Never, then, did I imagine an occasion when I would employ this over-used and reflexive phrase. And imagination notwithstanding, the 'deans-of-discipline' in the real world would sever the instrument wielding the quill intent on using this verbiage as a TITLE of anything penned by yours truly. What, you ask, caused this shocking breach of taste and literary comity? I'll be quick about it - or is it too late - to dull the sting. Simple is as simple writes: I simply couldn't fit my conscience into any other of this season's "Simplicity" patterns.
There. I said it. No choice. See, there was this quandary.And it didn't 'walk into a room or a bar.' It didn't do anything. Just plopped atop a pile of like cast-off cant ant would/could not be supplanted with an acceptable bon mot. QUANDARY:
wanted/needed to write today
unfinished business past deadline
It is Mothers' Day and I refuse to resort to the banalities of what conventional wisdom labels 'polite conversation'.
Sooo. You'll just have to imagine there's been a diaspora of all the smart people and what we have left id me, writing in a somewhat disjoint fashion. In psychiatry, I believe it's called 'flight of ideas'. Do come, then and fly my friendly, albeit disordered skies of tales told randomly - but honestly.
While I lay in one of five different hospital beds (please see "While You Were Away. . .) in Pittsburgh, wallowing in self-pity expressed with asperity, I heard a story on the local news, spoken as though it had come straight from the Mount, of a beautiful child - one of a family of eleven children - who, having been born without hands, had just won a first place award for perfect penmanship.
On presentation day, Annie, dressed on her sunny yellow school cardigan, matching yellow flower in her ebony hair, walked gracefully, decorously in her shiny royal blue patent uniform shoes to accept her trophy while her seven year-old classmates cheered her on with abandon. Along with the trophy, Annie has earned a one thousand dollar prize to be applied to her education.
She was happy to oblige a request to demonstrate her skills and shared her ambitions enthusiastically. Annie wants to write books about animals - fiction and non - when she grows up. That was enough to rouse my sorry arse out of the doldrums of Gethsemane and dive into my physical therapy exercises with renewed elan.)
Next up, a combo of my 'just wanting to write today' and Mothers' Day.
(What's Mothers' Day without the Grand peeps? Here we have Molly (UR), Mia (DL) and Emma (DR). Molly, now 6, spent today with her older brother Declan, 10 and younger brother, Patrick, 3, detailing, washing and buffing Mommy Robyn's car. Mia, 3.5, above left, took Mommy Julie to the Boston Red Sox baseball game today and, along with Daddy, cheered the home team on to a 7-1 victory in a warm 'Beantown' sunbath.
Emma, 4 and big sister to Charlie, almost 2, above in the pictorial collage they made to brighten up my hospital room, spent today making Mommy Jennie 'Queen Unquestioned' with performances like those pictured, story TELLING and a home-created outdoor Cafe festively adorned for the Mommy-no-cook cook out masterfully directed by Daddy. Ya know, folks, just like the 'Hokie Pokie', that's what it's all about.)
And Moi? Well. There were chats with my 'kids', my walk and exercises, some laundry and reverie. This last is one of my favorite because whereas I always fretted that my life might end up being a 'blank tape', it has/is quite a hoot.
(I write because I refuse to let the past slip away. You can't retrieve your life - unless it's on Wikipedia and, by definition, inaccurate. And I'm not too comfy living in these 'google years' - all of its virtual/techno stuff bodes of my future becoming a constant affront. For example, I'm SOOO techno-challenged, I couldn't figure out how to submit Emma's dear drawing to an exciting, new page for kids, "Youth Tube", sponsored by my beloved friends/colleagues at The Plum Tree Co., an organization for/by writers. So, I'll just cheat it in here: That's me on