Father, in Time(c)

Dad, me & Bobby

arlene s bice

Bringing back memories

before my time began

my father’s music, written

for him by the

Gershwins

Cahn

Kern

Porter

Ellington

sung & arranged

for me by Rod Stewart

thoughts come forth

if Father’s dreams

were the same as my dreams

was his creativity passed down to me

his words come from my hands

perception, arrangement

come to me from him

love of the written word

of art, nature, even cooking

from my father

love of education

tho late, was his dream

and mine, too

it took many years, changing

record labels for

Rod Stewart

to succeed in recording

his father’s music

in time

The Great American Songbook yet

his dreams were not his father’s.

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SSS~ Therapy

I walked into the nursery, plant and flower nursery that is, enjoying each inhaled, distinctive scent that floated under my nose.

Ah-h-h my blood pressure was dropping down to a normal level even after the unhappy morning at work where the boss was way out of line with his demands, red-faced shouts at everyone about everything that was wrong in the office.

We all knew it was really wrong in his home but none of us were about to speak up or even look him in the eye because good advice about divorces might slip out.

The man wasn’t living a decent life and wouldn’t be living a life at all if he didn’t seek some therapy to get him over the bumps in a disastrous marriage.

I cringed inside for the man and his suffering ignoring how he was making us suffer because of his choice of bride.

Then again, my therapy is in place with the cat that waits for me to come home to be the perfect companion to me.

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What it is to be a Woman

Featured author:

The House of She    – Ellie Newbauer                                           

It’s a curiosity,                                                                             

Where all these Shes come from                                                  

Who rent space inside the house of me

Where do they stay through the day

As they peek from behind the curtain of my mind

Waiting to show their idiosyncrasies

I am a house full of acquaintances 

Each one hiding behind their title,

Wife, Mother, Friend, Teacher, Artist, Monk,

So many more

All faces nodding to one another in passing

Occasionally a purposeful-She

Will stride forward demanding that

This minute serve her alone as others

Hide behind their imaginary walls

read the rest of the poem in:

What it is to be a Woman

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six sentence story~passion

Sitting in front of my computer I began to deflate, almost crumbling into a fetal position in a chair, if that is possible. It seemed like yesterday that I began with excitement, enthusiasm and pure joy to be writing this story that was building a fire within me for what seemed like a lifetime. For sure it was a lifetime because there were so many bits and pieces of me scattered throughout the words that lay on the page after page after page unfolding before me.

Ocean Sunset ~ the late Juanita Crosby

The excitement of something new and challenging changed in time to plodding along with questions burning inside me; like should I include this or would it be better left out. The plodding along changed to struggling, feeling like pushing a ball uphill, not being able to see the sun setting on the horizon to complete this all-consuming project. Finally the flow of words fizzled down to a few that stumbled along until I tapped the last letter of the last word and my passion died a heavyweight dead, letting me know it was over.

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Gratefulness in these times

Now at the end of a month full of COVID-19 following a month of the same, there is so much to be grateful for. Here are 10 more on the list that may seem trivial but are not.

  1. Work that comes from writing.
  2. Guidelines about Corona virus that keeps me healthy.
  3. Early morning walks when the streets and park are empty.
  4. Ability to cut my own hair without freaking.
  5. Good cozy British mysteries to tickle my brain for clues.
  6. Facebook that keeps me in touch when I can’t be there.
  7. Zoom, as it opens the gate for gatherings.
  8. My crockpot that makes cooking easy.
  9. Iced coffee in warm weather, better than hot in cold weather.
  10. Adult coloring books leading me back to painting watercolors.

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six sentence story-RIGHT

Arlene S Bice

So we could have argued because I knew he was in the wrong, even though he explained it to me exactly as he saw the situation.  He repeated it over and over as if that would make it all clear to me and how he saw it was the only way.  I kept quiet and let my mind run around the whole story he was telling me with such passion and earnestness pouring out of his expressions and the words he used so carefully.

There were a couple different choices before me that I was pondering to use in my answer to him as he waited and paced in circles so impatiently.  Caution, I was using extreme caution searching for the words I wanted to use to convey my thoughts without crushing his enthusiasm.  No longer could I hold out or keep my thoughts from him because he would be frothing at the mouth if I waited any longer before saying something that would nurture him without my needing to be RIGHT.

Afterthought: so many people in the cemetery swore they were right.

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Six Sentence Story-ETERNAL

Umbrella Jane

I scurry around quickly picking up exactly what I need while shopping at Costco in this strange atmosphere of where everyone wears a mask and keeping a 6-feet distance from each other.

Sometimes that means using extreme patience waiting for another to finish in the area that I want to step into for what I want to buy.

In silence they nod to me that they are finished now moving away and I nod a ‘thank you’ nod in return trying to smile politely behind my mask.

I think a particular thought process hanging in the air is working because I notice that no one has been rude or inconsiderate.

When I leave the store by way of the crates they have piled up to guide shoppers in and out of the store with as little interaction as possible, the drizzle of rain that began in my journey today has turned into serious rain falling.

I pop my umbrella open charging forward to my car, open the rear hatch and begin unloading my cart with one hand while holding the umbrella with the other until a masked woman approached me, holding her umbrella over me so I could load my car with much more ease tells me kindness is alive , healthy and ETERNAL

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Six Sentence Story- WATCH

Kenneth Bice Morrison

The navy shipped the body of my first born son home to our friendly neighborhood undertaker on a 4th of July weekend.

A numbness covered me as I just agreed to whatever his assistant suggested we do for a wake service that he would direct and take care of the details before I halted him at wanting to have an open casket because there were no  marking on my son’s face from his car accident that took his life on a rainy Wednesday night.

Oh, no, I was not ready to face the fact that my son would no longer be calling me with his adventurous stories or sending me a birthday card and mother’s day card as he always did along with a sweet note to make it personal.

I figured I would take it slow and easy in accepting that fact because there was no rush now was there.

His pea coat hung on the trim around my living room doorway where I could see it and pass it several times a day for months on end, driving the stakes of memory into my heart, but the final irritation that drove me near crazy was his watch laying on the roll top desk with the band broken, my son’s head broken but the damn thing kept running.

How does that happen?

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Ten Things i am Thankful For

Lit Bookcase

  Ten Things i am Thankful For  ~ arlene s bice

  1. words, especially printed, so we can communicate

  express our love, show we care

  • family, be it blood related or not, who share affection

stay connected, are close to my heart

  • books, to carry me around the world and home again

feeding me an eduation, new ideas

  • food, to break bread together with friends, raise a glass

exchange ideas and thoughts

  • wine, to complement a fine feast of abundance for all

to toast, congratulate, and commiserate

  • love, it wraps around me, keeps me warm when i am cold

in touch when i am alone, never lonely

  • music, it lifts me when down, settles me when wired

brings great memories, creates new ones

  • trees, filtering the air, shade from too much sunshine

protection from the elements in the rain

  • flowers, filling the air in lovely scent & visual beauty

creating smiles for all who notic

* memories, to know i have lived, loved, lost, found

take me away yet keep me grounded.

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A Good Read . . .What it is to be a Woman

Introduction

Over many years, I talked and listened to women tell their stories. Whether I waited tables, tended bar, sold or appraised real estate, or leaned on the counter near the cash register on a quiet afternoon in my book shop. I mention the last item because a quiet afternoon in a small town book shop was perfect for a conversation with a woman who needed to release her story to someone who would listen. It didn’t need to be a close friend, maybe even better because I wasn’t. Each one of those stories, though not written here, were not forgotten by me, is honored with this publication. They reveal the various lives we have lived as women.

An anthology is the perfect vehicle to reveal stories untold; to explain, represent and disclose. Like a whisper in my ear from a feminine ancestor, the idea slid right into my mind. It wouldn’t let me sleep until I put thought into action.  Timing is perfect, I said to myself. Women’s achievements of the past are now coming out of vintage trunks. There are tales of heroines of long and not so long ago. Women who made great changes behind the scenes are stepping into limelight they deserve. No more hiding behind curtains or in the backroom.

Reading Jeanmarie Evelly’s History of a Body inRattle #66 set me on fire! It boiled the blood in my veins! It slapped me alert! Excitement charged through me as images passed in front of my eyes. I needed to invite women to tell their stories. I wondered how many women experienced incidents only because they were female. I felt their stories could only be told correctly and completely by them.

It is time to let the world read our words; words reveal who we were, how we lived, loved, and who we are today. We went unnoticed, doing great things in small ways. We influenced others with our quiet deeds.

We postponed and sacrificed our dreams to benefit ones we loved and never mentioned it. Let each reader laugh or cry, cheer for us, or get angry at what happened. Let some disagree with our decisions or shout ‘Brava!’

                                    With kindness and respect,

                                    Arlene S. Bice

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