i have battled with writing anything here on OS or not about just how much life is a misery now. but i have no one in real life to communicate with about how i am feeling and i don't have enough readers to really make me uncomfortable here, so when a… Read full post »

after having been away from os for so long, i could not stomach looking at the old banner any longer. so bird the cat has been retired and i played in photoshop with fonts, colors, filters, gradients, layers, selections...tweaking this and that...all the toys i have loved for so long yet… Read full post »

I was just staggering about OS and came across Ann's Open Call re: Our Flaws. masochistic sort that i am, i was drawn like the perverbial moth.

first, of course, is that i am a procrastinator (i mean, the OC is from january, for pete's sake). not from laziness but so… Read full post »

five years without

you.

five years of

dawns, sunsets,

wars, crimes:

the world has

continued it's insane

dance

through space.

dry springs, dull autumns. 

no

pumpkin pies,

no

'you love me' as only

you could say it, 

no

joy.

not a drop.

breathing air that should

have been… Read full post »

 The Watcher

12" x 12" colored pencil on slate

© Annie Aurand-Mayes 

she sits in the last

pool of sunlight, deliberately

contemptuous of the world

around her.

feigned casualness masks

wary alertness.

hooded eyes miss nothing. 

reach for her and she

will scurry,… Read full post »

 kind·ness / ËˆkÄ«n(d)nis/

• n. the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.âˆÅ½  a kind act: it is a kindness I shall never forget.

( "kindness." The Oxford Pocket Dictionary of Current Engl… Read full post »

launching from the cut of the moon,

she settles onto streams unheard of.

the decision finally made has

transformed her. she glides on

the currents for a bit, enjoying

the release of the moment.

when the time is right

she will plummet, her choice alone.

few will mourn.

they that do… Read full post »

my father was a creative, intense, complex man. he had a quick temper. he looked like errol flynn. he was 25 when he married my 16 yr old mother. he once dreamed of being a painter. he was a free-lance writer. he was a self-taught gunsmith. he was witty and clever.… Read full post »

sorry, caitie.

i was going to do something grand here on OS for your birthday: y'know, a post about how wonderful it was to have you in our lives for 19 yrs, complete with pictures of you at different ages and brimming with the joy that remembrance is supposed to… Read full post »

yep. tomorrow is father's day. my own dad was a complex, intelligent, high-tempered, loving, flawed man. i adored him. he didn't stop the mental abuse my mom heaped on me, but as an adult i see that he was fighting for his own sense of self and i forgive him. even… Read full post »

that face looking back

isn't someone i know.

i mean, the map is familiar

but the terrain is so different

from what i remember.

what became of the

lively, lovely eyes?

whose are those

that now stare back

haunted, hunted?

what happened to the dreams

that were oh, so vibra… Read full post »

a child's garden of verses, robert louis stevenson 

my dad got me a copy of this book when i was 3 1/2 and i learned to read while sitting on his lap. i loved the illustrations, the words...just everything. 

 alice in wonderland 

i read and reread this book so many times… Read full post »

bill started the day out yesterday (saturday) feeling a bit under the weather. about 2pm pain started near the diaghram and penetrating thru to his back. he was not having any heart symptoms. (i know them all.) he felt a little better, but by late evening was feeling really bad: nauseuas,… Read full post »

one of the biggest victims of PTSD is my memory, especially short term. some days i wish i had a name tag to pin upside down on my bra so i could sneak a peek now and again to remember who the hell i am. if i don't, one day i… Read full post »

 ringing phone, frantic talk, then

rushing, rushing, fearfully

towards we know not what.

digging into the very marrow

finding terrible things that

threaten you, my child, my girl.

bags, tubes, drugs, tears...

she is too old.

but she is only 14!

still

she is too old.

don't worry, tho… Read full post »

well, i've tried to figure out what my greatest fear is. (i am discounting the fear of anything happening to my son or grandson...that is every parent's fear; it is just exacerbated when you've lost a child already.)

i hate heights. but i solve that by keeping my feet firmly on… Read full post »

Americans don't like grief. they like winners. they like fighters. they like things that make them happy and smiling and on top of the world and the best and the brightest...

anything that makes them sad or uncomfortable is against the concept of life, liberty and (the pursuit of) happiness.

they… Read full post »

  Read full post »

Caitie was always a cat person. she loved all animals (well, not moths. she felt moths were evil butterflies with no morals at all), but she had a special connection with cats. when she was a toddler her nickname was CaitieCat. she could snap her fingers and cats would follow her… Read full post »

some years it seemed as if caitie was in hospital more than out. we would just get used to being home and then WHAM! a temperature, or spleen infection or super low counts would force us to go back to Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. so we would have to wave goodbye… Read full post »

i've looked in the east, 
i've looked in the west, 
the places only we 
knew best. 
i've heard you whispering 
in the night 
but wake to silence 
with the light. 
i see you quicken 
yet not be there. 
just a movement of 
the air. 
a… Read full post »