The letter I never wrote

My Dearest Bobby,

It’s been almost half a century since we last saw each other or since we shared about our lives and yet I looked for you a few years back when I found myself in a new city without friends. Where have all my young friends gone, long time passing?

How I had missed you! You drove west on a cross-country adventure right after college, looking for John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High. I went looking for myself on the little Caribbean Island where my family roots were waiting.

The last time you wrote to me, you told me that you finally understood when I wrote to you about my special love for Edward. You wrote that you had found someone extraordinary as well and felt like you were on cloud nine. “I’m walking on air! This is the one,” you wrote. I was so happy for you. You deserved to be loved to the max. I never heard from you again; not even when I wrote to tell you of Edward’s unexpected passing. I always wondered about that and thought it strange. Did you get my letter? It was before Facebook and emails when letters often were lost and neither party knew it. I believe in my heart that if you would have gotten it, you would have reached out. You were always there for me.

Speaking of Facebook, let me tell you that there must be a gazillion Robert J. Smiths on Facebook! You had told me once. that Robert James Smith was a common family name from one of the islands in the Canadian Maritime provinces where your parents were born. I expected many Smiths but I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting so many with that name combination in our age group. I tried many variations to filter my search and convince the algorithms to give you up.

Finally there it was; a Robert J Smith from New York currently living in the Rocky Mountains! The profile picture was a portrait of a past president known as a great social reformer. I knew I had to be on to something, but the profile said this Robert J was a computer guy at some Rocky Mountain University, not a famous photojournalist traveling the world in search of a great story.

Although this Robert J was not the photojournalist you had dreamed of becoming, there were random sarcastic posts and funny tongue-in-cheek comments in reference to some joke among your friends. I remember that you were always amusing with a sharp wit. I kept scrolling on that page. The information available on the public profile gave me an indication that I may have found the right person.

It seems this Robert J was an activist like my Bobby who inspired and motivated us to march and protest many things while we were in high school. I remember the cold, wet days we spent holding signs in front of the local state-run mental hospital to oppose the abuse and demand better community options for the mentally ill and developmentally disabled. We recycled and protested about pollution. All the while you documented it with exceptional photos for the school paper.

It seemed like this Robert J was also a patron of the arts and I remembered how we spent that one summer exploring all the little museums in the city because we had already exhausted the larger ones. The haunting photos you took at the Cloisters were amazing. It was exciting watching them develop in the makeshift darkroom in your parents’ apartment.

We enjoyed that summer even if it was just the two of us. All our friends were busy with their own projects or were just not interested in the same things. Bernice approached me once about her insecurities because we were spending so much time together. I remembered assuring her that you loved her and the only reason you kept inviting me was that you being ever the supportive friend, didn’t want me to be alone as I dealt with my recent breakup with Harry.

Suddenly as I scrolled through the photos on that Facebook page, I saw your smiling face; still looking like a cherub with curly gray hair. Even in the black and white photo, your eyes had a sparkle as you sipped from a champagne flute in the back seat of a limo with your wife. She looked nice. I was glad to see you so happy; I didn’t bother with the friend request.

About a year later I tried again. This time there was just one status update post. You were glad it would be your last radiation treatment. You explained that you had just started chemotherapy on Brain Cancer Awareness Day. So many memories, and some regrets, all came rushing at me. I said a prayer but didn’t contact you. I wish I had.

Months later around your birthday, I checked a third time, but when nothing new had been posted, I looked for your wife. Did I just become a stalker? I didn’t care; I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I saw the condolences on her page. So many people were acknowledging what a wonderful friend you were and how you touched their lives. They all loved you, as I did. I saw what she said was her favorite picture of you posted for your birthday. She wanted to reassure her friends that she was coping well and but admitted she missed you so much. I was glad to see she loved you so.

It was a professional portrait, and it was how I had imagined you aging with soft gray curls and a neatly trimmed beard. Your mismatched eyes were apparent, one green, one hazel. They were thoughtful eyes, caring eyes. My sweet Bobby; you found someone who loved you the way I couldn’t. I thank God for her. I wanted to reach out to her and add my condolences, but I didn’t.

I still remember you on your birthday and say a prayer. I’m sorry I didn’t love you the way you wanted; the way your parents would have wanted. I’m glad we were best friends though. I’ll always remember the special moments we shared, the decision we made that summer to protect Bernice. I question myself about that choice from time to time and naturally wonder what could have been,.

Of one thing I am certain, I am grateful that I had you to walk beside me as we were growing up and transitioning into adulthood.

Rest in peace my dear one.

You are forever in my heart – love me.

Day Eight: Reinvent the Letter Format #everydayinspiration

Let Social Media Inspire You

“I can’t decide if procrastination kills creativity or is essential to it.” Grant Snider@grantdraws Twitter

Today is the test. Has procrastination murdered my creativity? I’ve been putting off completing this assignment all day. I don’t know why, but maybe the very essence of the word procrastination is enough to make me fall off the wagon. I think I’m doing pretty well since I decided to make my blog a priority. I knew keeping up with a consistent writing routine was going to be a test of dedication to my craft. I’ve joined Writing Challenges and participated in courses at Blogging U just to make sure that something would stimulate me or hold me accountable to get to the computer to write.

writing muse — Photo by Fröken Fokus on Pexels.com

In the past, when a project was due, I was one that pondered, ruminated and at the final hour moved forward with all my might to catch up. I have found though that if I have a thought, an idea or an inspiration, I need to grab it and run with it at that moment. If the sentiment passes, it goes up like a cloud of smoke, and it’s much harder to be creative because one can’t force the arts. I can understand when someone cries that the muse is gone and with it the intention to be fresh and original.

I’ve said before that I have learned that I am a binge writer as explained by Kara Daly from Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog. https://brevity.wordpress.com/2018/03/26/staying-out-of-the-headlights-on-finding-my-own-writing-process/. I need my imagination stirred; I need a catalyst to start churning ideas in my mind. When I feel it moving, thoughts start flowing, and I write; it may be poems, essays, sometimes it’s a story without end, and I need to find a wrap-up. Lately, I’ve been better about jotting the random thoughts that come about as well. I may not use all of the material that flows, but then I have something in the pipeline for when the muses don’t stop by.

In short to respond to the tweet by Grant Snider@grantdraws; Procrastination kills creativity for me because if I wait until the last minute, I am stressed and worried about the time. Procrastination may be alright in other areas but not when I want my creative juices flowing.

Please remember that I need your help too with ideas of what you want to see me write about for the final lessons. You can put suggestions in the comments section of this blog post or go to the Contact Me page on the menu section at the top of the page. Thanks.

Day Seven: Let Social Media Inspire You #everydayinspiration

Writing Space

Most days I enjoy writing in the quiet of my room, up away from the street noise and TVs. I have a small computer desk where I perch my laptop on its stand and pull out the keyboard from the tray. I’ve got a table with a couple of notebooks and pens for jotting ideas or taking notes and always a glass of ice water. I love a bright sunny day when I can write without lamps and open the window for fresh air.

My ideal space would be a loft on the second floor of a Spanish colonial townhome on the edge of the Old San Juan historic district; with a view of San Juan Bay. I would also be satisfied with a loft apartment in the same place but now over a Spanish style bakery with the aroma of fresh Mallorca and expresso spiraling up through the open doors on the balcony which overlooks the cobblestone streets. Who am I kidding? Neither one of these would be conducive to productivity. I would spend hours daydreaming or people watching or maybe not indoors at all. In that case, I will stay in my own little corner, twirling in my office chair, in front of my computer desk.

Some of you may have noticed I am working in a group to continue to improve my writing. For the past few days, at the end of each post, I have identified the task for the corresponding day. Today’s assignment has a part two. We have been asked to collect post ideas from our readers that we can refer to in the future. What would you like to see me write about? We are to gather ideas that will in some way be integrated with our Day 15 assignment. I would certainly appreciate your help. You can leave an idea in the comments section or go to my Contact Me page from the blog menu.

Here is the link to Contact Me —- It should be fun.

I look forward to hearing from you. Contact Me

Day Six – A Space to Write #everydayinspiration

Happiness Is Like a Butterfly

Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. Author unknown, printed in “The Literary American,” 1848. (Credit- Quote Investigator)

brown butterfly perched on pink flower — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I have difficulty finding a favorite quote to share because I have many. I store bits wisdom from a variety of people and sources. First and foremost I often quote my parents and grandparents, especially to my younger generation. Its the Wisdom of the Elders.

Through the years I’ve memorized quotes from the Bible and preachers; from educators and authors – even quotes from “the mouth of babes.” As we know kids say the truth no one else dares to.

These quotes and special thoughts are put away in seemingly random places in my mind, but they are usually available when I need them. I often sprinkle them among the sentences in my writings to endorse a point or a statement of my own. The particular quote above, I got from my daughter many years ago, as she explained the tattoo on playing peek-a-boo on her hip, but that’s a story for another day.

The quest for happiness seems an obsession of the human race since the beginning of time. People don’t realize that happiness is not something that can be measured by the pound or the yard and you can’t keep it in your pocket or on a shelf. It means different things to different people. Happiness is more of a state of being. I have seen people strive for one thing or another, thinking that it would lead to happiness only to be sorely disappointed. “I thought, once I didn’t have to worry about money … or when I lose weight… or once I was married or finished my education…” It’s sad that along the way they rushed by and possibly missed those moments that would have made them happy.

All those aspirations and dreams are worth the effort, but we must remember to keep our eyes, ears and above all our hearts opened to the showers of blessings that fall upon us when we least expect it. An old friend left me with a thought that I always remember, a simple truth, a quote I’ve used often – a lesson learned. “Enjoy each great moment as it comes, you don’t know when the opportunity will come again.”

I leave you with this, when you think happiness is out of reach, sit for a moment in the quietness of gratitude and fill your heart with the sweet moments you have lived. A smile from a stranger, a hug from a friend, the wonders around you like a butterfly on your shoulder; those memories will sustain you to continue your journey until you reach your destination because they help you remember there is good in the world.

Day Five: Hook ’Em With a Quote’ #everydayinspiration

Grand Central Station

I can’t remember the last time I was at Grand Central Station. If I had to guess, it was probably on my way home for the weekend in my freshman year in college. I grew up in New York City – the borough of Brooklyn to be exact. As a teenager and young adult, I rode the subways at all hours of the day. I was never afraid – I guess that’s the gift of the foolishness of youth. I remember the splendor of this transit station; the bright lights, the Tiffany clock, the marble that withstands time. I remember crowds on the trains and the streets in the City, but I don’t recall it like a sardine can of people but I saw it the last time I was there. I certainly have no memory of armed National Guardsmen at all large transit stations. It’s like another world, another lifetime.

I can see myself standing against the wall waiting for my train and watching all the people. Everything around me is a blur of people walking quickly by – just as the photographer caught it. There is a pulse to this place, a strong almost frantic rapid pulse. The noise level makes me crave at least five minutes at the shore early in the morning; just by looking at the picture my soul longs to synchronize with the rhythm of the waves rolling in an out on the beach.

Who are these people? Where are they going in such a rush? What or who is waiting for them? Was that me of another era? I remember someone complaining once that I walked too fast. My response? “I’m a New Yorkah, whadda you want?” That was years ago. Now I pick up the pace just only when I want to get my heart rate up.

What about the National Guardsmen? They are looking at these people too with different questions; with sharper eyes. Their presence everywhere reminds us of unknown dangers that have become part of our lives. Do they have mixed feelings because they crave some action in their otherwise boring day? I am reminded of the most recent school shooting. Are more armed officers at the school honestly the answer? Public schools are cutting down on personnel such as nurses, counselors, and teachers of the arts. They are spread thin throughout their counties in all parts of the country. Resources, in general, are scarce in our public schools, and yet the only answer is to arm more people in the school.

And then in the blink of an eye, I’m back at my desk, pounding on my keyboard, in the quiet space I’ve carved for myself. Like the song from Roger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, “Then I’m glad to be back in my own little corner; All alone in my own little chair.”

Day Four: A Story in a Single Image; #everydayinspiration

Home is Where the Heart Is

I was “home” this weekend visiting family. It’s funny we are all far from our childhood home and our parents have long past on but spending time with my sisters always feels like home no matter where we are. From the belly laughs to the tears it all feels just right. I am reposting this story, which is one of my favorites, in honor of spending time with loved ones.

Baby Girl woke up startled she didn’t recognize the loud voices in her home that morning. Strange things had been happening for days. Stuff was disappearing from all the rooms; like the picture frames on the mantel and the books her sisters liked to read to her at night. There now were big boxes all over the house. New ones appeared each time something else went missing. Nothing seemed to be where it should be, and the whole family was too busy to play with her.

Suddenly Baby Girl realized she was alone in the room and she was scared. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand stiff against her collar, but she had to go to the bathroom, and she was hungry, so she quietly ventured out into the hallway. Baby Girl peered out from behind the long wall. She did not see Lovey or Annie. Where had they gone without her so early in the morning? She called out to them as two big men crossed in front of her with the boxes. They smiled at her but went on their way carrying boxes out the open door. She glared at them. Where was Mama or Dad? Baby Girl called out again. No one answered.

Since the front door was open and the big men were not around, she decided to let herself out and go to the bathroom. She knew Mama and her sisters did not like her to go out by herself, but she was just going to the backyard. She had done it many times with the girls. She started creeping along the side of the house, the gate was closed, and she couldn’t open it. She continued slowly and carefully, close to the fence until she found a spot. Business was done but still no sign of her family. She couldn’t even hear them. She went back to the front of the house to check. Did those men have anything to do with her family’s disappearance? She sniffed the air – nothing. Should she worry?

Sometimes Mama and Dad went for a walk in the woods behind the house early in the morning before everyone else was up. Maybe Lovey and Annie went with them this morning. Baby Girl knew how to get to the woods. She would walk along the long white fence until the end and then walk into the woods no further than the Big Pointy Rock. Her sisters always promised their parents that they would go no further than the Big Pointy Rock so that Mama could still see them from the kitchen window. Baby Girl was getting hungrier; she wanted to find everyone so that she could get some breakfast. Off she went into the woods.

Lovey and Annie had gone with Mama up the street with a box of baby toys and books for the new neighbors. Dad went to take a few things to the dumpster. Lovey and Annie agreed to give those things to their babies because they were big girls now and would be getting Big Girl things in the new house. As they were walking back, Lovey and Annie noticed that the movers had left the front door wide open. They ran the rest of the way calling out to Baby Girl. The movers said they had just seen her near one of the bedrooms, but she was not in the house! She had not eaten her breakfast. The girls went outside and called again. They shouted her name all around the house and at the end of the fence.

In the woods, Baby Girl had followed a big green lizard past the Big Pointy Rock until it ran up a tall tree. She couldn’t reach it but as she was looking up, she spotted a big beautiful dragonfly and followed it as it danced in the air through the woods. She did not hear her family calling, but she did hear a splash from the gurgling of a brook nearby. Fish were jumping out of the water! She wanted to catch one of those, it smelled like food, and she remembered she was hungry.

Back at the house, the girls were upset, and Mama and Dad were worried. They had to leave soon, and they could not find Baby Girl anywhere. They put the last boxes in the car. As she hugged them goodbye, the neighbor next door, Mrs. Levy, promised to keep an eye out for Baby Girl and would call them right away. “I’m sure she’s just having an adventure. She’ll be back.” She reassured them.

In the woods, Baby Girl paced back and forth along the edge of the water, she wanted to catch the fish but hated getting her feet wet. She heard rustling in the bushes and looked up to see two baby deer. The deer are back Baby Girl thought with excitement. She forgot about the fish and ran after the deer. She ran and ran but couldn’t catch the deer. The baby ran straight to Mama and Dad Deer who stomped their feet at Baby Girl. She stopped in her tracks and realized she was standing in front of the Big Pointy Rock. She remembered she was hungry and headed toward the house. She hoped Mama and Dad and Lovey and Annie were back.

To her surprise Baby Girl found the gate to the yard open; and so was the screen door to the back porch. She discovered her bowls were on the back porch. How strange she thought, but things had already been odd for days. She was glad because she was sooo hungry. After she ate, she wanted to go inside and lay in her bed; she was tired. She called at the door for Mama or Dad or Lovey and Annie, but no one came.

Just as she was going to check to see if the front door was still open, she saw Mrs. Levy coming toward her. She liked Mrs. Levy; she smelled like food and always had a special treat for her. “Baby Girl, where have you been? You had us all worried! I heard you barking and called your family. Lucky for you they were not too far yet. They are on their way back to come for you. Let’s go to my house to clean you up before they get here.” Mrs. Levy picked her up and took her home. When she was clean, she lay on the rug by the door and waited for her family.

When they arrived, there were hugs and kisses everywhere. They were all glad to see each other. In the car, Lovey and Annie took turns holding her tight. They told her they were afraid she was lost and they didn’t want to go to their new home without her. Baby Girl didn’t understand all the fuss. She was home. She was where she wanted to be all along, snuggled in between Lovey and Annie as they all took a nap in the backseat of the car.

#everydayinspiration

I write because…

I have stories to tell. I write because I want to make a difference in someone’s life. My head is full of ideas. Some are reality-based; they are the stories of people I’ve met who touched my life in some way. Some stories are what-ifs that swim around in my brain. I see something or someone that catches my eye and that sparks my curiosity. I wonder what’s beyond or why does it happen that way. Sometimes I see things and am overwhelmed with emotion, and I need to stop and sort it out.

I believe we all share a human experience and we learn from those who’ve gone before and even those who are coming up after us. If we choose to learn, age teaches us but does not give us all the answers. Everyone who crosses our path affects our life in some way. They leave something behind – either a gift or a lesson.

I have worked with people in different aspects of my life in various roles, and I have learned a lot about the human experience. If something I write helps one person take another look at a problem in their life, I will have served a purpose.
#everydayinspiration

Another work group to improve my writing. Please bear with me.

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