Right here I’ve been. Five years, or six? I lost track. From this chair. In this room. I recover, over and over. I type days and days, novelties. My view, the intimate, safe space where I am free. To be. The color I am. Black circular with the pinpoint hole starving for the light. Sick, oh yeah. I have been that. Not today. Today I am less unwell. I am sunburst orange, slightly out of focus. The sun is out. Time to teak the lounge chairs. Put away summer season. This room I love, this space can wait.
Maybe I overthink it. Maybe I’m the fidgety, free-spirit bound by an overweighted body, so yes I do. I overthink it.
Perhaps, I think too much. Anticipating the one thousand steps in front of me, stuck inside the tens of thousands behind my back. I don’t know. I can’t fix the past, weave a sparkle plenty doll future where the waters remain oh so calm, indigo swaying temperate.
I. don’t. know. I call it straight, as I see it. Then, there are the convoluted thoughts, ice cubes smashing angry against the glass. We’re all connected, until we’re not.
Simplistic words of a child.
Until they’re the heartbreaking sounds, gut wrenching final good-bye from a beloved.
The precious one, we can not, will not, refuse to exist without. I overthink it, how could I not.
The Vast Landscape and GEORGIA PINE. symbiotic, extensions of my time here.
-excerpt from GEORGIA PINE.
by Jacqueline Cioffa
ONE TIMES FOUR
Georgia pulled the rocker close to her grandfather’s, almost touching. She needed to be near, reassured by the sounds of his breathing. Side by side, gliding back and forth. She had nowhere to go, nowhere she’d rather be. Mostly, she rocked while he nodded off. He was her most favorite person. She refused a life without him. Georgia knew what was coming. Maxine wasn’t the only one with a gift, she didn’t brag. Her grandmother was a fading memory, but Georgia could still recall the tight squeeze of her hand. How overtired giggly they got when she tucked her in. Harry whispered secrets in her ear.
Is happening today, around the globe. Set your best intentions, positive healing thoughts. Many of us have more than enough, too much stuff. Excess is the new millennium philosophy. Take two minutes, a minute to meditate, pause and reflect. Children are being blown to smithereens, missiles shred civilian planes from the sky, war and chaos are the new comfort. Others (our brothers) suffer, while we sit comfortably watching the news on one of seven TVs, aghast. Grateful, this tragedy is not happening in ‘my insular world.‘ It is happening, indirectly. This is our collective planet, on lease for a short while.
8/8/14. Today, an army of peace warriors are sending light and good wishes into the universe. Hundreds of thousands strong. Be mindful.
Walking into my local bookstore with a stack of my books, was another scary, gratifying, humbling, indie author adventure. On a good day, I’m in sweats, zero makeup, typing away. When I started writing The Vast Landscape, I never expected the amazing, overwhelming, heartwarming, visceral response to Harrison, and her story. The book, my book sits on a bookshelf next to John Green, Donna Tartt, and yes, E.L. James, in excellent company. So, while I hate to dress, apply lips, concealer and blush, go out into the real world with my cardboard box of dreams, I do. In spite of the million and one reasons not to, insecurities, horrible PR & Marketing skills, hand tremors and anxiety. I do it because no one else can & my bestie tells me I have to. Big dreams start small, one by one by one. I am Indie proud.
Support your local bookstore because, they’re smart.
Xmas, 1970. Santa brought a white doll house, with a blue roof topped with a shiny, gold bow. Wooden furniture and a funny man with kind, hazel eyes smiling at me, full of pride. I was 2. How could I remember? How could I know, dare to imagine, how full of happy this man would make me. This oh soamazing, lightning bolt father of mine. How magical growing up in our family would be, how jovial he would make it. He kept a solid roof over my head, our heads. Every single good I am came straight from his heart. He was Christmas, the Easter Bunny, Disney, the every hero in my bedtime stories. Being in his company never got old or monotonous. He taught me the most important lessons by example; be kind, be compassionate, be humble, don’t judge, keep it simple, give whenever, as much and wherever you can. Keep on giving, give it all away. Don’t boast, don’t ask, do it in secret. Because, you have more than you need. However much you have, share it. Don’t hold onto to things; grudges, ideas, envy, they won’t matter. Take care of your mother, she won’t ask but she’ll need you. How could I know, when he said goodbye forever, a lifetime of his love would not die. I miss him, my daddy. Me, the adult woman forty-four Christmas’ past. I miss the one who made life brighter, better, more meaningful than yesterday. He’s never far, lives in every wall, every memory, every room in our house. It might be impossible for a two-year old to remember playing doll house with her daddy, one long forgotten Christmas. It’s not impossible today. I recreate the dream, close my eyes and I am back there, on a shaggy, spotted, brown and yellow carpet by his side. He’s easy to remember, impossible to forget. I loved him before I ever knew I was capable of great big love, and I’ll love him every day after. My heart tells me so, and I am half a heart his precious baby, adored daughter. The other part belongs to her, my mother. And there’s plenty of room leftover. He showed me how to keep stretching, expanding the muscle.
Happy Father’s Day, daddy. Thank you for teaching my heart how to smile, for loving me so complete, so big, so much better than I could’ve asked for.
And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, Oh Lord
big moments, big, big grandiose moments
still waiting, still hoping, oh Lord
do you hear me, screaming
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh Lord
faith is a five letter word hard to swallow
rocks, pebbles slice and cut going down
I bleed red same as you
Well, if you told me you were drowning
I’d jump in and regret it
I would not lend a hand
yeah, I would unwilling
hatred, tick embedded disease
I’ve seen your face before my friend
don’t have any
friends, strangers, foes, allies, enemies
But I don’t know if you know who I am
how could you, hide my face
so complicated, hard to navigate
Well, I was there and I saw what you did
everything I thought true
wrong, wrong, wrong
big moments don’t come
I saw it with my own two eyes
I misunderstood, got it wrong oh Lord
I did that, sole responsible
I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life, oh Lord
keep waiting, hope dwindling
fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight
Lord can’t save me now, joker, charlatan
thick of it
Stranger to you and me…
DRUMROLL, Phil Collins
Oh Lord, I forgot
love that song
Phil Collins, In The Air Tonight partial lyrics
“It all comes back to a red metal bench in the woods on a small hill by a nothing- special pond. The air is sweet and wet and fall is here for now. Ducks sleep near the brisk, damp water waiting to take flight to sunnier places, offering no solution. I shiver and squirm in my own discomfort, clenching the bench, determined to will myself better. I’ll sit there god damn it, you fucking divine coxsucker, I’m as stubborn as you, until there is something to look forward to. I’m not pretending rosy and cheery just maybe a hint of curiosity.”