Alone, On Sleepless Nights

I’ve counted every sheep there is followed closely by the cows on ward to tally up the geese and horses and all their farmyard friends before sitting here contemplating between the enumeration of the beasts living in high veld and savannas of Africa or creatures of the forests of North America. Whoever thought the transcendental nature of my thoughts would take me on such a magnificent journey in my quest for sleep?



I remember being young and looking at my parents and just thinking that they were adults.  I had no idea then what it means to be an adult.  No one taught me.  I have learned a fair bit now.  Still not enough.

I class myself as a failure.  I have not accomplished anything significant.  The work I have barely pays the bills and feeds my kids.  I make just a bit too much to get assistance and I cannot talk to anyone about this because it is depressing.  No one wants to listen to depressing things.  They call it negativity and they walk away or ignore.

I’d like to be doing something productive that allows me the ability to afford my own home, pay my own way as well as that of my children and just exist peaceably among my neighbors.  Instead, I live off the largesse of my family.  This sucks.  I am thankful for a roof but it maddens me that I cannot even return the favor by providing more to them in the form of rent and bills pay.

I work to overcome the spiral of sad thoughts, it just keeps getting harder.  I suppose I should be happy that I am in my 40’s and at least halfway done this useless existence.  Should I be reincarnated I hope I come back as a tree.

Dr Who the Capaldi Review

The 12th Doctor

Peter Capaldi. I was dubious at first, hesitant, and frankly disappointed at the idea of an older Doctor. I was planning on not watching one of my favorite shows because the selection of actor was not suited to my ideas of who the doctor should be. As fate would have it I found myself in a room where I could not avoid an encounter with the twelfth Doctor.

Here we meet an already regenerated doctor and an established companion, an easy plot twist to embrace for all Whovians know the modus operandi of this Gallifreyan. I enjoyed the change up and so it was then that I allowed myself to be tempted by the Scottish burr of Mr. Capaldi. As with every regeneration of the Doctor there is a period of vulnerability and in this viewing I found myself sharing in the uncertainty that this indeed would be my beloved Doctor.

The episode skittles through the patently obvious hallmarks of all Dr. Who shows, creating the comfort zone the anxious observer needs to maintain the suspension of disbelief in regard to this outrageous character. The lynch pin in this plot is the wariness of the assistant Clara. Clara gives voice to the my own reluctance to embrace this new Doctor. The resistance is mostly because his predecessors were handsome, trendy men with quirky poise. Now we are presented with an older man running about like Wee Willy Winky in a long white night gown and are being asked to take him into our hearts. Clara defends him to the teeth when challenged regarding her own loyalty. She reveals her intimate intellectual knowledge of him that proves she is a worthy choice for the Doctor and thus brands a place in the loyal viewers psyche.

The plot itself is interesting and I shall not spoil it for those who have not seen it but it does contain everything we have come to anticipate from Dr. Who, and even leaves you with hints at the greater interwoven plot line to anticipate.

Invariably, no matter his appearance I fall in love with the Doctor. A lifetime of following the world’s favorite Time Lord keeps me coming back for more, and the new season is no different. His intellect, his wit, his charm, his cunning all make the Doctor a brilliant choice for an entertaining evening of television.å

In Memoriam, GAJ, Jr.

I rose early today to make dough and homemade pizza. As I descended the staircase to make my way to the kitchen, I checked my messages.

I stopped.

My breath caught in my throat. It was news of a passing, no background, no preamble.

He didn’t make it.

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.*


This was not how I envisioned my July 31 starting, I cannot fathom how Rachel felt. My first thought was that I would never hear his laugh again. George’s laugh was infectious and uninhibited, and it was always a joy to hear.

A friend asked about my favorite memories of George. I could not answer. There was no specific moment that captures my mind but rather it is a swirl and eddy of moments that blend into the fabric of my life. When I think of George it is almost immediate that I think of Rae, one of my best friends and George’s other half. The stream of consciousness of memories flow mainly around our time at Washington College and I am blessed to say that our friendship remained throughout the years that followed.

One of the brilliant facets of George’s character was that he always encouraged everyone to be their most outrageous inner-self. He believed in each of his friends in genuine fashion. He was real and he let you be real as well. There was no need for pretense or falseness when you were in his company and that itself was a balm in a world where so many expect so much from others. I could be sad without explanation, I could spout my incredulous opinions on anything and I always felt safe. George was a comfort zone, he was a man who offered a camaraderie and sense of peace to any and all who sought his friendship.

George loved to help people. He adored being a counselor at Camp Log and Twig, he aided in projects done by Habitat for Humanity, he promoted equality for all races and rights for women and for those in the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. He was a champion of the under dogs and a voice for peace and non-violence. He was a voice that was determined to be heard and I weep and rage that his voice was silenced too soon.

George loved his family. Being a parent is one of the most incredibly difficult undertakings anyone can attempt in life. The love he held for Dawn, his beloved sister,  his nieces Chloé and Autumn, his children Kismet, Calliope and Atticus was steadfast and certain. You can see the love and pride George has for them in the photographs that he shared with us all. I pray they never doubt that he cherished them. The greatest love was that between George and Rae for it was a love born from friendship, and though difficulties and challenges made life trying for them their friendship, their bond, their love remained and will live on in their children.

No one is without flaws. And George was not perfect. He struggled with personal demons and was striving to become a better person. He spoke of feeling blessed by the love and support of his family and friends in recent weeks and by all accounts he had found that inner strength to continue on a healthy path. And then a small act of greed and cowardice from a stranger ended his life. The cliché that no one is promised tomorrow echoes through my thoughts. George gave us all a gift when he told us that he felt blessed for he acknowledged the unspoken bonds we all share. I do not question how he felt about me or you because I know, after all he let us know without a doubt. He loved us all.


*In Memoriam AHH, Lord Tennyson


I cannot stop to smell the roses
I see them, in the distance
Any more I keep my eyes cast down
I watch as my feet plod on the worn path below
The yoke feels heavy across my back

Dull pain is a all I feel
So much and so often I am numb

I cannot stop to smell the roses
My day’s work is almost done
I breathe deep and keep my eyes cast down
I feel the weight of the day yoke as it leaves
Replaced by stinging pain

For a few moments I am free
So brief and so fleeting I remain still

I cannot stop to smell the roses
The evening piles on the chores that day forgot
My eyes see only yards of cloth and carpet and floor
I dream at night of far away and the beauty I might see
And as I dream the fragrance of roses surrounds me.



I think that I shall close my eyes and dream of far away,

of mountain tops

and rivers of stars in galaxies far away,

I shall close my eyes and think of you and dream of far away.

As I dream of this distant place where ancient gods like to play

I shall hide among the thorny bushes

in shadows

among the things you cannot see

I shall close my eyes and wish things different tho they will never be.

In this dream of far away there is a chance that I might wake

inside the myth

breaking the dream and bringing it to light

And I find you standing there before me in this place so far away

your hand outstretched

And you say to me, It’s about bloody fucking time you joined me.

Posthumous Cut List

I have decided that there are certain souls I no longer wish to know.  I mean this to apply to  future incarnations and time spent in the heavenly realm.  I have been watching you here in this existence, studying your behavior and how it impacts me and my behavior and I do not like it, ergo I do not like you enough to want to wander eternity as a soul mate, be ye friend, lover or acquaintance.  I am making a physical notation in case I forget when I die that there are as of this moment in time ten of you on this list.

Oddly enough some of you, in this life, I consider to be close to me, but I really do not like the manner in which you have chosen to exist as it is hypocritical and immoral.  You choose evil over good time and again.  I am far from perfect.  So perhaps you would not choose to know me either, but I really do not wish to recycle into another lifetime with some of you.  I would rather not reincarnate, but I do not think we are given much choice in this matter.  There are at least three of you that I would not mind seeing burn in an eternal hell.

YO YO YO ~ apologies to William and Elizabeth

Here I speak the words my heart emotes, yo’ Betty Browning what’s that I choke…

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I am spinning high and falling free Willy Shakes, sing it with me.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.