A NOVEL IDEA - Mark’s Musing Sunday Mar. 28, 2010

today’s Musing  written and published from Cranston in south- east  Calgary, near the Bow River valley

 

Morning walk: 3C/37F,  big blow, big arch; return to gym: workout test for the toe (still touchy, much improved), then - paper read, coffee downed – walked ridge route with Gusta, her inspection of each clump of waving prairie grass for smells visitors left behind.

 

My daughter Carla (she and Chad swooped in yesterday for to visit my dad ..and we all lunched together) said, ‘dad, how can you write fiction when you don’t read fiction?’, which is a good point. My fiction writing (I’m starting a novel idea) will be disguised reality, I have stories, of real people happening to me – their truth, and mine, better than any fiction - magical fairy tales waiting to be told . . . .

 

Maybe, if we can’t dream it, we can’t have it.  If that be true, we should dream more - a lot more – to get what we dream, get what we work for and most of all, to vividly experience the times we’ve dreamt of.

 

Those best times follow worst times, it seems, and tough times follow best times, like hill and valley on life’s roller-coaster - there are better ‘better’ times atop each hill, and ‘lesser’ bad times in each undulating valley – where a garden patch awaits our cultivation, when we stop reviewing pasts and start building a new future, at last . .

 

The start

The end

The in between

The start over

The stumble

The fall

The wake up

The get up

The go again

The go hard

The try hard

The give it all

The stretch

The grow

The state of being left breathless

The taller we stand, higher we reach, deeper we dig – that place, is where we find ourselves.  Where, then, do we look – for new experience, for new learning - for a partner? 

 

Some of us are lucky enough to look across the breakfast table at someone we’ve seen for years.  Some look, but must look away because happiness lives somewhere else.

 

Some have a different experience . . . fine ourselves, weak in, weak out – just weak all week - looking across, at that empty chair.   Empty because love left, went away, or died, or a partner died – but there it sits, the empty chair is waiting, like a sports car, waiting for a new driver with driving gloves and double-clutching skills. 

 

My chair is empty.  I don’t, like it.  Only I, together with a welcomed guest, can change that. I want some sugar pie, honey. 

 

I’ve had some visitors use the chair, but they’ve gone away or were sent away – or I left them; my track record has left me with enough joyous Sunday mornings to remember why I want them, but not enough to satisfy me for life. I need more, want more, hunger for more.  Love hurts, but still, I’m waiting, for someone so incredible I’ll never hurt like that again, and never need to look again. 

 

TO WHOM IT MIGHT CONCERN: I want sortafun . . not the whole fun; that might be too much to start with, but sortafun . . that might be just what I need; and what do you need? May we find just a splinter of a glimmer, a touch for being touched and a scheme to dream for you, you are so beautiful .

 

Till then, I suppose that chair will be empty on Sunday mornings and each day between the Sundays - will be used for other purposes; fresh air, golf, dog walks and drives in the country – for reading and writing but mostly for writing. 

 

To blend what just happened, with what happened so long ago, a recipe for success or disaster is always uncertain – but every time we mix ingredients and people for the first time we get a result that, when at its best, is best served for breakfast on Sunday morn.

 

 

PAIN GAIN

Pleasure and truth, in the same line

assumes these two can easily fit together.

 

Pleasure comes, and it goes, but pain -

it hangs around, so very much longer.

 

It just waits, and aches, to be put well

behind, in the past where past belongs.

 

Loves lost, or simply abandoned – are lousy

teachers, they fail me, or do I fail them?

 

Because we keep repeating

these mistakes of hope,

and these errors in imagination.

 

Mark Kolke

323,648

202.2

 

 

RESPONSES/COMMENTS ALWAYS WELCOME; send to: musing@maxcomm.ca  

 

 

March 27Comments

 

March 27– MENDED, HEALED AND GONE AWAY – What a sweet piece of writing. Thank you for your thoughts and warm wishes. I hope your day will also be happier than yesterday, FO, Kaunakakai, HI

 

March 27– MENDED, HEALED AND GONE AWAY -  Are this week's poems your writings?? – and then, in response to my reply that I’ve decided to try a year of writing poetry  - Marvelous. I, for one find it as a terrific enhancement to the daily musings. What you wanted to say and didn't in the sentences ........ comes through in the prose.  Keep it up.  Mix it up.  Change is good, LAR, Winnipeg, MB