In her own light she was conceived again and again as she grew into her truest self, following her own oath and quest to live life in tune with her deepest heart. She began with no knowledge of who she was or who her mother was despite living together for sixteen years. She knew only that to survive she had to follow the pull through a very twisted and sometimes treacherous journey.
Love is often hidden in the crevasses of the wounded ones, felt, yet not expressed in a manner that a girl or child can decipher. This girl was LittleMe, Lm to her readers, and while facing the rebirth of her own sweet creation, she tore unintentionally yet necessitous the perinium of her mother’s flesh that bore her time after time.
The blood shed, the young woman’s cries reverberated in her dreams; she knew instictively that her beginnings were frightening for her young, lonely mother and that parenting was thrust upon her with reluctance at a time when few could choose to pull the helm in their own direction. Her mother had indeed been married but she knew her choices were complex.
Although a student on scholorships at a good college in the southern USA, her husband was the one who stole from her the sense of ownerhship of her being and he put himself first, not just in their relationship but in all life matters from an early age and forward. It would not take long for him to play cat and mouse, yes and no, hot and cold leaving her with blatant instability. His actions led her to take me and carry our lives in her own hands. This was both an undeniably brave and challenging decision and a burden that would weave in and around our relationship for years to come. Although she had parents they were not suited for her to run home to; daily life was a struggle to keep us sheltered, with food, clothes, and with money to use for her first old car’s gasoline. Often it was two dollars worth at a time to get to work. The Green Hornet was a beauty bought for much less than it’s value from a coworker whose father had died. She got me to my babysitter’s and herself to her two jobs without help from the one who I called “Daddy”. He would claim to others how much he helped us, lie and make her feel foolish and belittled and there came a time when I would grow into a fierce yet wobbly doe and would see him for all he was sincerely not. His lies were like candy or chips you know you should not be indulging in yet you continue because they taste so decadent and good in a detrimental way. Too many consumed make one sick but the craving remains even so. He was my addiction.
I never truly let go of either of them in my deepest heart however my brain knew what was best for me and pushed them away, down, down, down and put their imprints that hurt Lminto small boxes and locked them with keys I can not use. Only Rock has the key now and LittleMe stands disgruntled on the bottom step of her dank stairwell always wanting more. She will always wish for things to change, to be seen and heard and believed. She will always want love and truth in it’s highest form. Lm continues to forgive clinging to hope with a desperation which deturs her from fully healing. Rock doesn’t think she will ever let go for she, the Black Sheep, the kindest and most endearing of all had her pain wrapped up in a paper bag and set out to seek acceptance fully believing she would find all the answersand eventually all the keys to fill the holes in her heart out in this world somewhere with divine light. Rock patiently stands beside her as once again her heart is aching with new pain invoked by the mother of Lm, the grandmother of Lm’s struggling only child has broke her trust again.
Lm’s young adult has been suffering after coming out of the proverbial closet as transgender. Throughout years of required investigations in the Swedish system, the back log of others waiting after the coronavirus choked socialized medicine to a mere drip of dysfunction. Doctor after doctor, endocriniologist, psychiatrists, depression, dysphoria and self loathing became a never ending roller coaster ride in an abandoned amusement park for her daughter and for Lm. Seeing her own child hurt repeatedly has contained all of Lm’s emotions regarding her own deepest self so she may be available and strong for her daughter.
The circle of love and pain begins to churn. Nurturing yet admittidly not knowing the answers has brought Lm to a stand off with her own mother visiting for six weeks from the southern USA. The same area were drag queens are prohibited, the same south where the bill was passed that genitalia must be checked before entering toilets in public places, the same south and country where carrying guns to school instead of sneaking in bubblegum is more common.
Lm’s daughter is Black and Cuban, adopted from birth, her fragility and social anxiety is hightened as the world she experiences judges her everyday because she is not white and priviledged. The world is full of haters. Lm’s heart is full of love and it grows bigger making room for all of the LGBTQ+ community, wanting to hold them all in her shadow, protect them from harm and discrimination.
The mother that never knew Lm truly and with whom she still forgives daily has now crossed a line that has caused profound pain for her beloved daughter. While out for an appointment, Lm’s mother and her daughter were left home together. Lm had made it clear before her mother visited that she had to follow the rules of her household, not push her bounderies or she could not visit. Despite jumping through hoops, rolling over and fetching for her mother for eighteen days she felt it would be okay to leave the house to do errands. Then a text message came from her daughter whom Iwill refer to from now forward as “B” for blessing arrived. Lm had just sat down in a café and ordered a glass of white wine when B’s text pinged on her phone. Expecting the usual, “Mom can you pick me up some chips?”, Lm reads that her Meanmom has resurfaced and was verbally inappropriate with B. Meanmom went to her granddaughter’s room twice uninvited and told her that she was put on this planet by God for a reason. Okay, she can think that. Then she did her double back flip of harsh whiplash and used her tongue put in her mouth by her God to proceed to say B was a disappointment to her, to us all and that she would wind up on the streets and was worthless. Rock stepped in and double checked all drawers to the memories of Lm’s shitty childhood full of belittling and physical abuse from Meanmom were secured so she could focus only on her daughter’s needs. The pain grew exponentially even so and she for the first time delegated all of her disgust and unspoken words to her most trusted confidant, her husband. Rock was proud Lm did not react by lashing out at her Meanmom or by letting her own tongue spew regrets. Her husband who has now adopted Lm’s daughter stood up as a father should, in the way BadDad never did for her as a young adult, and became the kind of person she admires. Dear Swedish Italian Viking, my favourite human spoke to Meanmom while Lm comforted her daughter and now she is even more in love with her Swedish Italian Viking husband. Now Lm must consult with Rock and decide how to proceed forward on this day after the incident with Meanmom scheduled to be here for another month. Luckily, Meanmom stays in the little house on the property and not in the same house with Lm, B and her husband. What makes all of this so important that it needs to be written down? Lm is growing stronger and is not afraid as often even if triggered. Most importantly is that Lm adopted her baby with her first husband 25 years ago and he disowned B when she came out. Quit, broke her heart and has been swallowed up by bigotry. That loss for B was enormous. After much time passed it became clear the bigot would not contact B more and Lm’s dear husband asked to adopt her.
Think of all the children, the young adults, the humans of any age terrified of living life as who they truly are because they are transgender, gay, or define themselves with a pronoun other than “she” or “he”. Think about the Black skinned, the brown skinned, the Asians of any descent, the hate that gloats and seeps it’s ugly sickness into the hearts of those fighting to live their best life depsite it all. I sit wondering how Lm ever let her guard down, began to trust once again the mother that bore her, that gave her this life; the one that says she loves us yet scars our hearts repeatedly with her hateful words. Lm can’t forgive, Rock pushes emerging ME to stand up for my daughter and I feel the closing in of the circle, the one I’ve tried to keep open with room for my mother’s imperfections; yet when my child, no matter her age is feeling badgered, broken and lost Lm can relate to the stain her grandmother left on her heart yesterday, the final stain at least from her grandmother. The circle will change; womanhood should be inclusive not exclusive. Am I disappointed in Meanmom or in myself for believeing that continuing to allow her the priviledge to be part of our lives was or is the right thing to do. I don’t know the answers now. Rock unlocks the door at the top of the stairwell and Lm is released into the sunshine; he trusts that she is growing into her first true grasp of what it means to be reunited with her deepest self, that she is integrating and we will integrate and continue to rise above all that broke us into dissociative fragments as a girl.
Rock proudly states, “She is becoming her own shield.” Will Rock soon be obsolete?
For some unreasonable reason I continue to believe I am graceful; I was an awesome dancer and prancer in the not seemingly so long ago days. With my variety of ailments and chronic pain issues, including osteoporosis one would think I’d be crumbled up in a fragile porceline glop. After a diagnosis of Chronic Repetitive Pain II and being evaluated from head, shoulders knees and toes I began balance training. I am now hilariously throwing balls of socks in the air then trying to catch them, tripping over large objects in clear view and pathetically trying chair yoga. Two weeks prior to my hospitalization I quickly turned getting out of my claw foot bath tub and landed on a small wooden foot stool which factually kept my head from bashing into the hard cement tiled floor. Two or three ribs hit a corner of the stool leaving me sprawled out awkwardly, howling naked in blubbering shame. My family came running to see their gracious antelope needing immediate emergency treatment. Rushed to our local E.R. I was given fast acting morphine and sent for an MRI to be sure my lungs weren’t punctured. The results were nothing was broken but they did see I had severe arthritis in my left hip and a tiny crack about a centimeter long on one rib. No broken bones despite my skeletal fragility. The pain was gruesome so I can’t imagine what a really good breakage would be like. I do know now I need a new hip. Huh, go fissure!
Spring doesn’t jump out at you in Sweden; sudden changes and abhorent weather shifts keep even the most stoic of us guessing. Rock doesn’t guess, speculate or ponder such uncontrolable forces as Mother Nature. He only has his eye on Lm. She is deep in her mind, remembering Easter egg hunts as a child in the United States with her cousins. She has one foot in the “Bible Belt” and another running with all her might north then to the edge of the Atlantic, fleeing to Sweden where everything yet nothing makes sense. In the southern states Easter meant a knew frock, white patten shoes and rejoicing after church in the sunshine with her cousins and family. Croquet and hunting colored eggs, jelly beans and fake green grass in her basket to stuff her findings in were just some of her fond recollections. Avoiding the ham with pineapple was her biggest challenge since she always won at croquet. Deviled eggs and chocolate pie can fill a belly and that’s what she loved. It was one of the only times of the year that everything went smooth. No fighting, no disasters and no face smacking for being a smarty pants, that is until she got a “D” in Algebra in eighth grade. Fearing her mother’s wrath she and a friend decided there was no way out and the holy week leading up to Easter they decided to run away. Hitch-hiking fifteen year olds in Nashville is not the safest choice. Two men in a pick-up stopped and let them sit in the middle. Rock slaps himself silly with astonishment as he has no clue how in the hell Lm and her friend, both with full make-up and cute little jeans and perms survived. An APB was put out notifying the state police. It just so happened Lm was not as stoic as she was behaving and asked to use the bathroom. The men in the pick-up obliged and pulled over at a gas station. When Lm got out a cop car pulled up and she was spotted pronto. The men were not charged, (huge question, eh?) and Lm and her friend were driven back to the suburbs where their parents met them at the one room police station. From that point they were forbidden from meeting outside of school which didn’t change their inner chaos and drama. That particular Easter Lm’s mother and step-father took her to an Easter buffet in a restaraunt. They slid their trays down metal railngs and picked out what they wanted from the massive amount of food in heated deep food bins. Lm only remembers the silence, the lack of extended family and her muteness which encompassed her early teenage years. She was not feeling particularly renewed, springy or at all joyful. Her mother looked sad in the way mother’s do when their kids totally screw up and they are in shock due to not having an inkling as to what to do next. Lm is sad because she, even now can’t replace that memory with a better one. Rock reminds her that curried eggs are her favorite and she shoves him and his new purple hat away. She wakes everyday wanting to try again to be better in every way; isn’t that what Easter is about? We get a fresh start if we are lucky; some of us sink into the past. Rock knows his job is to keep Lm in the now. Snow is falling in Sweden and there will not be an egg hunt outside or croquet, but maybe, just maybe she will shake off her dark past and embrace what she has now. Maybe. Rock wishes everyone a shot at reviving their inner beings. Peace and Happy Spring!
For new readers, I highly recommend that you return to October 2021 when Little Me was fighting the inner flight from her dysfunctional childhood and adolescence to get over her “Daddy issues”.
Sixty years and some Rock is finally letting Lm fend for herself; her regressions are fewer and her boundaries tight. There are fences to mend and some details to box up and burn. Sixty years it has taken this one inner girl to accept that her father, her idol, first love to whom no one could ever compare was and is a fraudulent character created in his head and placed into hers. No man matched his wit, his charismatic charm, his ability to control an entire room, and several other’s lives. She no longer sees him this way, in fact she pities that he was so ashamed of who he really was he had to hide behind falsities his entire life. That’s a truly gruesome story. Lm’s husband says that he knows she still ” misses him” for one of her weaknesses is sentimentality, recalling both hilarious and almost unbelievable tales of her father’s antics. Rock knew she was healthy when on her birthday her father managed to email her an ” I will always love you” birthday message. It meant nothing to her and she quickly blocked him and deleted it. It was to soothe his soul, not hers. He will be eighty this month and surrounds himself with trained sheep who jump through hoops to please him. Lm doesn’t wish him harm and from her understanding of karma, she is just as susceptible to its varietal awakenings. In a warm, cozy hotel full of books and antiques and oddities of interest she sips her Rooibos tea in soft yellow lighting, Norah Jones had sung repeatedly for an hour via the sound system and she no longer cries. Her husband has treated her to a two night get away and she knows his authenticity, his love awaits her.
We ran aground, abandoned our selves, leaving remnants of our selfishness behind. Tattered, weathered, we crawled ashore only to find that we were not existing to comfort one another, only to comfort ourselves. Distress signals were fired, yet no one came to calm our storm. We were no longer sailing as one, broken, I abandoned ship. What good Captain of honour does such a ferocious leap, only for their soul? Perhaps one who gave all of herself, became a passive wench following another’s sails, n’er listening to the wind’s song or calling out in the fog with her own voice. Thunderous warnings were present, no good shipman would deny them. She bailed out, tossed by the tyrannical storm and sank. Sank, scraping her fair skin on the rugged seashore, bleeding and starved, she made it just far enough to see him walk away. His footsteps, deep and arrogant were all that she was left with. She looked at the sky and saw no light, only darkening clouds laughing at her naivity.
There goes Dawgy Dawg!” shouted Sam, one of the usuals at the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill. Lou the bartender who was mixing up Sunday morning Bloody Mary’s replied without looking up. “Shame nobody claims him.” For two years Lou had thrown scraps at the end of his shift out for Dawgy Dawg and made sure to refreshen a large pale of water for the stray, which was kept under the bar’s rough, grey wooden deck. Dawgy Dawg often could be spotted napping in the cool shade that the raised deck provided free of charge of course.
Dawgy Dawg loved people, especially children and made a perfect companion for daily tourists. Since he wore a collar, everyone assumed he was well cared for and had escaped from his owners for a run along the shore. He loved the sea, the foaming waves that kept him clean gave his fur a natural salty coat. He was often seen laying patiently by a family who was opening their picnic baskets and often got a treat or two as he was relentlessly adorable. Adorable and lonely. At night he would climb up the steps to the Purple Pineapple Bar and greet all the customers; his wagging tail and warm brown eyes were welcomed with a piece of a burger, hot dogs and even fries. Not exactly the diet a well-kept family pet would thrive on, nonetheless his white belly was full at the end of each day. Dawgy Dawg tended to lay under Sam’s feet who sat on the same bar stool everyday and night. Sam, an old surfer who often washed dishes for Lou to pay off his ongoing tab wished he could take Sam home, however what no one knew is Sam was homeless. He had a bicycle and backpack with a small pop up tent and found his shelter on the off beaten paths into the Ginkgo and yellow Birch groves that were slightly inland from the Pineapple Bar and Grill. Lou suspected he may be homeless yet never said anything, instead he let him wash dishes and do small chores for food and drinks. Lou lived in a small one room bungalow and on stormy nights he would worry about Dawgy Dawg and Sam; he knew he could not share his tiny space with anyone and when not working he liked his privacy. Lou was tall, lanky and had long salt and pepper curly hair. His eyes were pale blue, yet his moustache was his trademark. He waxed it daily and curled the tips. He’d always been a loner however he loved his small business which provided him with more than enough social interaction. Each morning he pulled his long locks back into a ponytail and put on his Purple Pineapple trademark cap and tee-shirt, along with old, faded jeans then walked down to his other home where he put on a pot of coffee and at the same time every morning Sam and Dawgy Dawg would appear.
“Coffee?” Sam smiled at Lou as always showing off his two broken front teeth. Lou cooked up some bacon and eggs and the three had breakfast together every morning. Sam parked his bike behind the building and learned he had to lock it after it had been stolen a few months back. It was found ditched by a gas station by Lou a few days later. Luckily, Sam was allowed to keep his backpack behind the bar, or he would have lost his few belongings. Sam was proud to wear a Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill t-shirt and cap everyday also. After breakfast Sam in his old cut off jean shorts would dive into the sea and take his morning bath. Dawgy Dawg always followed along, and they both had a playful start to the day.
By 10:30 the beach began to fill up with tourists and by 11 o’clock the tables and stools were full. Dawgy Dawg would make his rounds and find his own entertainment throughout the day. It was Sam who came up with the idea to make Dawgy Dawg a trademark bandana to advertise the grill’s special Pineapple smoothies and hearty burgers. Although the beach was secluded and not near the strip of chain restaurants and the boardwalk a new beach café had opened with a classier menu. It also had a sign at the entrance that read, “No Dogs Allowed”. Competition was not something Lou had ever considered; Sam took a stroll down one day and had a look at the menu. Gazpacho, taco salad, vegetarian burgers and tiramisu were just some of the items that the Purple Pineapple didn’t have. The prices were higher but it was packed with a different clientele, most clad in Izod’s and pricier sun wear. Heads turned when Sam was on their deck; tattooed, bald with bronzed leathery skin he was clearly not of the same echelon. He grabbed a take away paper menu and returned to the Purple Pineapple to report his findings. Lou had a look and said, “Let them eat cake” and laughed. He did begin to make refreshing smoothies and added a soybean hot dog to the menu. The truth is, Lou didn’t need to make any changes as it was the freestyle atmosphere, Dawgy Dawg and the music at night that brought him loyalty; a local D.J. took requests and under the colourful light bulbs strung from the rafters and along the splatted, weathered guarded rails around the deck people danced spontaneously and the tap kept flowing. Lou was an icon who had been there for years and all of his regulars loved Dawgy Dawg mingling around the bar.
One morning Lou started frying the bacon awhile Lou was began putting chairs down for the day but Dawgy Dawg did not show up. Lou saved some bacon and Sam looked under the deck. It was odd as he like Sam and Lou kept a predictable routine. Slightly concerned Sam took a look around the beach to see if he had found some children to play with. No signs of him were to be found. Two, then three days passed, and Lou put up signs and asked the regulars to let them know if they spotted Dawgy Dawg anywhere. He continued to leave scraps under the deck with fresh water when he closed for the night.
Lou deeply regretted he had not taken the stray into his bungalow at night and swore if he ever came back that on stormy nights he would provide shelter for the beloved pooch.
One morning about five weeks after Dawgy Dawg had been seen Sam overheard a couple talking about a dog and how mean the owner of the classier café had been to it. “I will never go back there again!” said a stern faced woman to her husband. “He kicked the poor thing!” Sam ran down the beach to the café and asked to speak to the owner. The server gave him a look up and down disapprovingly and said, “We aren’t looking for help.” Sam persisted. “ I don’t want a job, I am looking for a white and golden brown dog.” The server smirked. Read the sign, “No Dogs Allowed!”
The owner, a stout man with sleek black hair approached. “What’s going on here?” The server explained and walked away. “ Yes, there was a dog, a filthy one at that and I kicked him out. Was it yours?” Sam said it was a stray, but it was a regular at the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill. The owner laughed. “Oh, this is funny; as unkempt as it’s patrons.” Sam asked the taunting man if he would let him know if he saw him again then sadly walked back up to Lou’s. After recounting the experience to Lou both feared for Dawgy Dawg’s safety. Lou asked Sam to bike down to the boardwalk and said he would call the local animal shelter to see if he had been caught and held there. It was a frantic day and the usual jolly atmosphere seemed to sink without their favourite hound near.
At closing they sat on the steps and talked in a way they never had. Sam finally admitted he was indeed homeless and that he had no known living relatives. He had a job for years as a rubbish collector then the company became privatized and he’s been let go with little notice. He had struggled to keep his apartment for a year or two with odd jobs here and there then he got behind on his payments and was evicted. He shared that he came to the tropical island with his backpack and his last bit of cash ten years ago and pitched a tent. He never thought to leave the island as the weather, despite its wild winds and storms was warm year round and it only made sense to stay. Lou shared he had been married on the mainland for twenty-five years and his beloved wife died young. The house was full of their memories, and he could no longer bare keeping the place. He had sold his house and followed an old dream of opening a tiki bar on a beach when he retired. He bought a tiny bungalow and after obtaining a permit he built the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill himself. It kept him busy and his mind off his life’s true love most of the time. He invited Sam to come by the bungalow for breakfast instead of meeting at the grill the next morning and they parted for the night.
Sam had never been invited by anyone into their home. He woke early and took a dip in the sea to appear fresh upon arrival. Lou’s door was open and he stood in flip-flops making pancakes and said, “Morning my friend, help yourself to some freshly squeezed orange juice and take a look around. In the far back there were curtains pulled open revealing two bunk beds with it obvious that Lou slept on the bottom of the left one. Beside Loy’s bunk was an old milk crate with a stack of books and a small lamp. Between the bunks was a window and the sea breeze could be felt as he eyed the details. Simple. A round table, an old sofa and a small bathroom with a shower, sink, toilet and mirror. Sam took a peek at himself in the mirror which he hadn’t done in a while and saw he was much older looking than he felt.
“Breakfast is served!” Lou and Sam sat at the table and shared a newspaper. Lou noticed Sam squinted when he tried to read. “You want some reading glasses?” Lou inquired. “Naw, I hate news actually and just read the comics.” Lou smiled. He checked his clock above the sink and it was soon 10 o’clock. “Time to head to the grill, just leave the dishes for later.” Sam hopped on his bike and Lou walked swiftly behind him. Sam locked his bike and Lou unlocked the gated stairs. As they approached their regular duties they heard a small, “mew”. Lou looked at Sam, “hear that?” Sam nodded. Then they heard it again and it was apparent a kitten was quite nearby. Sam finished putting the chairs down and followed the sound which led him under the deck. Low and behold there was Dawgy Dawg with not one, but three small kittens cuddled against his furry belly. Dawgy Dawg’s tail thumped, as Sam called out for Lou, “Ya gotta see this!” Lou came down and his heart began to smile. Both gave Dawgy Dog a hug, rubbed his head, scratching him behind the ears as he loved. “Kittens! They are so tiny, too young to be away from their mother. I’ll bring down some milk for them and then you ride down to gas station and pick up some kitten chow, heck, while at it pick up some dog food, too. If Dawgy Dawg is going to mother three kittens he needs a better diet.” Lou ran and got his polaroid and took a few pictures to show the regulars who were forbidden to go under the deck. The day took a swift turn and Lou, Sam and all the regulars cheered to Dawgy Dawg’s return. As dusk approached an elderly woman came by and asked if anyone had seen her cat. She said her cat was pregnant and disappeared a few days ago from her camper van in the pensioner motorhome park. Sadly, a young woman told her she had seen a cat hit by a car near the gas station and her family had stopped to see if it was okay, but it hadn’t survived. Lou and Sam glanced at each other then led the elderly woman down beneath the deck. “Could these kittens be yours?” The woman had a smile that was tainted with a few tears. “I guess she had hidden them when she gave birth. I don’t know how they survived without her this long.” Lou explained that Dawgy Dawg was a stray and had been missing for weeks and they’d begun to give up on seeing him again and they were stunned to find him with three kittens under the deck that morning. “Well, he has kept them alive thus far so he has been doing something right, best to leave them be for now. My name is Kay, and I will leave kitten formula off tomorrow, that is if you don’t mind”. Lou shook his head agreeingly.
He took all the signs down and made a personal vow to keep Dawgy Dawg every night when the kittens were able to move about. A week passed and Dawgy Dawg began to climb the stairs for breakfast, greeting customers at the gate and making more and more appearances. The kittens had begun to eat more and rumble about in the sand, jumping up on Dawgy Dawg and his eyes were on them dutifully. Kay stopped by often and she asked Lou if he knew anyone who could take one kitten. She would keep the other two and be sure to have them spayed. Sam and Lou and become attached to one orange and white mischievous male kitten that made his way up the stairs with Dawgy Dawg and rubbed up against the legs of the lunch crowd. Lou blurted out without hesitation, “I’ll keep the little orange rascal.”
I’m taking them in tonight Kay said, the radio said a tropical storm was headed their way and everyone was bunkering down. She said the fancy café had boarded up their windows and the gas station had a line of cars fuelling up to go the mainland. Lou was aware of high winds and knew this would be a rough one. He told Sam to let people know they’d be closing early and to prepare to secure the Pineapple Bar and Grill as best they could before nightfall.
All the chairs were chained together and the tables folded down; the put a heavy sheet of metal against the opening to the tiki bar and nailed plywood to the open sides. Both of their caps blew off several times and it had begun to rain steadily. Lou asked Sam to grab the kitten and bike him over to his bungalow and he’d lead Dawgy Dawg the way back with a rope tied around his collar. Dawgy Dawg did not like the rope and pulled hard to get away. Perhaps he was too wild and could not be tamed. Lou gave up and took off the rope and Dawgy Dawg sprang loose and ran away so quickly Lou couldn’t catch him. The winds were picking up and the rain was now a heavy downpour which he could hardly see through. He slightly jogged back to the bungalow and his old knees were aching. When he arrived home there sat under the covered front porch, Sam, the kitten and Dawgy Dawg. He unlocked the door and all four went onside soaking wet. Sam put the kitten down inside the door and Dawgy Dawg ran about sniffing, barking happily stopping only to shake his salty fur off. Lou brought out a bunch of towels, one for the kitten, one for Sam one for Dawgy Dawg and one for himself. He put a bowl of water down and laughed. Sam turned toward the door and Lou said, “wait, where are you going?” Sam said, “my tent”. He’d been through several storms and always made it through even if he never slept as he tried to keep the tent with his few belongings steady. “ Sam, I want you to stay, I can’t take care of these two without you! Take the other bunk tonight and I’ll give you some dry clothes. It’s gonna be a bad one out there tonight.” Sam looked sheepishly down and said, “Oh, I can’t impose. I know you like your privacy and well, my tent might blow away.” Lou stood from his chair and put on a pot of coffee then said in a sincere voice, “Sam, truth is I have had enough privacy for a very long time and I couldn’t keep the grill open without your help. You are my friend. Please stay and we can check on your tent tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.” He handed him some dry clothes and pointed toward the bathroom. Afterwards Lou tuned into the weather radio and handed Sam soe hot coffee. They sat on the sofa with one very loved wet dog between them and a kitten curled up ready to sleep. “What are you gonna name him, Lou?” Good question. “How about Catty Cat?” They laughed a bit and refilled their mugs full. After years of tumultuous happenings in their individual lives, this storm they would ride out together.
Santa’s Dysphoric Bodily Image; no worries his spirit may be heavy yet he is always ready for next year.
Rock knocked his balls out of the park this last week when Lm was willingly placed in a physical renovation program for humans with Chronic Repetitive Pain Syndrome in a prestigous university hospital with an entire staff run by strong women. This gave her the power punch she has needed and despite her discomfort with traveling, her inability to hide out and write, draw or bite her nails in a closet, she pushed through succesfully. At one point, Rock stepped aside and let her fly, a first for her in a very long time. The head Doctor was kick ass brilliant, beautiful as she reflected her own knowledge with a striking clarity; her eyes drew Lm into a new type of comfort, strangely that meaning accepting she must face her physical discomfort with vigor and bone by bone, breath by breath reawaken from the massive sink hole she has been lying in for three years. Due to privacy, as always, Lm has vowed not to reveal names. “Doctress” is how she will refer to her as she sits soaking in the late afternoon sunlight; regal as royalty, she deserves a crown. Rock admits he is so damn tired of getting Lm up and out of the deep stairwell, her aches and pains are a load to carry and perhaps he should thank Doctress also. The depression which was hovering over Lm lifted in a one week stint as day after day angelic women served her hope; nurses and assistants, a physical therapist, occupational therapist, a psychologist, a social worker and a psychiatrist broke through the black ceiling allowing Lm to refind part of her inner strength. From the woman who brought the food, and a pack of several special humans from different worlds converging, Lm was able to glue pieces of herself together again. Friday the 13th she was released. Bad luck? No! She packed up her troubles, traumas and beautiful bones and with Rock trailing behind her for once she led the way to their next adventure. What is important, sincerely the most significant experience summorisation is Lm after wallowing in severe pain, rolling over and over in deep fear for years has been handed a baton to continue passing forward; she can not run a marathon, yet she can pass on her light to others. How long will she hold it all up? As long as she puts her stubborn mind to it. Rock has relaxed and leans against a wall watching her efforts with glee yet with sentimental reservations as part of him fears Lm will go forward without him. Lm knows this and although she won’t admit it, she will never let go of Rock nor abandon his concrete loyalty, together they have come this far and as they enter part 2, scene one, stage center, their characters will eventually merge. Lm echoes, ” hold on, hold on” to all those hurting in any way out in this crazy, broken and struggling world. Her faith in nature leads her to believe even in the smallest of ways, life will be better for not only herself but for this floating planet called Earth, it’s inhabitants and the creatures above and below. Believing in the spirit of love is a choice. One tiny choice, minute by minute.
Your love pushed me through walls of pain, caused me inexplicable grief and forced me to face myself. Your love has kept me believeing that life can be better, that past’s can be put to rest and life is worth living still. Your love is constant, even when you roar, stomp or confront my bitterness. You are surprisingly tender and need me when I least expect it; I feel honored by your vulnerability. Now, I face more pain; pain not from threat, regardless life breaking. I sit and watch you live from the sidelines and want so much more for you. I want to roll in the grass, make love in the forest, move my body in sync with yours…but I can’t. I can smile and feel the tears spilling from my eyes, laugh sometimes at your ridiculous attempts to amuse me, but I can never be the lover you once knew, your strength or release. For this, my true love, I am sorry. For it is not me who leaves you, alit by the frame of my spirit that awakened when I saw your arctic eyes, felt your strong embrace and the one I have known as my lover from our first kiss. No matter where pain takes me, nor the realms that seperate us, know. KNOW. You are the love of my life in beauty and in sorrow.
Narrator: RealMe. Little Me needs to step away for a good long while. I am by the North Sea where I have spent several special occasions in this very old gatekeeper’s cottage; it’s familiarity soothes something deep within me, a place so primal and eternal that I feel reintroduced to my own heart, my dogged determination and please bare with me when I whisper to you my secret idealisation, a very old soul called ME. From my bed with floral bed curtains in green, muted red and golden hints I sit carefully propped up to convalesce both my body and my mind. I look out of the iron crossed windows, down to marshy meadows where the inlets water is smooth; no winds have begun to blow which I often enjoy as they give me a natural resource to recharge my vitality . Tuesday I fell in the bathroom in my beloved 1700’s farmhouse injuring three ribs and spent the better part of two days in hospital and Doctor’s appointments. This has occurred one week short of my flight to the best CRPS, that is Chronic Repetitive Pain Syndrome, rehabilitation hospital in Sweden. I have had fear of how I’ll manage with my additional pain and travel with out conflict, yet when I woke this morning to the foggy gray skies, the solitude of the sea and the ease of no no frustrations a wisp of hope wrapped around me like the arms of an old friend and gently said, ” you can do this”. It is true, I can and I will. This special cottage is strong, durable and has seen centuries of storms. The spirits here unite and gather around me and lift my head up, warm my heart that was growing bitter and sway me so gently that I know I can control Little Me and face the new year with hopefulness. So, to you my readers I send simplicity, a lot of love from one survivor to the next. May a season of bliss welcome us into 2023.
The beat of Christmas is thumping from within her breast. Glossy flashes of overdone fun, stupored guest’s belongings trusted in Lm’s care remind her of unwanted overtures. Slurring, “Where’s my coat gorgeous?”. The squeezed cheeks, vile hugs from men twice her age who smelled of aged cheese and scotch. “That’s your daughter?”; oh, BadDad was proud then. Lm adored him still. He was all knowing, and she did not care what people said, he was her everything and no one could tell her otherwise. Rock is shoving a big fir tree down the stairwell, it’s walls now likely full of black mold. “What the hell! We can barely breathe in here as it is!”. Lm does her Scarlett O’Hara impression and falls as if fainting when Rock sets up the full Scottish pine. “Shall I drape myself in red velvet curtains, hang mistletoe and pluck a goose?”; Ah, Rock has a reaction from her finally. “Tell me about good times Lm! Must we roll in the stench of unbearable times always?”. Then Lm speaks, “FINE! BadDad is like gumbo, a bit of this, a tad of that and somehow he always made his fuck up’s better. He knew he could lie to others in front of me and I would never cross him. I miss him. I miss his daydreams, his enthusiasm, his blue eyes that could cry so dramatically, the same eyes that broke me still have a family, MY family. I had to forsake them to save us. Five of my seven half-siblings believe in him, celebrate Christmas right now with him and it’s painful. Three are strong women who would never take what I did from him. How am I to feel when he lied to their mother’s, cheated on them and even though my first little sister from Elle knows enough to stand up for me, she retreats. Why? It’s a hell of a lot easier to have the abused one far away in another country.” “Do you want to change it somehow?” asks Rock. Lm smells the fresh scent of the forest greenery and looks lost. She then starts to make popcorn and finds a needle and thread to sew a traditional cranberry popcorn chain. “I know one thing Rock. Thanks to you. TRUTH is the dystopian playground for the likes of us. We can no longer play with the others but at least we have one another.” Rock the protector, the foreman of all that is rightuous is wrong. Wrong in his predictions that is; Lm’s strength and courage surprises him yet he is thankful that Lm may just be able to go on with her life, with him on her shoulder and together they can burn the secret files from her past. Or can they? To cut the ties is a frightening thought. Can Lm stand up for herself and can Rock help her to heal? There is not much time left and God knows something must change permanently soon. Her physical pain, her cptsd and feelings of being erased tower over her. In the shadows of the well meant Christmas tree from Rock she feels her Daddy’s hand, his old love and wonders if he will ever tell her siblings, his wife, or even himself the Truth. Christmas is lost in old songs, unrequited love and Rock knows, “Pa Rumpa Pum Pum” fills Lm’s heavy heart with the kind of memories that creep upon many lost souls whether they summons them or not this time of year. Lm blurts out, “So you want a good memory Rock? Will that make you feel better? It sure as hell won’t help me but I’ll do it for you because it is Christmas Eve.” Lm stands and shares the memory of caroling with BadDad’s mother whom she adored. “My cousins and I went to neighbors and sang Jingle Bells, The Little Drummer Boy and more. That’s a good memory. Why? Because BadDad wasn’t there.” Lm tries to straighten the tree and carefully adorns it with her popcorn and cranberry chain. “To bad you can’t eat, Rock. I’m craving rice pudding. The door to Lm and Rock is slightly open and she feels the cold, frosty air. Integrating with Rock is a far off dream; whether it’s due to the spirit of hope and love that Christmas brings or her secret fantasy, Lm wants to feel whole again.
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