  a mason jar, as we used to do the fireflies , to open today , for sometime in the middle of the night ; the tordol, dexemethesone combo wore off, and the lupus pain came rushing back in , with all the fury of a caged beast  , seemingly  all the more angry for having been denied its one day. I want to say I’d never had that one moment , that one day, but if I did  I’d be lying. If we are all honest with ourselves, we would trade a hundred days , a thousand days , and we HAVE traded them, to get that ONE . That ONE magical day that brings back those gilt-lit days of joy, laughter, memories, barefoot -garden days, sun-warmed beach days, child-filled swing -in-the-park -days, those days where we shake our fists at lupus, at chemo, at whatever has stolen our glitter from our lives, and say , “YOU DIDN’T GET THIS ONE!! THIS ONE BELONGED TO ME!!”  , just so we can  put a chalk-mark in OUR column , no matter how small, and continue on.