A writer hoping to be published who writes stories, poems and thoughts of my years as a homeless child and the years since then. Many of my stories are true, however I do enjoy some fun in a quick tale! I also love to take photos.
Truth be told, we just experienced a 3.6 magnitude earthquake. We heard a very loud boom and the place shook. I, sitting at the computer, felt the earth shake three more times!
Our home is in Amherstburg, and we rent an apartment in Windsor. We were at the apartment when the earth moved under our feet.
My husband will be obligated to go to the house in the morning. He was planning to go anyway to enjoy the backyard and the many birds this season. He will fill the bird feeders and count the flocks of feathered friends who sing to him.
Driving out of Collingwood, Ontario I’d noticed brilliant-barren-of-leaves-red-stemmed bushes dotting the landscape. Online-searching hit on Dogwood Bush.
I’d never seen this bush, or most likely I’d never noticed it before. It had been a treat to the eye. Perhaps, someday, Dogwood will grow in my yard. Another trip to Collingwood, with a shovel in the car, and I may get permission from a landowner to harvest some of their awesome bushes!
If anyone knows Carmen they know I can find humor in everyday mundane things. For example, when I’m working remotely at a coffee shop, I always chuckle when I hear people at the counter ordering chai tea lattes. You might ask what’s so funny about that. Well friends, chai is the Hindi word for tea, which originally comes from the Chinese word cha (as well as Korean), so here in the West, we’re literally asking for a tea-tea. Now do you see the humor?
Anyhoo, I love chai. It’s warm and inviting, sweet and creamy, and spicy. Masala chai means mixed-spice tea. So, similar to the garam masala food spice mix, it is composed of a wonderful mix of black tea, milk, sugar and various aromatic, pungent and spicy herbs. Drinking a nice warm, creamy cup of chai is a wonderful way to get a daily dose of an…
Now arent’ they a cute couple? I’d say we were. The thing is, Les and I were not slated to remain in love or to have a long-term relationship.
Fact is, it had nothing to do with him, it was about the damaged-me.
I look back in time at that naturally-afrod-white-boy I was so drawn to, and I remember how very much I wanted to spend my life with him. Les was charming and gentle. The problem was, I was unaccustomed to a male who had those attributes. I’d, since age 11, already met so many vile men, and in some twisted fashion, I could not relate to a gentile, sweet, loving and kind fellow. Sad, isn’t it?
But that is what happens to a little girl who, during her childhood, had been abused, sexually abused, abandoned, psychologically tortured and socially outcasted.
Hey Les, wherever you are – I am sad you had to experience the girl that had been me. In retrospect, I wish I had been gifted the counselling and supports I had needed to become a better person, and certainly, a better person to have walked into your life.
Les, I hope your life has been beautiful, since me!
I’d asked my husband where the miniature spoon came from, and he’d answered my question with the question, “What spoon?” I’d pointed to the floor at the nickel coin and beside it a miniature spoon. Barry, that’s my husband, had then said, “That is not a spoon. It is a part that broke off my pen.”
I’d thought that interesting, and pondered the image for a while before I’d snapped a photo. Barry’d then asked, “What is interesting about that, to take a photo of it?” I’d smiled and then told him the story which had teased my brain as I’d soaked in the image.
I’d told him the small specks, that resembled white powder, could be seen by some as lost particles from a nickel of cocaine. He’d roared at that saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of cocaine being sold in nickels!” I’d ignored his teasing and had continued my story, telling him the spoon was the hidden part in the pen. Who’d think the spoon was detachable from the innocuous looking pen, or that it could have such a nefarious use?
He’d laughed, and had asked, “How does this stuff get into your head?” I’d smiled at him, not replying. After all, I didn’t know the answer to that question.