Inner Scribbles 2011
15 Feb 2011 1 Comment
On 1/30/11 our group met to create the space and share the energy of writing. winter seems very long this year–is it me?–so it was refreshing to focus on our muse rather than the perpetual wintery mix that dominated January. We won’t be meeting until May because I will be doing a writing program with Teamwork Wins at Villanova University!
WIND CHIMES
1. encased in ice
wind chimes await
the warm breath of spring
2. windchimes
tangled
rusted
still
3. we curl together
almost asleep
wind chime silent behind lace curtains
Inner Scribbles Christmas
21 Jan 2011 1 Comment
Inner Scribbles met on 12/12/10. The writing prompts were an attempt to evoke holiday memories. The writing ranged from snow and grandma stories to stories of a Christmas marred by fire and Christmas in a shelter. For me just the act of removing the ornaments and snowmen carefully wrapped away last year is like a marker of change and transition. Christmas 2009 was tucked away by my mother while i watched -my fractured shoulder in a sling. Looking back on 2010 now, I would have never guessed the shifts that have taken place. It was bittersweet to unwrap everything this year and I laughed at a gooey mess of candy canes that did not survive the humid summer-and wondered just what was Mom thinking when she packed them away.
12/12/89
I write the date and remember. Again. It’s like finding a shard of glass in a long ago wound. A wound that should be healed, scarred, forgotten. Shouldn’t these memories have scattered like dust? How long has it been. Twenty years. No twenty one. My daughter turned one that year. The memories are misty now. Foggy. Hidden down a long corridor yet still able to toss a grey shroud of sadness over my core.
I see a Christmas tree. Crooked. Mismatched lights-some flashing. I am on the couch. It is lumpy, uncomfortable, scratchy but I cannot move. I hold my daughter close. Smell her hair. Baby Magic. My world has been shattered. Or has it been revealed?
My sons dance around Santa. They are two and eight. It is Christmas Eve. The night is frigid. Bitter wind howls. We are safe in this shelter for now. For now. My oldest son knows Santa is not real (right Mom?) yet he waits for the magic anyway–just in case. When did i stop believing?
We are at the “Everybody House” -at least that’s what my two year old calls it. Everyone is here. Color, race, class have no dividing line here. Our bond is domestic abuse. We are survivors. My fantasy world crumbled to pieces when i finally admitted we lived in violence. I never wanted to believe that. I always thought it would get better. Finally I fled. Diapers thrown haphazardly. As suitcase with a broken zipper. Sweat pants, toothbrushes,car keys, a favorite stuffed animal. I tucked my baby inside my coat. the boys shivered. Mismatched mittens. Woolen hats useless against the bitter night. We knocked on the shelter door. Where else could we go?
The rooms were full, not unlike that first mythical Christmas, but they found space. We shared a room with Maria and her daughters. A corner to call our haven. A yellowed shade fluttered against a cracked window pane.
Well meaning people brought us gifts. Food leftover from Christmas parties. An unwanted Christmas tree that smelled like cat. I hated the look in their eyes. Pity. Don’t pity me. I finally see. I’m not that different from you. They usually scurried away as if afraid of contagion-afraid of being like me. Or where they afraid of seeing?
So here we sit with Santa. HO HO HO’s reverberate off walls not used to joy. Santa and his helpers hand out toys and clothes and treats. Chocolate Santas. Candy canes. Santa’s bag get smaller. Smaller. Soon it is evident there are no toys for my children. My oldest crosses his arms across his skinny chest, glad he did not fall for the magic. I sink deeper into the couch. My youngest son screams, “Santa you said you would bring me a race car!!! You promised!!!”
I try to reassure Santa with my eyes but I have nothing left to give. There is nothing left in me-not even tears. Santa’s elf chimes in with “that’s what happens when Santa drives his Toyota and not his sleigh-I’ll be right back!”
So on that Christmas Eve back in 1989. an elf ran back to a closed Kmart and found toys for my children–and a race car for my youngest son. New tears were there for me. Tears of hope and love and maybe even joy. My son doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, but I still do.
Candles
21 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
Candles
Shadows cast on lace curtains
crystal candelabra cups mismatched tapers
one white
one blue
I get too close to the flame
wax drips in solid pools
I touch the center
warm
oozing
fingertips encased in translucent nightcaps
wind howls
thunder claps
I shiver
candles flicker
I pull my sweater closer
and wait out the storm
rain slashes
Travels with Rosalina
21 Jan 2011 1 Comment
To deal with anticipated holiday blahs, I bought a most whimsical pig–a lawn decoration–and named her Rosalina. For some reason that still eludes me, I started taking her places and taking her photo in various scenes. Some interesting pictures have been created but what i find oh so intriguing is the response of people around me. While taking pictures of Rosalina in a gift shop (she was dusting a display case with a huge pink feather duster) a little girl asked me why my pig was wearing a watch. Not why is your pig dusting or why is your pig on a ladder, but why is your pig wearing a watch. I told her it was from her Happy Meal. The little girl–about three years old–nodded. Then she asked me why my pig didn’t talk. I told her if she listened closely the pig might talk to her. She whispered in the pig’s ear, nodded her head, and proceeded to tell me that the pig liked the “princess dog” in the display case. I thanked her for letting me know. Another child stared at Rosalina while we were clustered together awaiting a shuttle bus. He too was about three or four. Rosalina was dressed for the farm show in a cow skin vest. He thought for a while–his forehead scrunched. He told his mom he knew the pig wasn’t real because she had clothes on. Adults love her too. She has more than 100 friends on facebook. While touring Philadelphia, people stopped us in the street to comment. They see her as bringing joy and whimsy. They laughed. They took her picture. The park ranger and Independence Hall assured me she was the first pig to visit. To most she is like a magnet. To some she is invisible. Some friends and I were in a restaurant in Cape May. A nice restaurant for an off season lunch. A group of red hat ladies surrounded our table and took pictures for their grandchildren. The table beside us totally ignored the fact that a glowing electric pig was sipping diet coke only a few feet away. At one stop a young woman cleaning a hotel asked about the pig. I explained my mother had died in June and i dreaded the holidays, so I bought the pig to be silly. She proceeded to offer me love and reassurance that it was ok to grieve. She hugged me and took a picture of me with Rosalina. So it’s been interesting! It stretches my creativity to figure out what to do with her next. I’ll keep you posted!!!
The Adventures of Rosalina the Christmas Pig Begin!
07 Dec 2010 1 Comment
Rosalina enjoys her first Happy Meal!!
Rosalina can't wait to go sledding with Mr. Snowman!
Meeting Rosalina for the first time. It was love at first sight!
Rosalina pauses for a moment of silence when she sees the bacon.
Rosalina loves pretending to be a nurse!
Holiday Madness
22 Nov 2010 1 Comment
As fall entrenches herself with frosty mornings and swirling leaves, I hear winter whisper in the next room. Time folds upon herself becoming fluid-unreal. Somehow it is almost Thanksgiving. I find myself buying silly Christmas decor in an attempt to stave off the bittersweet quality of the upcoming season of “”HO HO HO!” 
Poems for November
1. Heirloom tomato
salt sprinkled
Last taste of summer
2. I pick the last flowers of summer
Lavender
Roses
A stray dahlia.
The air hints of the frost that will come
Grey clouds cluster
I prick my finger on an unseen thorn
The scarlet bead that forms tastes of salt
iron
Wind swirls
Leaves scatter
November
3. Screendoor slams
I thought i heard grief leaving
through the back
but she was returning.
Halloween!!!
31 Oct 2010 1 Comment
Block Island was wonderful. Seeing my daughter was wonderful. The full moon inspired me. I seem to be back into the short poems again.
1.Moon lingers in the morning sky
patiently waiting for sun to
seize the day
2.Fingers of rosy dawn
pluck the moon
from the sky
3. Reluctant moon
fades into the golden
arms of morning
4. Radiant moonbeam woman
dance with the stars
open your arms to the night
embrace your magic
5. A shattered mirror
fragments of self
cast into the sea
6.Clouds part to make way for the moon
Brilliant
Glowing
Tangible
Night air stirs around me
tugs my shawl.
Branches rattle, echo of bone
Leaves dance across my path
Swirling
Cracking
I turn my face to the sky
Moonbeams kiss my cheek
Moon at dawn
Full moon from the porch
Block Island here I come!!
19 Oct 2010 1 Comment
in creativity, fun, writing class
On 10/21 I will road trip to Rhode Island to see my daughter, then head over to Block Island for another writing retreat with John Terlazzo. I met John back in July, at Starseed Sanctuary in Mass. A whole new life has opened to me. I am looking forward to writing by the sea and being in the bubble of creativity that is created when John holds a retreat. The following are poems from retreats with John.
Grief
SO I am doing just fine!
Really!
My brain sends words across my heavy tongue
through parched lips
It was meant to be.
Oh it was a wonderful experience!
It was for the best.
I go about my daily life
smiling a frozen smile
sleeping too much
sipping a bit of wine
numb
Tears locked safely away
(there are so many)
and just when I think it is safe
I see the raspberries
and remember.
My heart collides
with this stone mind
shattering
exploding
and tears swallow me
again
again
again
9/10
Daisies clustered
a cracked vase
water oozes
Energy spirals
parts the clouds with gentle thunder
kisses the sun
Blind the stars
caress the moon
no limits
10/10/10
14 Oct 2010 1 Comment
This past Sunday ten of us (yes there were really ten of us) got together for another writing group. We laughed and shared and found out a little more about ourselves and each other. It is just magical to sit in a circle of friends and feel the muse dance. Following is some feedback.
“My creativity billowed like a yellow chiffon curtain in a soft, warm breeze.”-Amy
“Gina’s approach is warm and fun loving. She creates and environment where it is comfortable to share and explore. Mistakes do not exist and discoveries were plentiful.”-Rachael
“Through playful exercises I was able to access the creative wild woman within. I don’t consider myself a writer, but Gina created a safe and open space where I could access my heart. The workshop was nourishing for my soul. I can’t wait for the next one!”-Barbara Ann
“Gina gifts us with a bubbling cauldron of creativity where each of us get to stir the pot, producing untold magic.”-Nancy
