A New Song

Cherubs:

Leonard Bernstein wrote a wonderful aria called "I will sing the Lord a new song". I'm not even sure if that's the name, but that's the name I remember. But I am thinking about a new song for myself. I'm thinking about dumping more stuff in the trash can. The past. My relationship with the past. My lack of family relationships and my guilt about that. I'm done. I wish I could just chuck it all in the trash can. Let's try.

It's easy to accept that nobody loves you as you deserve to be loved. That's not so hard. What's hard is to be rid of your wishes. You wish you were understood. You wish somebody somewhere cared enough that you should be understood. You wish so many things. One must be rid of one's wishes. So open the trash can.

I was both my brothers' mother. They don't care. Dumped.

My mother was limited in her ability to love me. Dumped.

My father was limited in his ability to love me. Dumped.

My ex-husband is and was equally limited. Dumped.

Due to all those limitations, both my brothers are limited in their ability to love me. Dumped.

I am not willing to pay the price to be loved, because of all these things. The bill will always be too high. Dumped.

There is no longer much of any family left to care. Dumped.

There is no need to be sorry for me because in reality, if I am really able to dump all this waste in the trash can, then I can really be free. I will really be able to go where I want, do as I please and simply not care.

It's all in the trash can. And now, we will see what happens.

Try not to see this as cynical, but rather, as a purge, so to speak. Life is continuing and completely, itself, does not care.

Warm wishes dearest cherubs.

Ok it's sad that I haven't written

Hello all who have chosen to follow, I"m sure you have forgotten me. And who's to blame you.

There has not been much time. There has only been time for work and for worry. But I have been trying to deal with the worry because I have things to say. The problem is I have little time to say them. But it is the worry that prevents this, not the work. The work has been good. But the worry interferes with everything.

One assumes, from time to time, that one is a good writer. I think perhaps I am, sometimes. I have written some very good poetry. LOL, I am not under the impression that I will get rich from writing poetry. However, I am a poet and there's nothing to be done about that. Here's one short one:

In the quiet of the almost autumn night, there is sliver of peace
While the cell phone charges and the house rests with its bills mostly paid and its worry at a temporary nadir.
In this quiet of the almost autumn night, there is reflection, or at least the time for same.
While the cars slow going by as if they were looking in my windows.
In this quiet of an almost autumn night, I am taking some time from worry, guilt and gnashing of teeth to wonder
I am wondering. I have to know that I can't fix it. But even if I could I might choose not to. I have already, perhaps, fixed too much.

Okay you guys, sorry for the long hiatus. Hang in there with me.

Warmly Margaret

An unusual positive childhood memory

Hi cherubs:

Sorry for the long time between posts. Most of my childhood memories are pretty horrible. But there is one that is not. Perhaps it's not the only one, but it's one that I was reminded of tonight. I was watching a program about solar winds and I was reminded about the blackout that occured in the 1960s, which I believe was caused by solar activity interfering with power grids.

The entire eastern seaboard of the US was knocked out, not to mention Canada. So I came home from school, and I did my homework by candle light (the teachers gave us extra credit for that, by the way). Then, my mother began to play the piano. She had all the old songbooks that had the folk tunes (What shall we do with the drunken sailer etc) and we were all there around the piano, singing our hearts out. We hardly noticed the blackout. The neighbors were there and we were there and we were playing and singing. It's a wonderful memory. I remember my brother John next to me singing (my brother Tony was not yet born) and I remember the candles and I remember that we had cooked dinner for many people because we had a gas stove and others had only electric.

Mom played and played. We sang and sang. It was great fun. It's one of the few happy memories I have. I am grateful, so grateful for that memory.

Best wishes dearest cherubs.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad:

You are dead now so I don't know if you can hear what I have to say. I'm hopeful that you can.

When I was a very little girl, I used to ride with you on the subways of Boston. Back then, the subways sometimes flashed what I called "lightening" during the occasional explosions caused when the connections got over heated. So we'd be riding along under Boston's busy streets, and the "lightening" occured and I would burrow into your shoulder to seek comfort. Your strong arm would go around me and circle me with what I thought would be endless protection. Alas, that protection was brief. Or perhaps, my need was brief. It's hard to know which came first.

I shared your classroom. I spoke to your students. We were both educators. This we shared. That is how we connected. I was not young for very long.

Dad, you made many mistakes. I forgive you. You did the best you could. You were affected by your own childhood. This is something I understand now. I am also affected by my own childhood, or lack thereof. It has closed my heart, and encased it in stone. Somebody, somebody please find a hammer.

It's easier for a daughter to forgive a father. At least, that's what they say. At least, that's what they say.

Happy father's day dearest cherubs.

M.

I have to say how I feel

Hi all who wish to follow:

I am cleaning my house. I am throwing my past into a dumpster. It is painful. It is incredibly painful. I was not really prepared for this pain.

Perhaps, it is because I have no way to know what the future brings. Perhaps, it is because I blame myself for many bad decisions. Perhaps, it is because I did not expect, personally, to be thrown into the dumpster. But yet, I was and I have been. I have been thrown into the dumpster myself, and it has merged with the pain of broken dishes, broken dreams, and a broken life.

However, I have not given up. I am still here. I still have wonderful friends, and colleauges, and many other gifts. There could be worse things. I'm sure there are worse things. But tonight, the pain is deep and gut wrenching and overwhelming. It is hard to be grateful for gifts, when you are facing your past in this way.

But dearest friends, I am still here, and this morning I awoke on the correct side of the ground. I have good friends who are helping me and for them I am grateful. But I must admit, my heart is broken. I did not think my heart could break like this, but it has and it will, and it continues to break.

How in the world I will survive this I do not know. But I will continue to try. I ask for your love and support. Warmly dear cherubs, and with lots of love, Margaret

It's a new post for a new time

Dearest cherubs:

I cannot know what to tell you. My life is what it is. But I surround myself with history, and that history speaks to me.

I am deeply moved by many things. I see things happening and I guess, I think that I think those are the things that should happen. Yet how can I know?


I simply accept, and yet, perhaps I should not. So I ask you all, perhaps you should not also. Don't just accept. Wonder why. Wonder why. I am wondering why. All my love to you dearest cherubs. M.

In the Sweet Spring

One must hope. And when you go outside, the twigs are greener. They cannot break, they only bend. Quietly they breeze their way through, but yet they cannot prevail. I must prevail. I have no way to really get there, but I ask for mercy. I want to go away soon. I want to go to warmth, and love and less judgement. But there is the reality, and the reality is that it is not there yet. Not yet.