Iced Calligraphy

Tomorrow morning I’m going to pick up a gift; a wonderful gift.
A while back I wrote something called “the Frozen Man” and I had no idea it would evoke the kind of response that it did.
I received numerous emails regarding its origin and inspiration and to be honest, it took me by surprise.
I’m not used to that kind of attention.
One email was from my dear friend Yvonne.
She is an incredibly creative spirit and does some incredible calligraphy and she asked if she could create a piece of art using “the Frozen Man” as the centerpiece.
I was thrilled and gave her my blessing knowing my words were in very capable hands.
When I checked my Gmail this morning I opened an email from her saying the piece was done. How cool is that?
To say I’m moved is a severe understatement.
Seeing an artistic impression of my work in this light has touched my very soul.
I called Yvonne after seeing it and told her I thought it was beautiful.
Being the humble soul that she is, she thanked me and said I was far too kind and that I was making much more out of it than I needed to.
I had to disagree. In a major way.
Check out the actual piece below.
If only my father could appreciate it.
Yvonne, a sincere thank you from my heart to yours . . .

~m

*ps – Yvonne does calligraphy professionally.
I already know of one other piece of writing that I’d love to see done.
Maybe you have something as well.
Visit www.yvonneelizabeth.com for more info
or email handlettering@yahoo.com

So Much

Like me, so much like me
you are oceans deep, my silent little girl

A face that’s like a saving grace; it’s a prayer I will always pray
I know you as well as I know my overly complex self,
and I am forever in love with you
as I was 18 years ago

@8:11am . . .

If these words turn you crimson, then so be it, that makes you real
You are my hurricane on the water, my own personal blizzard of ’90
And you’re like me, sometimes so much like me
And just maybe
that’s a small, good thing

Happy 18th birthday, Jenna
You are a true diamond in the rough
Gráim thú . . .

~Dad

And she likes John Mayer . . .

my Frozen poem

Just wanted to take a moment and thank all of you for responding to my post “the Frozen Man“.
The writing of it took less than 45 minutes while the editing took several hours.
I’m amazed at the response and the numerous personal emails I’ve received because of something I wrote.
Was it from the heart?
Absolutely.
Do I totally understand it?
Maybe.
Bottom line is that people really liked it.
I am happy.
IMHO, I’m not a poet, but I am a happy writer. (for now)
I love words and I’m glad you seem to like them too.
I’m sending this poem off tomorrow for publication.
Don’t know if it will fly but it’s going anyway.
I figured, what the hell.
Thank you again for all the kind words of affirmation.
We writers like that sort of thing.
Peace, folks . . .

~m

the heart remembers

I received a letter today from my sister dated January 21st (one day before my last post).
In it was a poem she’d found many years ago when our mother was entering the late stages of Alzheimer’s.
As twins, we’ve always had an uncanny ability to surprise each other in ways unimaginable.
In light of my recent post, the Frozen Man, I could only smile when I read this poem.
My sister’s timing was perfect. Go figure. ;)
If you have a family member suffering from this disease, print out the following poem and read it often.
My sister said reading it always makes her feel better and she hoped the same for me.
Thanks, m~
Yeah, it works for me, too . . .

~m

 

Heart Memories
by Louise M Eder

I remember you with my heart
My mind won’t say your name
I can’t recall where I knew you
Who you were
Or who I was.

Maybe I grew up with you
Or maybe we worked together
Or did we bowl together yesterday?
There’s something wrong with my memory
But I do know you
I know I knew you
And I do love you
I know how you make me feel
I remember the feelings we had together.
My heart remembers
It cries out in loneliness for you
For the feelings you give me now.

Today I’m happy that you have come.
When you leave
My mind will not remember that you were here
But my heart remembers
The feeling of friendship
And love returned.
Remembers
That I am less lonely
And happier today
Because of the feeling
Because you have come.

Please, please don’t forget me
And please don’t stay away
Because of the way my mind acts.
I can still feel you
I can remember with my heart
And a heart memory is maybe
The most important memory of all.

the Frozen Man

His soul sleeps,
buried far beneath a long forgotten vertical landscape,
yearning for home . . .
it dreams of places remembered; warm places, complete and innocently raw

The perpetual journey through a cobwebbed labyrinth remains a stygian quest at best,
an unanswered prayer, a dimly lit votive, a quiet cry in the dark
the clouds thicken, the earth cools and a winter of the mind settles in

Rolling waves of emotion yield snowflakes of blue
that fall like sleet, slicing the spirit into oh, so many unrecognizable pieces of what used to be a life; where nothing fits or belongs but must somehow remain

still . . .

Who knows when, this sadly shattered thing will end
Only God knows when it started,
But it’s wearing pretty thin, as the winter settles in, covering the frozen man . . .

~m

In the heart of a friend

Now and then someone writes a post especially for me and I find myself at something of a loss for words to convey my thanks and deep sense of gratitude.
Writer/Poet Sarah Flanigan reads between the lines of much of what I write and has
written an emotional and moving piece just for me.
Click on the window above to read “Behind the glass wall”.
You’ve touched my heart, Sarah.
And I thank you dearly.

~m

Vegemite Man

I received a care package the other day compliments of my dear friend Maureen from Australia. What began as a comment or two regarding the mystery and intrigue surrounding the Aussie staple, “Vegemite” turned into a package of many wonderfully Australian things.

It’s quite difficult for one to describe vegemite. Maureen says it looks like axle grease and I have to say she’s right. But the taste, ahh, the taste is unforgettable.
Malt, yeast and salt dominate this black paste and for some odd reason it reminds me of beer.
Then again, many things remind me of beer.

I was forewarned: don’t use very much.
God, I’m glad I read that little nugget of information.
Honestly, I think I could grow to like this stuff. Aside from using it as a spread on crackers or toast what the hell else can you use it for?

 

 

 

I’ll report back on how well the axle grease works out.

I was also sent an authentic boomerang. From the looks of it, if I had to feed my family using this thing as a hunting weapon, they all would have perished weeks ago.
I am, however, quite good at throwing it in such a way that it comes back and hits me.

Maybe I deserve it.

I also now own (and wear) a very cool red baseball cap from a golf course called
The Willows (courtesy of Mark, Moe’s better half.. Thanks, Mark!)
And I love the Australian flag on the back of the cap.

But the most unusual gift I received was a pouch.
This isn’t your average everyday pouch—this one is special.
It’s made out of genuine kangaroo scrotum (is there any other kind?)
Maureen says that downunder they use the entire Joey.
I guess she’s not kidding.
We’ve joked about what to put in it (my nuts?).
Those disappeared the minute I saw the actual lettering on the bag.
(genuine kangaroo scrotum)

I have a little something for Moe and Mark that left today.
I think we will soon have a budding Red Sox fan in Australia . . . I hope.

I’m sure you noticed the {huge} picture at the top of the post of yours truly sporting my new baseball cap.
I spent a beautiful sunny day in Boston with a beautiful woman, had a wonderful lunch at the Rattlesnake on Boylston Street and wandered breathlessly through the Hopper Exhibit at the MFA.
I’m not even going to try and describe all that I saw because I’d fail miserably.
I really would.

I will tell you a few things though; “Nighthawks” is a massive piece of art and much larger than I originally thought it would be.
I stared at it for 15 minutes taking in the detailed brush strokes of one of my favorite artists.
I kept thinking ‘His hand actually did this’ . . . I was gobsmacked being that close to a work of art so creative.
And though I’m no painter, Hopper has an uncanny ability to re-create light on canvas.
I’ve no idea how he came to possess this talent but this picture gave me the chills.
Online it looks fairly blasé but standing in front of it makes one want to kneel.
I’m not kidding.
It was an all around wonderful day and I feel so blessed.
If a Hopper Exhibit comes anywhere near you, please do yourself a favor and go.

Thanks, Moe for the package.
Look for the mailman late next week.

And yes, I want pictures . . . :0)

 

~m

Reeling in the years

I’m laughing right now which is odd for me . . . somewhat.
The reason is quite simple — it’s been 30+ years since the release of this album and this is the first time I’ve listened to it in its entirety; my bad.
I’d love to tell you what the album is but that wouldn’t have you guessing, now would it?

I’ll give you 8 hints though.
Let’s see who can guess the album and the artist . . .

*The band’s name was derived from two blues artists

*I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore

*Piggy

*Analog synth up the ass

*Alan Parsons definitely listened

*Slight existential motif

*A song in 7/4 meter put this band on the charts

*Time

There ya go.

One guess per visitor.
Winner gets a burned copy of the album signed by yours truly. {exciting, eh?}
Name the band and the album. First correct answer wins!!!!
And begin . .

~m

Walls of thought

Sometimes graffiti can be thought provoking, frighteningly beautiful and sometimes even deeply disturbing.
I found this site the other night and wanted to share it here.
I split the post so it wouldn’t take up 3/4 of the front page.
Click ‘continue reading’ to see some wonderful stuff.

~m

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