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To my Big Brother, My Hero

  • *****This was written December 23, 2006 as part of my Christmas gift to my brother Robert G. Egnatovich Jr. He passed unexpectantly on November 29, 2016, I am still in shock, unable to conceive of any words to connect to his death, so for now, all I can do is share the words of my love for “Worlds Best Big Brother”, he would call me “Little Sister”, always with a grin in his voice, knowing that I will never again here his voice shatters me beyond comprehension.*****
  • When I was a little girl, you were my big hero. You never raised your voice or your hand, just helped to raise your baby sister. I have within me hundreds of memories of our childhood, all banked safely in my heart, these are my favorite gifts you gave me through out the years. Be it the many times you wiped my tears, spoiled me rotten, or listened to me and answered my many questions, these things will always remain precious to me.

We are older, yet you still take the time to take care of me, and for this, I know I am blessed. For all of the times you have held me up in some of my darker moments, I have had the chance to do the same for you, and I always will. We do not judge one another, we rely on one another, we laugh at and with each another. We rejoice in each others triumphs and mourn together with our heart aches. We are grown, but never to grow apart. For with the culmination of years, we are more than merely brother and sister, we are friends, true blue.

Now you are a husband and a father, and my heart often swells with pride at the small moments I am privy to. You share that part of your life with me, and in turn, I can share our childhood memories with your children. And sometimes, when you and I get a quiet moment to sit and talk, I often marvel at your honesty and integrity.

This year for Christmas, I intend to be certain you know just how proud I am for all that you do and all that you are. We may no longer be children, but you must know that you always have been, and always will be my hero.

Big Brother, I love you!


Today, I practiced what I preached, I had posted this video earlier in the week, attempting to stress the enormous need to not only take the time to watch this video, but to also try to take the message to heart and leave your emotional door open to those who may need it. A few folks watched it, but I honestly thought given the nature of the subject matter that FAR more would watch, and share this video, especially since I have an unbelievably large number of empowered, strong and inspiring female friends ( and many of you men can be included in this, as my male friends are a pool of gentlemen of many shades and respect woman of all ages and facets of their lives!!!), I was surprised the video and it’s contents didn’t generate bit more of a stir, but, I now know, it in fact, caused a huge stir, right here in my very person.
I encountered a young girl in town this week as I was admiring her beautiful brindle coated dog, and she my Yin-Yang tattoo, right off the bat, I was struck by how from word one, she looked me directly in the eyes as we spoke, and how there was a juxtapositon of a bold, brazen rebel, and the distinct detection of someone who had an enormous, deeper then words wound. As we chatted standing happily in the rain, she was saying how much she loves the rain and mentioned she was trying to save up to one day get herself a tattoo, though she is not yet old enough, girls like her always find a way! And before I could blink, I was asking her if she had any interest in earning some money by helping me tackle our woefully over grown garden beds, she could see from my using a walker to get about town that I had physical limitations, and eagerly, and emphatically said yes, and when! We exchanged numbers and agreed to talk today to set something off, from there I ambled on over to the superb skate shop here in town to visit Shop Cat, and his owner.
Forward to today, days after having made her aquaintance, and also having posted this video, and she was all raring to go today, she said she was looking forward to helping me find the flowers lurking in all of the over growth, seeing that I have been unable to do any upkeep these 2 years with my set backs from my spine surgeries. I hadn’t planned on today, but thought, why not, Rob and I would get our errands done, and barring lightning, that she would come around 5-6pm and we would work on the arduous task.
Shortly after arriving call, a distressed call from her prompted me to tell her to come right over, she was in tears over major boy AND friends drama, I fixed her the sweet tea she wanted after handing her the box of tissues and sat and listened to her for a bit. Right off, I knew her current troubles were but a tear in a salty sea compared to what she would open up to me about. I toojk both of our phones, layed them face down on a table and told her, now we work and have girl talk, she looked a trifle startled but just went with it. I had all the tools and gloves, cushions for us to sit on and we worked out a simple game plan and went to work, talking the whole time. But I soon just listened and she told me that when she was a bit younger, she had been sexually abused for 3 years, as well as an assortment of other physical abuse, and just let her talk, I listened, I had the uncomfortable conversation, I asked her questions, and she actively sought my help. The words of the video reverberated off of my marrow, and I offered to be a friend, to listen, and to go with her to open group sesions for survivors. SURVIVORS, NOT victim, she is surviving all of this, and in words, I held the mirror to her face and told her of her value, her worth, that it is all still there, that no one took that from her, and she never need to seek validation from others, as her strength, that was the testimony that though she thought she had, that she in fact, had not given up on herself. I told her to declare today HER independence day, that every weed we ripped away from a beautiful blossom, was removing that which was negative, unhealthy or unworthy of her so that she may see her own beauty in every sense. Soon she was telling me of positive things, accoplishments, ways she has helped others and she even had her shoulders squared back, unlike the wilted blossom that arrived on our porch earlier. I made certain she understood that I myself could not be her source of true help, but as her friend, I would help her aquire every tool made available to her so that she grow away from this and into herself.
Her grandmother came by earlier to ensure all was on the up and up here, and I found her to be quite my kinda gall as well, and showed her what we were working on, Rob came out to say hello and we exchanged phone numbers so that she knew how to find us when her granddaughter is at our home. When we finished 2/3 of the VERY difficult, hard work, we called it a day and decided the last portion, which will be more time consuming, will be completed another day soon. She worked far longer and much harder then I originally thought, so I gave her an additional amount and said, save the rest, but use this for something nice for yourself, YOU’VE EARNED IT!!! And as she gave me a hug goodbye, I said to her, you are safe here, you do know that, right, and for a moment, her chin quivered, and she smiled and said yes, very much! I called her grandmother to let her know she was on her way home and what a great job she did and how much I enjoyed her company and help, her grandmother asked if she had confided in me, and I told her she had, at that I wish to be positive female presence for her if she would be okay with it, and her grandmother eagerly thanked me, for with all this girl had been through, on top of the typical female teenage issues in this day in age, that she worried so deeply for her. I promised the grandmother that I would continue to speak to her about being a positive, strong, empowered female and to do what I could to go with her to find a place to seek additional guidance and places of safety to speak her truths, free of judgement. I also had some ground rules of the few basic things that would not be tolerated at our home ( the usual things any adult would ask of wild spirited teenage girl ) and both she and her grandmother were aware, she was allowed a screw up, as no one is any way perfect, but that if she were to ever do or having anything illegal on her person on our property, that she could not be here, I will do much for others in need, but I can not abide by putting myself and those around me in legal or physical jeopardy.
I saw something both something very sad, and very special in her, and as we all should, I will champion her efforts to move forward with love and positivity, as she deserves every chance to be so much more then the perceived notion that she is the sum total of that which has been inflicted upon her, she is NOT a victim, she is a SURVIVOR, a beautiful young soul that deserves a chance to flourish and find all that is beautiful in both life, and, herself. No doubt her journey will be one of length and tenacity, but I feel that she is ready to navigate the waters to a place where peace can be found.
I ask any person who takes the time read my rambling version of a most worthwhile story, HER story, which, well, has just begun, to PLEASE, even to just repost the video if you do not wish to share my entire telling of her story, every time someone views and reposts this video, 2 different seeds may be planted, hopefully a change in ones perception as to being open and willing to give of ones self to those in need, AND, to help those in need, find their voice, to speak up, because any person who has been violated, every minute they remain mute, no longer need be. Please take a moment to go to the link below, it’s less then 2 minutes of your time that can perhaps make the difference of a lifetime

I viewed the film “Spotlight” last night, seldom does a film make me nibble my nails, cry, lean forward in my seat and find my hand across my chest in a gesture of empathy/disbelief, it was utterly stunning!! Aside from the fact I expect a serious slew of Oscar nominations for the film and it’s pitch perfect cast, I will say, Liev Schreibers performance, his voice, speech pattern, and even the body language, SO very Dustin Hoffman, but in no means that detracts from the film or makes his character and performance any less spectacular, his choice of character embodiment I think was beyond wise!

The subject matter stirred so much in me, I had SO much I wanted to talk to Rob about in regards to this film ( that is the fabulous thing about this gorgeous, opulent theater a mere 2 1/2 blocks from our house, we always see films of such high caliber there that we have no choice but to blather on after as they are so thought provoking ), so, we stopped at a cafe at the corner going onto our street and ordered our libations and as our large, meandering conversation unfolded, I was somewhat torn, I wanted to come home and WRITE for hours, this too happens after many of the films we see there, so inspiring and controversial or beautiful that it winds my brain up like a ballerina in a music box!!

The premise of the film is all based on a true and very disturbing story that unfolded in Boston, but, the ripple effect was actually felt world wide, as it tore open the repugnant truth of the horrors the Catholic church allowed for SO VERY LONG to go on, the repulsive world wide cover up of the sexual abuse of children that was not just known about, but there was actually a “system” created to keep the victims quiet, their families shamed into silence, occasionally paltry pays offs for their signatures to protect those that hurt these children, AND, keep the priests systematically moved from parish to parish to keep them safe so that they may continue to pray upon those who prayed to them!!!

As a child, we went to church almost every Sunday, we went to Sunday school, made our first communions and I sang in the childrens choir, and eventually, even though I was a kid, I sang in both the adult and childrens choir of a very beautiful Episcopal church located in a fairly well heeled part of town, our entire family went there, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, so, though I hated waking up early, I liked sitting up with my friends in the choir and singing loudly and giggling as we loudly unwrapped the pockets full of candy my Grandma stuffed in my pockets each week that I shared with the other kids, I liked the social hour after when everyone mingled in the basement, though, the congregants who lived in the big houses and drove the fancy cars, always were the most stingy with their “snack”, however, when it came to any of my family being in charge, there was always an abundance of homemade yummies and folks always flocked, which was funny to me, we were all Commercial Fishing Families, which meant, at times, we were as poor as can be ( though, my mother never let on to us kids, she made breakfast for supper a special occasion, WE GOT TO WEAR OUR PAJAMAS TO THE TABLE!!!!!, and lots of pasta, and of course, many meals of whatever my father caught ) but we always gave in the collection plate, back then, it was in an envelope with your name on it. I was young, but knew it was uncool for the those with money to be cheap when it was their turn for social hour ( donut holes cut in HALF!! ), and then, one day, I overheard a phone conversation, someone from the church had called our home and the call made my mother cry, and when I found out why, the first crack in my belief in the “church” came fast and furious, as at this age, I was still young and protective of my mother, not yet a spiteful teenager, and the reason for this phone call, to SHAME us, the poor family, to give MORE money in our contributions, I was OUTRAGED, and I didn’t even know that word at that age!!

On Sundays, we were preached to about goodness, kindness, doing the right thing, HELPING those in need, what a crock of shit, they didn’t help us, they knew our situation, but, they just sternly held out their hands, my first true understanding of financial greed. Another thing they preached, Love Thy Neighbor, well guess what, that they did!! I went to an evening church social, one of those potlucks or something, had some music playing, adults dancing, kids running around and playing, I always played and danced like a whirling dervish and didn’t stop till I was all sweaty and flushed, I grabbed some water and went to the side door to stand just outside long enough to cool off and get rid of the pounding headache, yet, what I saw, made my head hurt worse, I saw more then one couple embracing in the shadows, and it WASN’T with their spouses!! This made my stomach churn, I felt frightened and confused, these were who sat up at the pulpit ( is that what it’s called, I have forgotten ), facing the congregation, people who held a place within the church, and, I even knew then what adultry was, and I found my parents dancing and told them I was sick, we had to go home, and since I was warm and flushed and holding my belly, they bundled me up and took me straight home and put me to bed, with a cool wash cloth on my head, my mother lingered, like she knew I was anxious about something else, but she didn’t push me, I eventually pretended to fall asleep so she could go do the same and I didn’t sleep that night, I spent the whole time having my first crisis of faith, I was a zombie at school that Monday, so perplexed, confused, and a strange sadness began to uncoil it’s tendrils to take root in my soul.
I spent choir practice with the adults sneaking looks of suspicion and disdain because I thought they were all cheating on each other and I wanted to stop singing in both choirs, but, I toughed it out, hoping I would shake it off, bury it somewhere and lock up the yucky film it left on my skin, sadly, that second crack in my initial fault line was so far from the worst, I had NO CLUE how I sat beside true peril for so long.
I had noticed one of the girls in the childrens choir had begun to become withdrawn, missing practice or church sometimes, that over time, some others seemed uneasy, less lively, but, I just assumed since we were all heading towards becoming teenagers, we were all just suffering the usual assortment of the angst that was appropriate for that age, I for one was riddled with problems with school, friends, home, etc, so, I just assumed we were all in the same boat, but we weren’t, I was too young to realize I was watching someone drown slowly before my eyes, that sitting next to me and singing with me, were those being sexually abused by a man who held a station in the church of high regard. I had already begun to feel “uncomfortable” around not just him, but the older man who taught both the children and adult choirs during the week in the evenings,but, I had no clue.

I have NO clue as to how long this had been going on, how long it was being covered up and I do not remember how I found out, but I did, no more fault lines, full on earthquake, I may have escaped unscathed by those who had hurt those I sat beside, however, I was, and still am, a victim. I had my Faith, my sense of religion STOLEN from me, I was robbed, and it was then that I learned that I could be pushed to a point of becoming forever unforgiving, it was my first foray into that terrible pit that also cut part of my childhood short, and that, you can never regain either.
I made a deal with my mother, I would complete the farce of my confirmation, but I would no longer sing in the choir, I sat with my parents and cousins and the rest of my family in the pews, safe from the vile ones who I shot hot daggers at with my eyes. I even stopped pretending to sing the hymns, I just stood there, disgusted. After my confirmation, the only time I attended church was for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, but that even became empty in a short few years, but, I wanted to be with my family so I went, but, I spent most of my time questioning every angle of what I knew and continued to learn. I was friends with one of the girls who was abused, and, watching her change, I didn’t know how to help her, to talk to her, how to approach her without further hurting her. Only once did we even vaguely allude to it, we were walking the halls after school had let out, I was in big trouble, yet again, and I was really trying to delay going home as much as possible and she came up to me, and said “how do you think I feel” and she gave my arm a tiny, gentle squeeze, I cried the entire walk home, not because I knew I was going to be in so much trouble, but because, that was NOTHING, not even a tear in a salty sea compared to her horrors, we never spoke of it again, but I watched a once vibrant, confident girl become scooped out, mechanically moving through school days and all of her vibrance was snuffed out, I began to equate the church to the school bully, and that hurt me, because though I complained about waking up early and putting on my nice clothes sometimes, I loved the structure, the stained glass, the voices singing as the beauty of the sound wafted through the opened stained glass bible depicted windows and bounced off of the ancient, tiny cemetery that lay beside the childrens chapel ( why didn’t I think the proximity of the two wasn’t creepy back then eludes me even still ), over time, when driving past it when we were out in that area, I would look the other direction, I didn’t want to acknowledge it being there, I was so young, and back then, even if I were bold and wanted to be bold and speak out, question, pound my fists, demand more be done, it would be something that would cast a shadow upon my entire family that would not be fair to them all. But, I still wish I had been braver in some capacity, but, I had no clue how common this was, ALL of it, the 3 blows to my soul that ripped faith in the church from me at such a tender age, hell, it was, and is, a WORLD WIDE EPIDEMIC!!!!

The bravery of those in Boston who began to dig through the sludge, the tenacity each time they hit a wall the church built to keep those who were guilty safe, their tenacity, unlike any I can imagine, the horror stories they heard from the MANY victims, the gruesome, heart breaking details of the accounts, and that is only from those who came forward, those who did not slit their wrists, blow their brains out of slowly kill themselves with drugs and booze from the pain and shame, their stories remain forever untold, BUT, the safety those reporters gave to the victims, and once the story broke, so many countless who thought they were alone, could breath, and come forward and tell their stories, FINALLY, what these reporters did was not only tenacious in nature, all consuming for so long, eating them up, they gave victims a chance to break their silence, be heard, find help, try to mend as much of their wound they could, and it was a WORLD WIDE cover up, they didn’t just rip the lid off of the 70 priests in Boston, they tore the Church to shreds in a tidal wave in every continent, ASTONISHING!! I am certain despite the accolades that were heaped upon them for such unbelievable reporting and the hard truth of what they wrote, I can imagine, to this day, they are still haunted by the stories, those who cried endless angry tears as they broke their silence, the many they spoke with who were ravaged by drugs and booze to dull the pain, those images, those stories, they may fade just a titch over many years, but will ALWAYS be there.

People ask me if I am religious, I always have the same reply, I am Spiritual, and that beats the fuck out of religious any day in my book, To me being Spiritual, that is governing ones self to be a good person, to do the right thing, to be kind, loving and giving, not because some red faced, fist pounding person standing in front of me is threatening me with eternal damnation in hell for “sins”. We are human beings, imperfect and always will be, my beliefs are gleaned from Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism and a few others, each offer ideals that I personally subscribe to to make up my personal belief system. I often say to folks, crass, but true ” Don’t be a dick “, that’s the bottom line to me. Strive to improve your morals, to open your heart and keep it open even though others will harm it, to always remember there hundreds of thousands in far worse scenarios then I, and to help who I can, as much as I can ( a lot of that comes from how my Mother raised me ) but, as I navigate life, make mistakes, bad choices, do something hurtful, it is up to me, due to my personal belief system, to atone for what I can, to improve myself, to do better at being a good person, to be more loving, to be kind.

Perhaps that is why the Catholic Church, the largest land owning “Corporation” in the world, went to such great lengths to suppress the contents of the Dead Sea Scrolls, as I read ( and I know, don’t believe everything you read, trust me, I get it, BIG TIME!!!), that the original concept in religion, prayer, etc, was that Jesus did NOT want money spent on structures being built to pray in, that you can pray any where, any time, in our hearts and minds, that instead of spending money to erect gorgeous, sumptuous, elaborate cathedrals, churches, etc, that was wrong, you spend the money on feeding your family, helping the less fortunate, the infirmed, the elderly and such. What I read, and again, I am abundantly aware, it could all be malarkey, that to do otherwise was the opposite of the initial intent of the foundation of the Christian religion, so, one could imagine, if these documents were to say as much, there would actually be hell to pay!! And to think, instead of our church helping my family during our leanest of times, they just guilted their way into shoving their hands in our pockets, seems pretty ass backwards, wouldn’t you say?!?

Some of you who may have taken the time to read my Mini Novella I have just blathered on about, have known me for some time, and those folks know I don’t readily enter into conversations of such heft, I prefer to listen, silently disagree with some, be inspired to think and possible reconsider due to others, thus, some may be a trifle surprised that not only did I take the time to write it, but I put it out there for all to read or ignore, ridicule or nod in agreement, but here it is, MY truth, MY beliefs, MY reasons why.
In case I forgot to mention, you really ought to view this film “Spotlight”, if it can inspire me to write such a bold, lengthy, personal mini “essay” of sorts, who knows what you will take away from it, at the very least, a damn fine film, stellar cast and a true story told VERY well.

***One of the things I was JUST now thinking about, after writing all of that, is that I am angry at those who robbed me of my faith as a child, ALL who bastardized what can be beautiful about church and religion, and that as Christmas approaches, that I will once again think about going to Midnight Mass and trying to consider enjoying what was once such a beautiful thing for me, but I know it wouldn’t feel good ,it would make me sad, quite possibly would feel heartbreaking***


Magic Hour

People talk about the “Magic Hour”, that ethereal glow, as the sun fades but darkness has not yet set, when the world and all of it’s contents are bathed in a light to never be replicated, no matter how one may try. It’s that perfect beauty you see and feel, but, to never, ever


I remember my “Magic Hour”, a series of days and months that spun itself so lusciously and seamlessly into one year then yet another. I remember, so vividly, so vibrantly,so much so, that at times, I almost wish it all either never occurred or that I could just ever so simply, gently, blot it out all together, slowly, to mourn it and then, blink, and be whole again, instead of riddled with holes.

I was deeply steeped in reality, go about the drudgery of going to work, paying bills, people to be disappointed by, and to disappoint, disappoint myself when at times my “creativity” could at best be billed as drivel, however, that glow, the magic of that ethereal, luminous wonderment still yet clung to everything, dripping over every portion of my life , though to those who were not there, as a part of the ever moving marvelous mechanism of the constant motion, emotion, those on the outside, they only fell into one of two catagories, that of complete and utter envy, or, Oblivious Newton John.

For what happened after that fleeting, carefree beauty washed over and through me, when I was so foolish as to believe that kind of happiness was not only attainable but sustainable, when the the first tendrils of darkness slowly began to swallow the ability to breath freely, the even calmness and contentment I had grown accustom to, that I had nurtured and NEVER squandered, well, all that occurred from that point forward, robbed me, my soul, faith, and parts of my heart to never reclaim. And everything since, well, it’s just magnified pain

No man is an Island

I took flight at 3am, my hands and body shaking with fear and uncertaintey,as they had been for some time. I picked up my rucksack, feeling uncertain for it’s contents, that when I reached my secret destination, that I might not find clothes, lipstick and pajamas, that I might find all of the mementos of you that I had accidentally packed the night I ran away from home to go home and attempt to heal my broken soul, to the place, the home I once knew of a world that existed before you were a part of it, before you died and decimated my heart.
No one wanted me to make this journey, so to most, I kept it a secret, and I drove like a whirling dervish away from the excruciating pain I couldn’t compartmentalize. I set the music on shuffle, and as the hours ticked by, they only further solidified that I was on the correct journey. As I beared witness to the first lightning storm that held no thunder, during drenching downpours, I shook with fear, my hands trembling upon the steering wheel, yet in this time, I felt strength gathering. I knew I was on the correct path, to go to where you had not yet been a part of my life, as frightening trucks sprayed rain upon me and my tires shook harder than my hands, I knew this to be true.
Cosmic and appropriate tunes were my guide north, and they served me well. As day break came upon me, I found familiar ground, I knew this path, a strange comfort after all of these dusty years. I found my way to the waters edge, as we always had before, and I found the strength to throw my pack over my shoulder, book passage to what was once my home, before I had known your glorious love, and sit tight, despite my weary jitters, and finally give in.
So few knew where, or why, I wasn’t back home, and the few who did, I prayed deeply that they understood, that they could not mend this wound, and perhaps, I might never myself, but I had to attempt. You gave me so much, how could I not do so in your honor?
I rode the ferry, cloaked in songs of strength and hope, I hadn’t the slightest clue what could possibly await me. All I hoped for was the tiniest mend of the enormous hole your death left. To perhaps find the wonderment and hope this home once held. And as so may of your soul shaking gifts had presented the 17 years you gave to me, with love, you showed me something far more reaching, a healing I had never dared to hope or speak.
Thank you Ian Long, our dear love brought a multitude of love, closure, and hope in your passing, and you procured the greatest lesson, that in fact, you can go home again.

I stepped on one of my cat, Goos, tail, quite by accident, and then, despite my most sincere apologies, he hid from me for a few moments, not allowing me to to pet or hold him, as my voice, soft with sincerity and apologies, had attempted to coax him towards me, he looked at me as if to say, why did you do that?!? I didn’t like that!
And I thought dearly of our family Doctor, Dr. James Parker Jr., a very fine and tall man with rather large hands and a deep booming voice. He was so often our families salvation, forgetting to ask for office visit fees and handing out samples of medications so dearly needed from the pharmaceuitical reps, we paid him mostly in the fish and lobster our fishermans family currency allowed and then some, and a good deal of my mothers scrumptious jams and jellies as well!
One day, when I was about 6 or 7 years of age and not feeling well, as we were leaving, he very accidentally shut one of my pony tails in the office door, unleashing a torrent of tears, and much like Goo, I howled and sobbed and wrapped myself in my dearest cloak, my mother. He not only followed us to the door in a state of misery, butt all the way to our car, apologizing, completely heart broken for my wounded feelings. He felt so truly awful that for the only time, I was afraid of him, and would not look at him, despite his sincere pleas, and offers for ice cream floats at the soda fountain across the street from his office.
On our way home, my mother patiently continues to explain it was an accident, that Dr. Parker would simply never hurt anyone on purpose, and by the time we got home, I knew she was correct. Though I was mearly a child, I felt horribly guilty for having made him leave his office and his waiting patients in order to follow me outside to be certain that I was in fact okay. Even at such a tender age, I felt childish and so very foolish for having behaved so.
I am not certain that I ever actually apologized to him, and I truly wish I had., as he was a trusted and honored member of the community, and a dear friend to our entire family.He was a friend in such a magnificant way, his father even treated my grandparents, we were bonded in a very unique sense! We were one of the few white families he saw and treated, and yet, we never felt the slightest bit awkward. I hadn’t realized until much later in life that some found that odd, as we certainly hadn’t! Every time I hear Count basie, I think of this marvelous, colorful calendar he had in his office and the tales he told of this music, of how his office had this very specific and comforting medicinal smell that only his had.
Dr. James Parker Jr. passed away in my early 30’s, and as a community, we were all so very sad, it was the end of an era, the first time I had experianced this opulant, glorious, and tragic moment, it stays with me still, how so many were brought to broken tears over the passing of something that shall never be again. This was a Doctor who opened his doors at 6am, no sign in, it was always based on the honor system, and that was always honored, trusted. He had no nurse, he answered his own phone, and never made specific follow ups, he just said, let’s see how you feel next week. He was a true anomaly, he wasn’t there for riches, but for the goodness.
The town of Red Bank honored both him and his father in several ways, not only did they name a street after the both of them, but there is now also a clinic named in their honor, to attempt to replicate the goodness and kindness they gave to all who came to them, regardless of color or beliefs. Perhaps that was my first inspiration, to give and do, despite various differences, and that not only stuck with me, but blossemed, I am eternally in debt for such a thing. Words, and monetary value shall never truly encompass the impact on my soul. But perhaps, in saving a gaggle of feral kittens, earning their trust, and always showing patience and love when they fear I may have wronged them, perhaps in moments such s this, I may honor the memory of the man who first showed me at such a tender age what kindness, compassion, and love can do to repair the temporary tear of trust. Given time and effort, it can be rebuilt, of this, I am certain.


And when one finds that darkness ignites the sky, only then to say we hang a fang on all that tethers us to this mortal coil. We, the politely unhinged,asses the solitary moments to be far more present than others. For time alone is a treasure, I drive far from the demons, other angels be my co pilot, for I am one of the marked put upon this earth to give others cause to pause, think, ponder, to upset and offend the treasured balance. I assure you, those entirely afraid require it the most!

To be amongst those with dark friends in strange places who owe one interesting favors, I can assure you, double dipping in the pool of cool does no one any severe favors. I am your spectral host, to bring you from the here to the near, as someone always has the sweet smell of regret. By having solitary moments one may then be present to others.

I drive far away from these demons, our angels my co pilots, zig zagging through the under belly of the city to appease the need. The universe requests, I, answer. Answers enough to fill every void.

Time alone is a treasure. I drive towards vast emptiness, fulfill this dark sinew, to make me whole again.

My Dream: 1/27/14 5:48 am

 Sullen lips and incandescent, she wore her unkept hair piled and pinned like a casual crown, and her heart, that, was worn as a sleeve adornment. 

 As precisely as she planned, she forever ended up carrying more than her slight and slightly awkward ballet dancers frame would allow for, her lovely arms always spilling forth what the dazzling, glittering antique clutch she had inherited could not possibly swallow, and her heart was much the same. It quietly spewed the jumble of wonderful it contained, and in this particular heart, with it’s endless hodge podge of all things gracious and wistful, a seed had begun to grow there. This was a wild rooted thing, called love, a quiet and observant love, for as daper and refined in appearance and intellect as Harold was, it appeared that even with his glasses to aid his site in his mid life years, he could not see what was so clearly beneath his nose! 

Another Peter Pan

 Just another Peter Pan, all this wasted sunlight, I would sooner break my own heart than allow it to be squandered.

 The thin veil attempting to disguise sinister eyes, cold like murder, shame on me for the blinders provided by having an open heart.

 I sing a brighter song, one never to be heard of the clanking of over blown egos.

 Must I continue to remind, my heart lacks the mechanism for backwards travel, to not pay heed is to pay a price far dearer than you dare to care.

 I shall forgive much, but never to tolerate indifference,your arrogance will always leave you lonely