4/13/2015 Confucius, Urban Corning, and a mildly depressing poem

Aleathia says:

Tonight was pretty interesting in my personal universe.  I woke up from my afternoon nap to find that Michael had finally moved all the items to the curb that we needed to get rid of.  I had wanted this done for awhile, but hadn't pushed the issue because he works a lot and who am I to ask of him all this extra?

We spent the evening puttering around in the yard and the basement and getting some spring cleaning done.  It felt like we were a team again and I had really missed this.  I suppose all those months ago when he got his job I had feared that we would lose something.  I feel like we have at times, but today felt like we were rounding the corner to get it back.

I'm not sure what sparked a conversation on getting back to what matters, but I am thankful for it.  I know he has been watching a lot of foreign films, especially films from Hong Kong, and in the last few days talking about the values and wisdom of Confucius.  I had explored his virtues briefly in my 20's right before discovering Buddhism and never really went back to it.  The point of the matter is that it has opened Michael up to see the world in a little different way.  He is in a process of reassessment and I find this to be really important to do every so often.  The world we live in is ever changing and to think that you can live by the same set of rules throughout your time on the Earth is pretty narrow and confining.

After he went to bed I decided to head down to my favorite bar and try a new beer that I had not had the opportunity to experience.  It is normally pretty empty when I go on Sunday late and it suits me just fine.  I can enjoy my beverage and listen to music and enjoy a quip or two with the bartender.

As you may know, I have sort of an obsession with H + F and I have written many a blog about the place which I understand probably makes me look like an alcoholic, but trust me, I am far from it.  Tonight the owners were there and personally thanked me for what I had written.  There was another regular there who also blogs about this lovely town of Corning and he expressed that he had not only read that particular blog, but many others and liked my writing.  If you know me, you understand how frigging difficult it is for me to take compliments.  I have learned over the years that the most humble thing you can do is say "thank you" whether you feel you deserve the praise or not.  It was very gratifying to know that people read this blog sometimes.  I always hope that I am not just writing a damn "dear diary" post every few days.  You should check out Sean Lukasik's articles at Urban Corning.

During this nice night out an acquaintance (whom I have never physically met) told me she wished I lived closer so we could cook presidential meals together.  I can't tell you how fantastic this makes me feel.  I have spent a life of being fairly invisible.  I have grown accustomed to it, but as I get older it feels nice to be seen, to be thought of, to know that my company is enjoyed.

I walked home listening to Fiona Apple (Thanks Charlie and Sean) and enjoyed the night air and the burn in the muscles as I ascended the hill home.  My life is pretty fantastic.  I am thankful for every moment of it.

Sunday's poem prompt was "damage".....yeah...nothing positive is coming from that:

My Black Shroud

I remember nearly dying in your arms
and back woods trailers with my father,
you on the coast fighting for your life,
burning toads in barrels
and running from a black girl that hated me.

I remember you always smelled
of beer and cigarettes and roses.
I was your sweet pea
when you were sober
and the Queen of fucking Sheba
when you were drunk.

I remember your second husband
torturing my cat and killing my dog in the desert.
I remember how he looked at me
like I was something he wanted to wear
and how I feared your disapproval more
than I feared his hands on me;
all those nights listening to him
beat you in a manic rage
and you pretending it never happened.

I remember not going to college
because he threatened your life if I left,
my dreams and freedom traded
for the air you breathed.

I remember when he ran you over
and when you found the next one
that broke your arm
and got you addicted to meth,
and that time the ER doctor called me
from Arizona to tell me you overdosed
or that time you told me you had brain cancer
to cover up your addiction.

I remember all those times you made me feel
like a bad mother, made me feel soft for loving my kid
with everything I had, for not wanting to hear her cry
or think that my actions made her suffer.

And now you are gone.

I feel more damaged after that night
you died in your chair on brandy and Xanax
than I did from 40 years of suffering.
I had hoped there would be time
for you to make it up to me,
time to reclaim the love I never got
but reality is harsher than I ever imagined.
I wish I couldn't remember anything
about you in the small hours
of the night where you haunt me most.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 12, 2015