Mona Mehas

Can it Be Too Much?

 

I'm in several writing groups as well as poetry study groups. I lead a couple of them. In these groups people talk about their other groups or classes. Are we 'grouping' too much and writing too little?

 

Online or in person, it is a great learning tool to be with others who share the same interests. But I wonder if I'm getting too wrapped up with those type things when I should be writing.

I rarely pay for classes or workshops but there is a plethora of free activities online. I participate in so many of them –

 

silent writing time

reading and studying poetry

critique of poetry

free workshops on writing or editing

listening to poets read or talk

 

Those are a few I can think of. I have learned so much from my various groups and people I've met through them I wouldn't give it up. Some people, I've noticed, fall back on the classes, workshops, etc. when they don't know what the next step is for their writing.

I understand that – I've done it. But should I?

 

I think it's a good idea to seriously look at all my commitments with groups. Do they give me as much as I give them? If not, perhaps I should curtail at least a couple of my activities.

That might open a few hours more for writing.

Or sleeping. I need that too.

Open reading v. Critique

I attend both poetry readings and poetry critique, online and in-person. Unfortunately, some people don't understand the difference. I admit it took me a while.

In an open reading, we simply read our work. That's it. No critique. The listeners may comment by saying "beautiful" or typing such things in the chat or repeating a line in the chat. No more than that is allowed in a poetry reading and some don't even allow that much commentary.

In a critique group we go with the expectation of receiving critique on our work. In return, we give critique on the work of others. Sometimes we may specify we want gentle critique or brutally honest critique. Regardless, we still use our best judgement.

I have a confession here too. I have at times been too brutally honest when I think I'm trying to be more gentle. I've learned that I really have to check myself.

The flip side of the coin regarding critique is having a thick skin. If we go into it expecting critique we must try not to be devastated when critiqued.

When we critique someone's work, we should

ask questions if we don't understand something

find something in the poem or story we can complement, no  matter how small

offer the critique the writer wants – gentle, medium, brutally honest.

When being critiqued we should

answer questions when asked

listen to the comments

take notes to try some of the changes later

What not to do

argue with the critiquer or writer

get defensive over our work or comments

take it personally

I hope this little aside helps clarify the difference between being in a poetry reading group and a poetry critique group. I've learned these things by participating in both and making mistakes.

The call was for an excerpt from a first book so I sent a handful of poems and they accepted this one, 'The Queen of Tea.' They didn't tell me it was accepted until I got the proof in my email and the poem was laid out wrong. At least I had a chance to correct it. I didn't know when it would be published so I looked online the other day and there it was. Except it's an online journal you must purchase to read. I emailed and said I was disappointed. Two days later she replied with reasons they don't make print issues, and why they can't let people have free e-issues. She said I should have received a photo of my page as it appears in the journal but she included it in case I'd missed it. This is the photo, which is very nice I must say. I replied, no, I never got this until just now. I have a feeling I never would have gotten it had I not been persistent. If you wish to purchase the journal, the information is at the top of the picture. I'm glad I at least have this photo and, of course, it's in my book, Questions I Didn't Know I'd Asked. 

We are looking for poems about artists, musicians and actors who died at age 27 for our collection by 8/15. There is a 27-club Wikipedia page you can use as a guide. Please use 12-point Serif font in .docx, .doc or .rtf format. No PDF's or Pages. We accept simultaneous submissions and un-curated work, meaning the poems haven't appeared in any book, magazine, or similar collection in print or online, including self-published books. Email as an attachment to mona@cicadasongpress.com.

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

 

Here is a list of people we don't have poems for yet.

Louis Chauvin

Rupert Brooke

Nat Jaffe

Rudy Lewis

Joe Henderson

Dickie Pride

Arlester "Dyke" Christian

Roger Lee Durham

Wallace "Wally" Yohn

Dave Alexander

Pete Ham

Cecilia

Helmut Köllen

André Paiement

Barry Brown

Zenon De Fleur

D. Boon

Alexander Bashlachev

Amar Singh Chamkila

Pete de Freitas

Finbarr Donnelly

Chris Austin

Dimitar Voev

Richey Edwards

Stretch

Ken Steadman

Fat Pat

Freaky Tah

Kami

Sean Patrick McCabe

Rodrigo Bueno

María Serrano

Thuy Trang

Rico Yan

Jeremy Ward

Andrea Absolonová

Bryan Ottoson

Valentín Elizalde

Damien "Damo" Morris

Orish Grinstead

Dash Snow

Richard Turner

Nicole Bogner

Sahara Davenport

Tomas Lowe

Thomas Fekete

Shot

Kim Jong-hyun

Fredo Santana

Murda Killa [ru]

Yoo Ju-eun [ko]

Walkie

Yung Trappa [ru]

Julián Figueroa 

Justin Mentell 1982-2010 Actor

Robin Roberts died 1967 Singer

Alexandra (German singer) died 1969

Linda Jones died 1972 Soul singer

Slada Guduras (Bosnian singer) died 2014

Harry Hains, actor, died 2024

 

 

 

 

 

 

Excuses people use for not submitting:

 

1.     I don't know where to submit.

2.     I'm not good enough.

3.     I don't have the money.

4.     I don't have anything.

5.     I don't want to be rejected.

 

Let's knock those excuses out, one by one.

 

The first one is where to submit.

 

www.chillsubs.com is a great website to search for places to submit. You can set up a free account, search for journals, narrow your search to free, pays, poetry, etc.

Always go to the journal's website to make sure the information is up to date.

 

www.authorspublish.com is a free service that emails places to submit. Sometimes they fit what I write, sometimes they don't but it's convenient to have these in my inbox at least monthly.

 

Any search engine. Just use terms such as poetry journals 2024 or a question such as what magazines are accepting ghost stories 2024?

 

The next one is I'm not good enough.

 

OK, I'm not a psychologist. I'm not a therapist. I can give you the benefit of my experience. The comparison game is a killer. What you are saying is

"I'm not as good as _____________."

I'm different from every other writer I have ever met. My poems are different. My favorite writers are not your favorite writers. Someone will look at your story or poem and say "I'm not as good as (your name here.)" That is the nature of the beast.

In journals the submission page often says, "read what we've published to get an idea of what we like." Right after that they say, "surprise us." That means to send them something different. The first statement is a sales ploy to get you to read or buy the journal. The second statement is what they want to read.

I've gotten around all that simply by avoiding the first and jumping to the second. I rarely read what they've already published unless it's something I'm truly interested in. The comparison game is a killer.

 

The next excuse is about money.

 

Search for journals that don't charge a fee to submit. Simple as that.

 

The fourth excuse – I don't have anything.

 

My best advice here is to write something, anything. Listen to writers read, find a journal with a theme you like, write to a prompt, write about your cat, anything. I use tarot and oracle cards to inspire poetry. But start writing more so you will have more work to send.

 

The last excuse is common. No one likes rejection.

 

If a writer said they loved it every time they got a rejection, I'd write about the writer who lied. There's a prompt!

If you are in this to write and get anything published, you will experience rejection. I developed a tough skin by physically using my hand to brush my shoulder. As if I were brushing off whoever rejected my work. NOT ME. My work. That's important to remember. I brushed my left shoulder with my right hand. That editor was gone. After doing this a few times, I could do it in my head.

Now it's automatic. Rejections OF MY WORK roll off my shoulder.

 

I hope this little mini rant helped someone. Now go forth and write and submit.

 

 

In the Creative Academy for Writers, an online group of which I'm a member, there are groups for different genres in fiction, memoir, even short stories. But not poetry. I am trying to get together the poets of the Creative Academy. I've put up 2 poles to vote for dates and times to meet. Unfortunately, Friday is the best day for me and not for a couple of others. Hopefully this will get off the ground. Maybe I can play it by ear and meet another day of the week every other month. 

This group will add to all the other stuff I'm involved in. 

 

There's the Poetry Society of Indiana fall contest

poetry readings both online and in person

the book for the senior place I go to

the poetry critique group that meets once a month online

another poetry critique group that meets monthly in person

I've recently joined a group with the Tanka Association to write better tanka

The Cicada Song Press editing for the 27 Club book and more

Add to all this my personal writing and submitting, both poetry and fiction.

 

I never realized how much it was until I made this list.

No wonder I'm tired!

I don't really think I'm too busy but I should think twice before taking on anything else.

If any of the above sounds good to you, contact me! 

Because I'd published a poem on their site, I was invited to read from my book, "Questions I Didn't Know I'd Asked." It was fun with several other writers in attendance. I invited a bunch of people to listen in and three showed up so that's not bad. You can click on the picture and go to the video. 

A friend started a publishing company and I'm Editor in Chief. Cicada Song Press will publish the smaller writing up to novellas. Our first book is slated to be a collection of poetry about artist members of the 27 Club. The other project I was involved with that was about them fell through so I reached out to the handful of poets I'd invited to participate and a couple of others. I had 6 poems ready and like me, they were disappointed in the failure of the other project. We are looking forward to a fall publication. Our next collection will probably be short stories. 

It's been fun to get in on the ground floor for this publishing company. We have Johanna, the owner and originator, Jenni, the marketing director, and myself. I'm Editor in Chief and Secretary. Other than that we have a stable of volunteers who may be involved for the short or long term. Our website is still under construction so don't bother looking for it. When it's finished Jenni will be opening a Facebook page and we'll be posting there. I'll post on Twitter about our press. Johanna is active on Instagram and a couple of other socials. Currently I'm looking into other places to get the word out. 

Keep an eye out for submission calls from Cicada Song Press in the not-so-distant future. 

As of a few days ago I am now a querying author! My book, UNDER THE BUBBLE is finished and rewritten and edited and beta read and edited and read again and last touches added. I've sent 5 queries so far.

Querying takes time and effort. It's not like I can send a letter to a dozen agents and bcc the email. It's not one shot for all. If you are doing it that way, you might be in trouble. I'm looking at their website, books, all sorts of things. The least amount of pages I've sent is 5. The most (so far) is 25. Some agents ask for pages, others want chapters. 

I won't post names of agents here but I'll try to keep you updated on my journey.

One agency is known for reading their queries ASAP and responding to the author in a timely manner. That rejection has already come in. 

I have a query spreadsheet so I won't make mistakes (hopefully.) Heaven forbid I query the same agent twice.

Kristina Kelly invited me to write about poetry on her blog. I love different poetry forms so in this post I wrote about 3 different forms and gave an example of poems I'd published. They are Viator, Villanelle, and Acrostic. Instead of copying the post, I'm including the link for your reading pleasure. 

http://kristinaseyes.com/exploring-poetry-poetic-forms/

 

You can also click on the picture above as it will take you to the blog post.

Have you ever shopped in a Madewell clothing store? 

I read this online a few years ago and again today. I decided I needed to contact the author, Dan Nosowitz. Here is a link to his essay. https://www.buzzfeed.com/dannosowitz/how-madewell-bought-and-sold-my-familys-history

Hello Dan

I reached out to you on Twitter but then saw your email listed. I'm still active on Twitter. @Patienc77732097. 

I read your article a few years ago when I first started researching my family tree because the first time I saw a Madewell store I had the same reaction as you - family birthright - why did I not know about this? 

My niece later sent me a photo of her shopping bag and asked the same thing. I read the essay again today and had to reach out.

You see Dan, I AM A MADEWELL. 

My maternal grandmother's maiden name was Madewell. She was born in Fentress County TN in 1896.

So who is this Russian Jewish Madewell that your great grandfather found a headstone for? You said in your article that because of language difficulties, Julius might have spelled the name wrong. I also know that when people entered this country through Ellis Island their names were butchered and shortened. My late husband's name is a case in point. "Mehas" was shortened from the Greek "Mehalos." (Spelling is probably wrong) when his grandfather immigrated. Another friend's grandfather came through the same way and his name was changed from "Nepasilik" to "Silk." 

When they arrived here from their homeland, they said their name, someone wrote it down, and that became their new name.

I wonder if that is what happened with your Julius Madewell. I wonder whose name was on that stone.

I will stop rambling now. But every time I see a Madewell store, I think I should be getting dividends.

Please get back with me, especially if you have any answers.

Mona Mehas 

For the first time, I'm typing directly into this body instead of making a document first. It's 4:19 am on Thursday morning, officially Leap Day. I can't seem to regulate my sleep anymore. If I went to bed when I started to get sleepy I'd be up about this time of day or earlier. Knowing that, I push myself to stay awake and this happens. Now my body is fighting because I am sleepy but it's morning. I don't know if I want to go to bed or not. I have clean laundry on my bed that I'd have to put away first. That would add another half hour. 

 

Meanwhile, my publisher emailed me and my first chapbook will officially be out in the world tomorrow, March 1, 2024. 'Questions I Didn't Know I'd Asked' is poetry inspired by tarot and oracle. My small independent publisher in Australia is sending me 3 free copies. I'm getting 10 more at deep discount. I hope to sell a few.

 

They are $12 to purchase. Make sure you buy at least one!

 

February has gone gone fast but it contained some sadness. My cat, Thunder, crossed over on Valentine'd Day. He would have been 18 years old May 1. He'd had a heart murmer for years and the vet said he developed heart failure. One shot was all it took and he crossed in my arms. I was grateful the event went much smoother than Esse's crossing last April but Thunder won't rest with my other pets in a pet cemetery. My new vet sends the animal's ashes a to place they own and spreads them over a field. There's nothing to go visit.

 

Though I'm glad to be rid of the litter box, I miss Thunder.

 

My dog, Jose, is getting much cuddlier. He's not making any progress on the car phobia. It hasn't been warm enough to spend time at or in my car trying to bribe him to get inside. I hope he gets over this fear soon.

It's going on 5 am and I'm starting to doze off. I think I'll post this and go to bed.

I got a dog on December 29. I've been wanting one, searching the Facebook rescue groups, Humane Society, Petfinder. I filled out applications, even brought a dog, Oscar, home for about a day. My cat, Thunder, attacked Oscar in his face with no provocation from the dog. Thunder is 17 ½ and deaf. When I walked Oscar, he was quite aggressive when he saw another dog across the street, lunging and barking, so it worked out for the best.

Jose' is between 3-4 years old, younger than I'd planned. I'd gone to the Humane Society with a list of 4 dogs to see. None of those were friendly with cats. The girl behind the counter recommended 'Bandito.' Due to overcrowding, Bandito was living in an office with a cat. Of course, I wanted to meet him.

Just look at his face. That is his scared face because he is terrified of Thunder. My cat has not attacked Jose'. He has hissed at him and picked at his food, but Jose' is afraid.

My dog, Barkley, died in 2020 so it's been over 3 years since Thunder has been around a dog. In April 2023, my cat Esse died at age 17 1/2.  Shortly after that, Thunder lost his hearing, probably from old age.

Why the name change? Why Jose'? I didn't like 'Bandito.' I'd decided that if I got a female dog her name would be Boots because, 'these Boots are made for walkin.' If I got a male, I'd call him Jose'. On walks I can say, 'No way, Jose',' and 'This way, Jose'.' He's so smart, he understands and is already learning his name.

Jose' was a stray and lived in the office with a cat at the Humane Society for a month. He's not officially mine yet. He's a foster-to-adopt until they get him neutered. While he's 'not my dog,' I can't let him around other dogs or take him to the vet, but I can get him a bath. That's coming up soon; he needs it. I can't bathe him myself because of my back.

You can probably tell from the photo that Jose' is a pit bull mix. I love all dogs and don't believe in breed discrimination. My apartment complex doesn't have breed or size restrictions, but their rules are very strict.

Thunder knew something about the first dog, Oscar, that I found out when I walked him. He had the potential for aggression. That must have been why Thunder attacked him. If I'd kept Oscar and he'd attacked another dog, I would have been given the ultimatum: move or find another home for the dog.

I don't believe Jose' has an aggressive bone in his body. I'll be patient and wait it out. In time, Thunder will get used to him being here and stop hissing at him. They might eventually become friends. Or not. But at least things will settle down and Jose' can relax and not be afraid.

If you are looking for a pet, please don't go to a breeder. The shelters and rescues are bursting at the seams. For every one animal adopted they take in three. I look at the shelters and rescues as one big pool. It didn't matter where I found a dog because if I took one, it would open a half-space for another one. The high-kill shelters are even more overcrowded with wonderful cats and dogs. Most are required by law to put the animals down after a certain time. Don't judge the employees. It's the system.

For now, I'll continue working with Jose' and hope this period of Thunder's anger passes quickly.

 

 

 

Do you name your vehicles? I've been naming mine since I bought a 1986 Chevy Suburban in 1989. My then-husband and I named the big two-tone brown guy Glen, after Glen Campbell.

Glen had a hit song in 1981 called "I Love My Truck." As one would suspect from the title, the song is all about his truck. No matter what happened to him he could always count on his truck.

The '86 Suburban was the first vehicle to be named for Campbell. I'm writing this at least partly, so I don't forget their names. I don't remember the years of the cars, but I remember the models.

1986 Suburban – Glen

1999 Tahoe – Glen Too

Toyota Rav 4 – Glen Jr.

Toyota Camry – Glenda

Toyota Corola – Glenna

2021 Toyota Rav 4 – Glenard

2022 Toyota Highlander – Campbell

2019 Ford Edge – Gladys

Okay, so I ran out of 'Glen' names. 'Campbell' was fitting for the Highlander because it sounded Scottish. I needed to expand so I decided to branch out and include other names that started with 'GL.' Hence, 'Gladys.'

You can see from the list, I prefer Toyotas. Gladys just got a new transmission so she might have a longer life. After this, however, I hope to return to Rav 4!

Wonder what I'll name it?

 

 

I am not shy about telling people where I stand when it comes to religion. When I told a friend I wasn't Christian she said it was her "duty" to convert me. (She was only halfway joking but hasn't tried.)

A couple of assumptions follow my statement of "I'm not Christian." I am usually asked these questions, or someone makes certain statements.

1.     "So, you don't believe in God?"

2.     "Since you don't celebrate Christmas…"

I'd like to address these issues here.

1.     "So, you don't believe in God?"

Just because I profess that I'm not of the same faith as you, doesn't mean I don't believe in God.

2.     "Since you don't celebrate Christmas…"

The guy who said this evidently didn't see the gift bags I have here for my family.

Here's what I believe.

Jesus was a person who lived long ago and was a leader among his people. He was a religious zealot who went against the government of the day and was killed for his actions. His followers continued his stories.

Son of God? Yes, in the same way that you and I are. But Jesus was not the only charismatic leader. Islam and Judaism call Jerusalem the birthplace of their religions, too.

Did he rise from the dead? That depends on what you mean. After my mother died, she came to me in spirit a few times. I heard and saw her.

I am. You are. The trees, oceans, my cat, rocks. Everywhere and everything is God.

If all humans believed Life was precious there would be no war.

The assumptions about me will continue, I'm sure. I think the next time that guy who thinks I don't celebrate Christmas comes to borrow something, I'll have a surprise for him. On my Pinterest page, I have a collection of my favorite Christmas song performed by various artists. The song is "Carol of the Bells." I'll have it up and playing.

Yes, it's a beautiful, Christian song.

 

 

 

My car has been in the shop since the Monday before Thanksgiving. When I finally get her back, she should be like new, and the repairs will be free to me. Mostly.

 

Gladys (that's my car's name) almost died in the parking lot of the Marriott East hotel the Sunday before Thanksgiving when I attended the volunteer meeting for Starbase Indy. I barely made it home that day. She shimmied and shook all the way with two of her lights on and blinking. The next day, I used my Zurich roadside assistance and had it towed to a shop about twenty minutes away. Tuesday the shop owner called me. The transmission was shot, and they don't work on transmissions.

 

I'd suspected something was wrong because Gladys had been shaking for a while, but I'd only had the car for two months! Did I get a used lemon? I'd traded my 2023 Toyota Highlander because I couldn't afford the payments and got the 2019 Ford Edge in September.

 

Keeping my anger in check, (yes, I can do that) I spoke to the service manager at the Toyota place. He said that Zurich covered more than just road service. It would also pay for a transmission if I took it to their Ford service garage.

 

Hallelujah! Zurich sent a truck to the first garage and towed it to the Ford garage, but it was an hour away, so I had to pay part of the cost of that tow, a drop in the bucket compared to the cost of a transmission. That was Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

 

Zurich paid for me to have a rental car for ten days, believing my car would be repaired by then. I'd already paid for a rental car myself, hoping they would reimburse me, and they did. I returned the car on December 6 and got a ride to the Ford garage to pick up my car because it was supposedly ready. I got ten minutes away and Gladys died at a 4-way stop.

 

This time the Ford place is paying for me rental car. They are reimbursing me for the wrecker. They sent a driver to take me home. I spoke to them yesterday and was told I'm getting a new transmission, paid for by Zurich. Gladys should be ready by Tuesday, December 12.

 

I paid my neighbor to take me to get my car the first time, I'll have to do that again. If I truly have a new transmission, that should be like having a new car.

 

We shall see.

 

 

 

This is a depressing post about my nephew who died, so that's my warning.

My nephew passed away on October 10, 2023. He was 57 years old. In all truthfulness, he did it to himself, though it took a year.

My sister and brother-in-law died in 2019, leaving Kenny alone after losing his brother in 2005. (There are two half-brothers living in other states.) He wasn't mentally prepared to take care of himself. People took advantage of him. When my other sister and niece moved to North Carolina later that year, he went with them, but Kenny never got over the loss of his parents. When Covid hit, and he lost his part-time job, he sunk deeper into depression. Kenny stopped helping around the house. He stopped making his car payments, so it got repossessed. He spent most of his money on lottery tickets and stayed in his room. He also stopped seeing his psychiatrist and taking his bipolar meds.

In October 2022, Kenny tripped over clothes on the floor of his room and broke his femur. My sister and niece heard him yell from the pain, and my niece dashed in. The paramedics carried him out on a stretcher. Kenny was a big man, around 300 pounds. The surgeon repaired his leg in the hospital, but he faced physical therapy to walk again. Thus began the year of decline.

Kenny never walked again. He was transferred to a nursing home for physical therapy. Whenever the therapists or nurses tried to help him, he said it hurt and refused to cooperate. Weeks went by, then months. When family visited, Kenny said he would start therapy the next day, but he didn't. He complained about the food and refused to eat what the nursing home served. If he could get cookies, chips, or soda, that's what he had. Eventually, most food made him throw up.

Kenny lost about 100 pounds over the year. He never walked to the bathroom, always content to wear diapers. He went through phones like candy. He lost his glasses and dentures, or maybe he threw them away.

Repeatedly, Kenny told us he wanted to be with his mom, dad, and brother. We knew he was getting his wish.

The trips to the hospital became more frequent. When someone spends their life in bed or a chair, never moving, never exercising, and not eating, things quit working properly. That is what happened to Kenny. He was moved to a different nursing home, a better one, according to my sister, but he wasn't there long. The next hospital stay was the last one.

When one of Kenny's lungs collapsed, and the other one was too full of phlegm to breathe, he got scared. He allowed the doctors to insert a breathing tube. They said he also gave them permission for a feeding tube. I don't know; I wasn't there, and Kenny had been against the feeding tube before then. Later that night, after a procedure to insert a PICC line, he took a turn for the worse.

One of my nieces was with Kenny when he passed and had his other brothers on the phone. I'm glad he wasn't alone.

Some in my family choose not to believe that Kenny wanted this. They base their argument on his decisions when he couldn't breathe. I don't see it this way. Kenny stated his desire many times. His method was unconventional; maybe it was the only way he knew, but he accomplished his goal.

I am settling in nicely to my new place. I am trying to keep it neat and clean, but it's not in my nature to clean all the time, plus it hurts my back to do much cleaning. I usually do a little at a time. I have more tile here and less carpet. That means more sweeping and mopping, especially around the litter box. Thunder still hasn't learned to clean up after himself! I have a different car now, too. A Ford instead of a Toyota, but I got it at the Toyota place. Trying to cut my expenses. I thought I'd see more of my neighbor, a single woman with a garden out back, but she keeps to herself most of the time, and honestly, so do I. I love my new view out my patio. I don't have to sit out there to enjoy it. As long as my door is open, I feel like I'm outside. I have huge coleus in pots and windchimes hung with patio lights and a hummingbird feeder. The place feels bigger than it really is, though the cabinets are a bit smaller. I'm happy here and glad I made the move.

The Move

I moved from a 2-bedroom apartment to a 1-bedroom in the same complex. It's only about a block or so away. That was Friday. My mail was supposed to be transferred that day; however, on Friday and Saturday, I got mail at my old address.

Friday evening and Saturday were spent messing around with trying to set up the internet and starting to unpack. Sunday, I got a little more done, but it showed me how much more there is to do.

Monday:

I'm partially unpacked and thoroughly exhausted. The first day, I went to bed at 8 pm, which is totally unheard of for me. I'm trying to get more done every day, but my body is slowing down, and I can do nothing about it. And this heat is so oppressive! When I go out to the dumpster or even my car, it feels like a million degrees out there!

The internet is working, but it took them two tries to get it hooked up correctly. Initially, I agreed to pay for a tech to come out on Friday, but when it died and a second tech had to return on Saturday - well, now I want that refunded. Waiting for a call-back from them, and now to the boxes…

Saturday:

It's been eight days since my move. My body is exhausted. Most boxes are unpacked, but I can't find certain things, and frankly, I'm too tired to care. I'll find them eventually.

Still missing:

Some of my windchimes

The lights I bought for my patio

Hummingbird feeder

My make-up

The $100 fee for internet. (They won't refund it)

I wrote a poem today. That's the first thing I've written in over two weeks, maybe 3.

I'm still not getting mail here except for things I ordered with this address.

I've listed five folding card tables for sale on NextDoor, but no bites yet.

I could ramble on about my move all day, but that's just a way to put off the inevitable, so back to work!

The Indiana Poetry Society had an opportunity to wrote for a few pieces of art in Kokomo Indiana. My piece stirred me immediately to write this prose poem. 

 

Grandmother's Arms

 

They put my grandmother in a bottle because her hugs were too fierce. Her hugs sometimes spanned days and nights. I'd try to escape her grasp to catch the bus for school, but she held me closer, not wanting to let go. When she fell asleep, her grip loosened. Any child in her arms slithered away, but when her arms were empty, she jerked awake crying. Her cries were so loud she woke the neighbors for miles around. The town folk voted against Grandmother's hugs and sentenced her to the bottle. The constable escorted her there himself, barely escaping a hug when he squeezed her in through the long, slender neck. Though it was decorative and well-furnished, she was lonely. She wailed all hours, calling children to her bottle. I led the way to the constable's office. We'd come up with a plan. If Grandmother were allowed to visit with us, she wouldn't cry and disturb the community. We promised not to break her out. The constable had one condition. That is how my grandmother lost her loving arms. She closed her eyes and allowed the town doctor to remove them, the arms that had held me not so long before. With her arms gone, the loose sleeves wrapped around her chest, her hair grew extensions. Grandmother slipped through the bottle's neck, and I leaned against her, the straw-like hair brushing my shoulders, lulling me to sleep.

 

Mona Mehas (image copied with permission of the artist)

On display August 2023 at Kokomo Artworks, Kokomo Indiana with art by Lisa Freeland (Royal Emerald of the Royal Bitches) Bottle Art. LmFreeland Creations. www.mybaublesjar.com