Moonrose Meanderings by Elizabeth Munroz

Thursday

Voice Spectacular!

My granddaughter had surgery to remove four bone tumors from her leg nineteen days ago.

She performed this song while standing on a cast to her knee and ace wrapped to the top of the thigh.

She just celebrated her 13th birthday recently. I think she is just as indomitable as the meaning of her song. I'm so proud of Chloe, I just have to share her incredible voice with you!

Being Chloe's grandmother, maybe my viewpoint is prejudiced. I want to share her voice spectacular with the world. If you like her singing, you can let her know what you think. Please stop by and make a comment where her youtube is actually located. I think she might enjoy knowing you like her voice, too.

Tuesday

Bed Partners

He snores beside me
that butterball I love,
waking me from dead sleep.

My black cat, Ninja,
with big claws
and buck tooth yawn,

I jiggle him.
He looks at me
those golden eyes.

Annoyed, he rolls
on his side
and begins to snore
again.

Monday

Yard Sales and Thrift Shopping

What makes a person hoard, or collect things?

Was it what triggered my mother's frequent visits to thrift shops and yard sales? She seemed to have a never ending compulsion to buy up trinkets, knick knacks, kitchen ware and clothing.

She had various collections over the years. I remember the rooster stage. The house was full of them. Then there was the "copper kitchen" phase. Her Hummel figurines and angels had their own shelves strategically placed throughout the house. Still, she culled and cleared once in a while. Her sense of being a dutiful housewife had not been overidden her desire to own things. Underneath it all, she was a clean freak.

If Mom had a penchant for signs of abundance, I'm sure it was due to the poverty of growing up in the post depression era. It was a time of little food, clothes made out of papa's worn shirts and going without shoes all summer to save the expense of buying new ones. She owned one doll in her whole childhood, and one little child size teapot she cherished until the day she died.

In order for me to come to the decision of becoming a minimalist, I am affording myself a look upon that which has brought me to this point as I tackle the not insurmountable task of divesting myself of "stuff". The last ten years, I have lived in one house, beginning with it empty, except for bare minimum of belongings. Now, I'm guessing, my belongings could accommodate the needs of several families.

I have diligently discarded margarine tubs, and not allowed myself to have sentimental attachment to Christmas cards and magazines. (Paper is my weakness.) I've regularly made a run through my house de-cluttering and discarded things a la Fly Lady. But, like my mother, I have a penchant for the delight of finding a treasure at a bargain price whether it be a teacup edged in gold or sturdy bedsheets.

About five years ago I gave up stopping at yard sales! It was sort of like severing my arm from my body, but I needed to lighten the burden of my "things". I wanted to let go and be free of excess. It's an addiction difficult to break.

At first it was extremely challenging to drive by without taking a wistful look. I learned to carry no cash. Who would take a check for even my most avid purchase? And it certainly helped having someone else do the driving, admonishing me, "Don't Look!"

Today, however, I stopped at the thrift shop on a whim. They take credit cards, you know. The store called out to me, I swear. "Stop! Don't pass me by!"

Or was that "buy"?

Sunday

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS:

AESTHETICA CREATIVE WORKS COMPETITION 2010

Deadline: August 31, 2010

Aesthetica Magazine is inviting all artists, writers and poets to submit their work. Now in its third year, the Competition is dedicated to celebrating and championing creative talent. The Competition has three categories, Artwork, Poetry and Fiction. Winners and finalists are published in the Aesthetica Creative Works Annual.

Winners of each category receive £500 prize money plus other prizes. (about $795.00)

Entry to the Creative Works Competition is £10. (about $15.90)

The entry fee allows the submission of 2 images, 2 poems or 2 short stories.

More guidelines on how to submit can be found online at:

http://www.aestheticamagazine.com/submission_guide.htm

**********************************************

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARKANSAS PRESS POETRY SERIES’ ANNUAL MILLER WILLIAMS ARKANSAS POETRY PRIZE

$5000

Deadline: September thru October, 2010

One winner and up to three finalists will have their book-length collection published in 2012

Go to: http://www.uapress.com/geninfo/poetryguidelines.html

***********************************************

MISSOURI REVIEW EDITORS’ PRIZE

Deadline: October 1, 2010

Three prizes of $5,000 each and publication in The Missouri Review are given annually for a group of poems, a short story, and an essay. Submit up to 10 pages of poetry, a story or essay up to 25 pages, with a $20 entry fee, which includes a one-year subscription. Visit the website for complete guidelines.

Select winning entries in the past have been reprinted in the Best American series.

http://www.missourireview.com/contest/editors_prize.php

Life Project

Life isn’t a project to be completed;

it is an unknowable landscape to be explored.

David Brooks

NY Times Op-Ed Columnist

Saturday

Reverse Psychology

Don't look...
You might see.
Don't listen...
You might hear.
Don't think...
You might learn.
Don't make a decision...
You might be wrong.
Don't walk...
You might stumble.
Don't run...
You might fall.
Don't laugh...
You might cry.
Don't live...
You might die.

This statement was engraved on a brass plaque I found in a gift shop years ago. I hung it in the bathroom so it could be contemplated. I enjoyed having it because it's total negativity is so unavoidably obvious and the reverse psychology of the statement worked for me.

It represents the imprisonment we put ourselves in when we choose the cautious life. It's where we all manage to get stuck sometimes; that holding pattern of stagnation from which we need a jolt. And this was the jolt I needed to get me out of my complacency at the time.

Friday

On Becoming a Minimalist

Before I met my son's new girlfriend, he warned me, "Mom, she's a Minimalist. So, don't be trying to give her stuff." I had in mind a definition of Minimalist as art. I dabble in art, so I thought he didn't want me to offer her my art supplies. "Don't worry. I won't."

While getting acquainted I learned a bit of her childhood, her impressive education and her struggles to travel 2,000 miles to the west coast and settle in. As usual, I have an excessive amount of "stuff". So I asked her if she needed some linens. No, she would use her sleeping bag. Then as I made tea and sandwiches I thought she might want some mugs. I was politely told, "No, thank you".

One thing I was painfully aware of was that this girl's poverty kept her dressed shabbily. I had some nice jeans left behind by my growing teen niece in the closet. Could she use them? She politely nodded and I enlisted my son to get them off the high shelf.

That is when he explained her definition of Minimalist. I couldn't grasp the concept that this young woman lived her life with two changes of clothing, slept on the floor in a sleeping bag and had a serving set for one in her little kitchen. And I just never got why she preferred to go barefoot all the time! To save her shoes?

It's been nearly a decade since my introduction to the concept. I've realized in many ways, I have been on a path leading me towards adopting the possibility of Minimalism. Most of my life has been one series of stripping belongings down to low levels, picking up, packing and moving, even as a youngster. As a new bride with a husband in the military, I moved a total of nine times in five years. I've had lots of experience preparing for this time in my life to tone down the overabundance of my "stuff".

And so my journey on becoming a Minimalist begins.

Wish me luck!

Wednesday

I Could Use a Wish Right Now

My niece turned me on to this song.
(See lyrics below)

Airplanes lyrics
by B.o.b.

Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)

Yeah
I could use a dream or a genie or a wish
To go back to a place much simpler than this
Cause after all the partyin' and smashin' and crashin'
And all the glitz and the glam and the fashion
And all the pandemonium and all the madness
There comes a time where you fade to the blackness
And when you're staring at that phone in your lap
And you hoping but them people never call you back
But that's just how the story unfolds
You get another hand soon after you fold
And when your plans unravel
And they sayin' what would you wish for
If you had one chance
So airplane airplane sorry I'm late
I'm on my way so don't close that gate
If I don't make that then I'll switch my flight
And I'll be right back at it by the end of the night

Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)

Somebody take me back to the days
Before this was a job, before I got paid
Before it ever mattered what I had in my bank
Yeah back when I was tryin' to get into the subway
And back when I was rappin' for the hell of it
But now a days we rappin' to stay relevant
I'm guessin that if we can make some wishes outta airplanes
Then maybe yo maybe I'll go back to the days
Before the politics that we call the rap game
And back when ain't nobody listened to my mix tape
And back before I tried to cover up my slang
But this is for the Cada, what's up Bobby Ray
So can I get a wish to end the politics
And get back to the music that started this sh-t
So here I stand and then again I say
I'm hopin' we can make some wishes outta airplanes

Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)

Tuesday

Tell Me

Tell me... how you came to be,

my friend, floating like a feather

traversing the sky and hovering

right here in front of me.

Tell me... what kind of trick is that?

I remember you from that first decade

urging me to pirouette

wearing my favorite blue dress.

Yes, you did. You made me laugh,

comforted me when lonely.

You banished Mr. Alligator

from under my bed.

Tell me... how you

made the stars tell their secrets

and helped the snow maiden find me

that time I fevered.

You don't have to tell me

how you faded from my dreams

like the faeries in the breeze.

I know why you disappeared.

when I'd forgotten your existence.

Tell me... my old friend, why

you are here again.

Is this my second childhood?

Monday

You Want Me...

You want me to what?

Lie here?

That’s all?

No phone calls or emails?

No errands or chores?

No work or list of things to do?

Are you sure?

You just want me to

lie here on this blanket?

With that gift of a cool breeze

blowing in from the ocean?

And the sun sneaking through the branches

to dance across my skin?

You just want me to lie here?

And not do anything?

Seriously?

~~~~~~~

Many thanks to Jen Payne for her permission to re-publish her poem here.

You can find Jen at

http://randomactsofwriting.wordpress.com/

and be sure to check out her other sites as listed under her "Links".

Saturday

TRANSMUTATION

Mulling over the sands of time
one hand gently drops over the other.
Yielding now, the grains fall
like liquid velvet.

Melted beyond measure,
like fur petted softly,
there is no way to capture
the pre-existent creature
rubbing against cosmic filaments
of fine quartz and fossil.

Wherever they rest,
whether bathed in light,
or basted in heat,
or moistened by sea foam,
the ever-changing changlessness
dips and rolls and intermingles,
softening ever so patiently,
through eons of time.

Imperceptibly blessing itself
into finer and finer particles,

the sparkling dust
is carried away on the air,
lifted into the continuing cycles of nature.

So thoroughly embodied
with the breath of the sky father,
the clouds welcome
the new ones into their folds
and expand with the weight.

New energies,
stronger than before,
ready to come forth.
floating within sunset hues,
passive... waiting for dusk
to overtake the day
and put to sleep the overactive world;
like hidden thoughts,
they give birth to new dreams.

For Genealogy Purposes

1949 February 1

This letter is from Flora Waite’s half sister written to Flora’s daughter, Hazel Dean English

Dear Hazel,

Was so glad to hear from you. My hand is rather shaky, But will try and write you a few lines. You ask me my age. If I live til the 28th of next month I will be 84, so you see I am not young any more. I hope you can come and see me if you make thee trip you spoke about next summer.

My hearing is good, can see pretty good, so I have no reason to complaine. But my hands are pretty crippled and a good many aches and pains all over my body. I am afraid I can’t help out much with thee family names. My Fathers name and of course would be your mother’s father was Levi Waite. Your Mothers mother died when your mother must have been quite young. Your mother had 2 sisters older than she was. I don’t know her mothers name. Then my Father married again. My Grandfathers name was Aidin Waite, But I can’t remember my Grandmother Waite’s name as she died when I was quite young. Your Father & Mother came to visit us quite often when I was a young girl and before I was married I spent several weeks two different times with them. I can’t remember just thee number of kiddies they had then.

I hope to hear from you again and sure hop to see you & your husband this summer. I know we would have a good visit. Clyde & Edith would like to meet you.

Love to you & your family
Aunt Florence Hoyt

Louise Waite Brown (mother’s sister)
Clyde & Edythe
Children of Aunt Florence
Lived in Erie, PA

Wednesday

AUNTIE ANGST

She stood in the grove
emptying her heart
into the darkness,
crying out to the trees.

Oh, hear me! Help me!
I am your little child,
a crone before my time.
My youth has been stolen from me
betrayed by the revolutions of the earth
My heart beats only acid through my veins.
like cities choked with carbon dioxide.
I am the desolated forests of the summer fires.
Nothing left but ashes.

Yet, the crone limps away
beneath the moon, tottering...
the pain of over-ripe decline
prematurely stabs
like some ancient soldier
hacking at the enemy
with a heavy sword.
She sits, quietly breathing,
ignoring the pain with resolve.

I smile... talk... laugh with others
and no one knows what is gnawing
like some unseen dragon
crunching my bones.
The physical pain is bearable,
even the searing fire in my veins.
But the pain in my outraged spirit
is wailing and ranting across the galaxies
as it hurls itself further out into the cosmos
searching for peace
and a shred of hope.

~~~~~

Digital art and poem by Elizabeth Munroz

Tuesday

Redwood Forest Family

When they visit...

friends and family,

I take them to the redwoods

up at Big Basin

always driving the winding roads,

the ones with the dips

and curves on the edges.

Everyone is talking,

making up for lost time,

sharing about the kids,

the new house, the loss

of beloved Fluffy,

graduation, weddings...

I drive, smiling and nodding,

loving every minute.

The trees are getting taller

the ravines deeper, curves sharper

I put the windows down,

for fresh air, I say.

But really... it's to invite

the forest, breathing

it's ancient silence,

into the car.

Then, no one talks.

They just look.

I park the car and

the Old Ones

stand over us.

Insignificant humans.