A Few Words.

I’m an only child. My relationship with most of my extended family is limited at best. All my life I’ve considered the friends who are closest to me my family. And today, I had to say goodbye to a part of my family. 

I went to work at the Bingo Hall when I was 19. I was out of high school with no plans to continue my education. It was only at the urging of my frustrated mother that I actually got a job. It may have been one of the greatest decisions I’ve ever made. 

They welcomed me almost immediately. I fell into their little group and soon it was hard to imagine a time when I wasn’t part of that team. It’s hard to think of days when laughter wasn’t heard. I honestly don’t think they exist. 

Of course that original group didn’t last forever. Others moved on, I myself even left for a short period, having gained the ambition to try my hand at college. But when money ran out and I was forced back home, I was once again welcomed back. 

The faces had changed, but the family was still in tact. I learned to appreciate new people. I learned things, not only lessons, but things about myself. These people would come to me and share me their thoughts and feelings their fears and  personal victories. I in turn would do the same when my turn came. 

As the inside jokes grew with the days, my love for these people grew as well. It’s strange to think that so much of what makes me who I am today had seeds in that building. I’m simply grateful that I had a group of gardeners to help me grow along the way. But times changed, and I realized that as much as I loved these people, it was time for me to go. 

As for the people who I served. I thank you all for the kind words that many of you have given me over the years. I appreciate the way that you’d share your stories with me, five minutes at a time. I haven’t forgotten them. 

I met some amazing people there. I even fell in love in that bingo hall. And while it may be awhile before I return. There will never be a time when that Bingo Hall isn’t with me. 

Thank you and I love you. 

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I Do Poems, Sometimes

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Some of you may know that I didn’t start out writing fiction. The first few years of my journey into the world of writing was guided solely by poetry. I had aspirations of being the second coming of The Beat Generation, but for those of you lucky enough to see my earliest attempts, know that that was never going to happen.

I don’t write poetry much anymore. But every once in awhile I still dabble. One of my favorite things to do with poetry is to take the titles of some of my favorite songs and write poems around them. Since I’ve never been good with meter or rhyming, this is one of the things I can do that gives me a decent challenge without making me furious with myself.

This here is a quick poem I did, using titles from one of my favorite bands The Gaslight Anthem and from a side project of their lead singer called The Horrible Crowes,if you haven’t, check them out.  But without further ado….

I Listen Too Intently

I was the worst kind of Casanova, Baby!
A Ladykiller without a bed.
I welcomed you into my home
but made your past stay outside.

And we’d drive that shiny white family sedan
like it was a classic car with top stuck down.
I’d belt out Old White Lincoln while you hummed along
just as long as you leave my radio alone.

In the tail lights you glowed Red At Night,
you bathed in an aura, a lifetime in the making
but my favorite color is green,
so it’s time for me to go.

I pray you Stay Lucky,
and keep missing those bullets,

If we survive through the year,
Meet Me By The River’s Edge.

ECHO! ECho! Echo. echo.

 

Earlier tonight I shared a song on Facebook. It was an action that I have done, most likely, a hundred times. Sometimes I’ll add a little quip and sometimes I’ll let the song stand on itself. But tonight after I had finished my task I saw it sitting there on my newsfeed, sitting over three “retweets” two links to funny pictures and a recipe from Pintrest. I then began to wonder, “Do we deserve our minds?”

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Tidbit Thursday (5/9/13)

Clockwork Lessons

His dad never warned him about this. He told him everything about the job. He told him how to find a rhythm, how to keep his mind on a favorite song, it would drown out the mechanical whir. He told him how to let his mind wander but keep mindful of his fingers. His father told him so many lessons to make him a productive member of the crew. But his father spoke nothing of love and for that, everything had to burn.

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