Writing

by

Tributes

About that…

It needs to be said that the most painful of all losses are those we suffer outside of public view. Those are the losses that are rarely written about, the losses that leave us with part of our souls gone and the days that will forever be missing the breath of another.

We have had a year of treasured public icons gone from our lives. One of the most significant of the adored is Dolly Parton, dead, gone from the human domain. On the night of Tuesday, August 25, 2026, the Empire State Building’s tower lights sparkled in pink from 9:25 p.m. to 10:25 p.m. as a tribute to Parton, who died the same day. Her songs were sung and played throughout the nation. Other countries, the world mourned her loss and named her accomplishments, generosity, and compassion.

Every death, every new reminder, serves to push at what had been a momentary pause in our own stone storehouse of loss. Stunning or surprising, we add another to our of mansion of memories, integral pieces of the lives that once were.

Grief is just a word. Yet the pain that it resurfaces unites all parts of us. Our mind, our body, our soul become one in pain. The worst of it is when we dream and the dream conjures the dead one—the child’s hand, the words, the soft brown eyes of the dog barking at the door, the young man walking toward me. And then we awaken. And then learn all over again it wasn’t a mistake at all. We are empty.

To say some of the things we hear said are puzzling only speak to our loneliness. “As long as someone lives in another’s memories, they are not dead.” How can that possibly make any sense? Yes they are. They are not here. “Well at least she’s at peace now.” She maybe, but I’m not. Not yet. We know that the loss happens to us, not to the dead.

Things fall apart.

After the first pains of mourning we play memory tributes. Those words of “remember when.” With the wonderful famous people who die, we can make public honors. We can acknowledge them and their good works. Most important, they can represent the stages in our lives. They sing not only of when we were, but who we were becoming and would become. Perhaps even who we still will become.

These are the ones I’ll forever be grateful to. These are the ones for whom I feel honored to have had them in my life.

GLORIA STEINEM

The Truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off

DOLLY PARTON

JESSE JACKSON

TIM CURRY

BOB WEIR

CATHERINE O”HARA

CHUCK NORRIS

WENDELL BARRY

by

Yes But And

I have no idea where I’ve been but obviously not here. And the odd thing is my return has not been goaded so much by guilt as by pull. A good thing, I’d say.

Please forgive any repeats on literary or writing updates, not looking back to check. Maybe I’ve been in some monster wave pushed back by the death of Tula. I don’t know. Whatever. So, to date:

I finally finished the rewrite of the rewrite of the cleanup of “Last House.” Actually send off a query to an agent. And yes, “a” is the right word. Only one? Yep, and it exhausted me. Maybe now I can get some more queries out as the time has come to assume that one as a reject. I’ve also sent “Redemption” (short story) off to a couple of places. I’ve reread & tinkered with “Byrne Road” and have come to the conclusion that it likely just belongs in the trash. *sigh* and huh. I don’t know. Maybe another read down the road. We’ll see. I’m not really a short-story writer. Sometimes I’m just moved. I am mentally and in dreams working on a very strangely different follow-up to The Fat Man. That is indeed working bytheway. Not all writing work has to do with the physical act. And I do have a few words on pages.

As for the rest of the world of mine?

My daughter got married. I didn’t know this was going to happen and I wasn’t invited. She told me when she came here to help me get my garage in order (a two person job). After the fact. *Tilt* I’m still numb I believe. I don’t know. To another woman, which is fine—just dropped in here for clarity. I’m glad they are together and that she has someone in her life. I do not know where that leaves me if it does and if anywhere. I feel like a stranger looking in through the window, the window to their house. They are still definitely moving to Portugal and the date keeps getting moved up. I don’t know if I’m going or not.

I told you that I got another cat—Baby Z, or Zeus. But I hadn’t updated with information. That was almost a year ago and now. Yes, now. His prior owner wants him back. He is a purebred Bengal. He is very chatty and knows lots of words. He also got very sick at one point as he was making crystals in his urine and almost died. Surgery was involved. Now he is on a special diet. I don’t know how all of this is going to work out. She (the prior owner) is coming over on Saturday to see him. So much for me depends upon his reaction to her. He called out “MA!” for a long time after she left him here, but then he stopped. I’ve been trying to get him to say “mama” for me. Sometimes he utters a soft “mummm.” I don’t know if that’s it or not. He is very clever and smart, currently learning how to walk with a leash.

I haven’t been swimming much at all. Just now & again with all of the silly medical tests I’ve been going through. (Good excuse.) I have grown extraordinarily annoyed with them as nothing has produced any results. Nothing has been identified as causal to the bouts of pericardial effusion. But they have let up and as I don’t know anything more, I am discontinuing any further testing. And here we go, yep! “It is what it is.” All of this to say that I’ve got my swimming suit on and am going to the pool today. Shortly.

So there you have it. And as the mice say….That’s the wayyyyyyy things are…

Baby Z
by

Too Much & Dying Too

So much has been happening that it has been difficult to even attempt a sort-through to post. Indeed, where to begin.

First, I had another (twice now) trip to the hospital—pericardial effusion—wherein the people all thought it was a heart attack. It wasn’t. Either time. But apparently all of the medical paraphernalia thinks I am so they go with that rather than my insistence “I’m not having a heart attack!” *sigh* So. Now they have to find the cause of my attacks which are painful beyond belief.

In the operating room: The most exciting part of the whole thing is that I coded—yes, died!—and that’s where it got interesting rather than just painful. It was no big deal at all and there were no lights and out-of-body experiences or awareness or floating. Nothing. A great big huge black nothing.

Just before the Black in a millisecond I had an awareness something was happening and a wondrous peace wherein nothing mattered and then… Another second and I woke up, knew I had been “somewhere” and asked what happened. They said I coded twice (wrong count, only one, extended) and they had to resuscitate me. So while trying to “save my life”—in a non-heart attack—they killed me.

It is impossible to describe because the observer, and all consciousness was gone. As soon as we say nothing—we have something. It is an experience that can only be experienced. I do think that I stayed in my body because I wasn’t gone long enough. It was less than a minute. Perhaps it takes longer for the full-death experience.

It should be noted that this was Not a heart attack. It was Not heart failure. It was that my heart stopped. Those are all different things. Apparently the heart stopped due to the dye they were inserting into my veins to find the blockage (there was none) that was causing the heart attack that wasn’t.

***

Meanwhile. During and after recovery I’ve been doing a rewrite of a novel I wrote a while back called “Last House.” I was always fond of it and thought it should have another look through. I also wrote a short story and entered it in a couple of contests. That’s in addition to the family history I pluck away at and photos with comments I send to the family.

***

And the Snow! We’ve had a couple of snow storms that have been just glorious. The dog and I go out at all hours to play and enjoy. Especially deep into the night when no one else is around. It’s so incredibly joyous with mounds of white and blowing wind and the silence and the glory! Watching a black dog jump and run against all of this becomes a thing of the Spirit. Other worlds hover about, waver in the light that suddenly glints against the sweeping snow.

Matisse—Posted by Ravenous Butterflies
by

Happy Birthday

Alice Sebold Birthday September 6, 1965—Posted by Donna May, Story Tender

Alice Sebold first made her name with the publication of Lovely Bones. She continued writing and published Lucky and The Almost Moon.

More posts by Donna May and more about writing, of course.

by

Soul Writing

“Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” — Meg Rosoff

(Art by Julia Inglis.)