I’m still here. It’s been quiet here but I’m —STILL.

I’m still singing along to the radio

I’m still lying awake and staring at the ceiling

I’m still asking why

Unfortunately, I became a sad statistic last Friday, April 2nd. I found myself at a Covid-19 testing site. It wasn’t that long ago that I would drive by such a site, and see the cars lined up and wonder just how sick were those people to wait in line for an awful test? Now I was one of those people and I knew just how sick I was to get in my car and drive there.

Do you dab life away? What do I mean by this? Well, I’m currently taking an online watercolor class. This is a new medium for me. I’ve painted in oils and mostly acrylics. Watercolor is a different animal altogether. I find myself dabbing away what I’ve put on the paper. In fear. Fear of what? Paint blobs.

Pride is one of the 7 deadly sins. Ironically, it’s an important part of the parent/child relationship. Have you ever heard your mom or dad tell someone how proud they are of you? Have they ever told you directly how proud they are of your accomplishments or just YOU in general?

Gosh, where has November gone? Even though I’ve been operating on low-key status, the month still has flown by. While I should be editing my latest manuscript, I’ve been creating instead. Also, guiltily, I’ve been watching Netflix, HBO and FX and a little Colbert and Myers on the side.

So, not the most productive time in my life but also giving myself a break as I wrote about last week in Thinking About…Things.

Still here. It’s been quiet here at the blog. Even on my social channels I haven’t been interacting much. I certainly haven’t been creating brilliant thoughts or beautiful pictures I want to share with the world…which leaves me feeling a bit disconnected. But I could say I’m feeling more connected with myself. That’s not a bad thing.

God Stole Pink From the Sky Today

When I heard the news
You’re gone forever,
Sister, I stared into space
Shocked and in pain.
 
“God stole pink from the sky today,”
Is all I could think to say.
Your favorite lipstick color
Imprinted on my brain.
 
You used to say “Get on your broom
And fly over to see me.”
We’d laugh at our absurdity.
 
It’s true I looked to you
For comfort of your familiar face.
Maybe we didn’t always agree
But we turned to each other in times of misery.
 
Maternal losses only sisters comprehend.
The gravity of life, the frustration of not being heard
Again and again.
 
Your laugh always preceded you
Announcing your arrival in any place.
“Deb’s here,” we’d say—“the party can begin.”
 
Know that you are impossible to forget
The twinkle of laughter, the cry of your tears.
We went through this life together
Like a spiral still connected
In those empty spaces
Turned into years.

 God stole pink from the sky today
But soon I will see you in each and every sunset.
Raspberry-red wine, cloudy and glowing
Mirrors your memory
Forever in mine.
-LT-

My deep condolences go out from my heart, to my two nephews and one niece, in addition to three grand-nieces and one grand-nephew.

The pandemic caused me to do some things I wouldn’t normally do…and whether it was out of necessity or desire is still unclear. For example;

I write this in memory of my father and don’t worry, I’ve tagged it in humor. It’s my recollection of one of the last times I saw him before his unexpected death. Anyone who has a perfectionist for a father will get a chuckle out of this anecdote…

Recently, as I waited at a red light I looked at all the license plates on the cars surrounding me. Not necessarily to see if they were from somewhere far away but to inspect the screws securing the plates. Strange, I know.

I blame my late father. I can still see him on that sunny July afternoon: bent down lower than a man his age should be. The object of his inspection? The oversized screws holding my license plate. Much to his consternation not only were these screws obviously too big for the job, but they were unsightly. This is just the thing that could keep my father awake at night.

July and I have a complicated relationship. I’m not sure when that happened exactly. I almost want to say that my adult self is paying penance for carefree Julys of my childhood. But that wouldn’t be accurate either. Not entirely.