Doors and Windows
Writing profile #4

RE: Don’t hang up

Mike: So, I am trying again. I’m not sure what part of my last profile was so hardass teacher WHATEVER, but I am trying again. Sheesh.


What I don’t get is why you aren’t interested in me?


*awkward silence*


Well, here goes:
I need a straight man. OOooooh! Did I really say that? I did!
I need a guy to be the Abbott to my Costello, a Ricky to my Lucy. You know: my straight man, the one who tosses up a one liner so I can hit it out of the ballpark.  I love to play word games—I know you didn’t miss my pun—but it isn’t easy running the show all by myself. Double entendres and friendly banter are more fun in a duet than a solo act. Although I can share the stage, I admit to loving an audience especially if it’s you. You know. You know—The one?


I am curious, generous, and young at heart. I love to dance, sing, play charades. I appreciate nice things in life, but I don’t need things to make me happy. In most ways I am simple and patient; I don’t do drama although I love to go to a play or concert now and then. I can go to the movies alone, but I get tired of talking to myself, discussing the film, after the show. Besides, people look at me funny.


Conversation. I want a conversation with a good man who is funny, attentive, appreciative, and centered. I don’t need flowers or fancy dinners. I really just want conversation. and the rest will be negotiable. Not in dollars. No… O dear. Now, where have I gone?
Let’s leave some things to talk about at coffee, or for a walk on the beach, or over a glass of wine. If you’re curious, clever, and secure, then maybe you recognize a kindred spirit.


Email me but don’t wink. That’s like getting the worst catcall from the ugliest jerk around. Email me. I’m really fun. Get to know me. You’ll either want to know more or run for the hills. Let’s see.


So, Mike?


Carol


ps. You keep saying to be myself. Who the hell is that and how would you know?

six word story

Living outloud muffles small voice inside.

If we were doomed to live forever, we would scarcely be aware of the beauty around us.
Peter Matthiessen (via theparisreview)

Danny saw beauty in everyone, in stories, in imagination. He was a remarkable boy who loved to think deeply. He would just sit and think. He was a brilliant writer and artist, although his artwork outside of art class was dark and scary. I love everything about him especially that he loved me so much, too. He once told me he really liked me because I thought about things from many sides so he could really explore ideas with me. No one was better at that than he was. He’s the one who knew that I needed to talk to think. Do you think he saw so much beauty because his life was about to be extinguished?

For Ántonia and for me, this had been the road of Destiny; had taken us to those early accidents of fortune which predetermined for us all that we can ever be. Now I understood that the same road was to bring us together again. Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

Willa Cather, My Ántonia


Friday Final Lines | Every Friday, we offer the closing lines of a Penguin Classic to finish up the workweek. 

(via classicpenguin)

wakethetrees:

I remember hearing Mirel Wagner’s music a few years ago. I was entranced.I bought the album immediately and only played it a few times. Today I can play nothing else.

Whoa, cool and creepy?

sunlight is not good for denial

figmentdotcom:

It’s Poetry month!

figmentdotcom:

It’s Poetry month!

Breeze through the window

For so long I’ve lived inside a stuffy house of sorrow where even I get tired of breathing the same old sad air. I’d gotten so used to being locked up in here that I forgot there even was a world outside, much less sunlight, birds singing, soft breezes blowing. I just stayed inside with the cobwebs of unfulfilled dreams and unlived desires. Danny was my reason for being shut up (literally, too) inside such a dark, dank, and dismal place. Like Miss Havisham, I was just using a sad experience to stop living, angry that life had betrayed our hopes and fantasies of a happy life for which we wanted to do nothing. Spoiled children, that old lady and me.

But on March 28, I opened all the doors and windows and let springtime in. No more dark days reliving horror after horror. Only laughter, happy memories, and love occupies my heart. Suddently I knew exactly what to do.

I just treated D’s birthday as if it was anyone of my students’ birthdays. I invited my AVID students to sing all my silly birthday songs and I planned a sort of party. We put on a movie night fundraiser, popped popcorn, invited people in, and proceeded to have a lovely time. My students quizzed me about what we did for D’s birthday, so I got to share all the fun times together, our family parties and traditions and his favorite cake which wasn’t cake at all but cherry pie.  An hour later, the kids call me over and sing happy birthday to Danny again and brought out two cherry pies to eat on his birthday. I knew D was celebrating in heaven while we on earth celebrated the life and courage of an amazing boy who was only a year older than these kids when he got sick. He would have been 26.

But instead of grieving and feeling envious, I simply acknowledged that he died way too young and celebrated that I could keep him alive by planting little kernels of Danny in each life I touched. and suddenly the windows opened and a fragrant breeze blew all the sadness away. Welcome spring. And although Eliot said that April was the cruelest month, I think It is the best of all times of years passed and to come. Blow  in gentle Zephyr, and warm up my life with flowers in your hair and rebirth in your breath.