Tired ramblings

Last night was not a good one.  I doubt that I slept even a full hour.  Every time I would try it would be falling into yet another nightmare. I have had them all of my life,  as far back as I remember. I rarely remember them,  only wake feeling afraid and small.

So I have been sleep deprived and shaky… Not a good combo. Well it has had me trying to gather all of the random thoughts swimming in my head. Quite unsuccessfully I should add.  So much so that I have decided to post some here to help my mind to relax.  And that it is a glimpse for you of my chaos?  Bonus.

1. I miss my grandmother,  well both of them.  But mostly my maternal grandmother.  I have been trying to learn to crochet.  And she was amazing at it.  She was just plain amazing,  but it is the crochet that is bringing her to mind this time.

2. Samhain.  Yes I am pagan.  And this is a time for family.

3. I am very likely not going to end up with the death of neverland as anything but a novella.  The halfway point is 5000 words.  So I find myself wondering if I am trying to exceed my reach.  I am a  poet.  I am a children’s author. I apparently can do short stories (aka novella). But can I do a novel?

3 i really am enjoying doing the art thing.  If you are curious about how my art is… Myne drawings album is public on my personal Facebook (Patti Harris).  Go ahead,  look!  I would love new input.

4. My daughter is starting to get into create music.  I really want to encourage that.

5. Yule.  I have a idea for a few of the people on my list.  Not that my list is big. I am not able to afford much for even those.

6. Butt coasters.  A friend of mine on Facebook is doing novelty crocheted coasters (www.facebook.com/nothingbuttcoasters/) and I am so tickled by the pug ones… (Thinking about them for one of my list…

7 money.  Always a issue.

8. After the first of the year,  do I want to do another bedtime tales?

9. Zombie castaways.  Android game..  The villa (a building to make needed items in the game)  if you combine love and rubber… You get bedsheets….

10. I really want a small crockpot for the truck.  I wonder if I can pull it off this month.

11.whether I should do a blog post about religion.  Or poets that I love and why….

12 my sister’s faeries.  I feel like I should help more than I do…

So much rambling.  I am heading to bed soon.  I hope that I sleep better tonight.


R.I.P. to so many

So many bright
Flickering pinpricks
Of brightly shining lights.
Just this year have quietly
Been doused into the
Darkness of the ever after.

For them eternity has begun,
But for those who remain? 
More and more of this drizzling
Grim and lonely rain.

For just a moment,
The light of their talent
Allowed us reprieve
From the pain.

Off to the eternal
So many this year.
Leaving only
To shed a tear.

R.I.P. Chyna


                    I Grew up watching wrestling.  I was basically the only girl among a house full of boys.  And though I enjoyed wrestling…. you were what caused me to love it. To look forward to it. For you were equal to the men. You were strong and beautiful… you had an intelligence that was far more than was expected in your profession. Please may you rest in peace,  for your light will truly be missed here.

How has the times changed…

I remember as a Preteen hating to wear my hair short. I have always been bulky and slightly tomboyish. So I was picked on because apparently I looked like a boy…even though I had breasts. So I always wore my hair long back then. I fought for the ability to wear it long. Tonight I had a talk with my preteen daughter. She fights to wear her hair short (because it requires less care). I asked her if she gets picked on because of her hair. Her response was that she doesn’t get picked on, apparently she is invisible.
I guess in these times of gender neutrality it makes sense. I was her age in 1988…so many things have changed in that time. There are other differences as well. In my daughter’s time there is so many more hazards that were either not there or not obvious when I was her age. I remember the struggles and try to use that when dealing with her, but even with that memory it is so different for her than it was for me, so there are times when the generation gap feels like a chasm.


I’m going to start with a topic that is fairly easy,  and close to my heart. Abuelas…aka grandmother’s.  I have been blessed in mine.  One could say i had four.  My mom’ s mother,  my daddy’s mother,  my stepdad’s mom, and the kind lady who refused to be anything but grandma brown. 
              To be Frank,  I only remember her kindness and her kitchen.  She was there for my mom and I when i was extremely young. Three years old to six. So some of my first memories were of her. She taught my mom how to cook. I know she died,  but I remember her telling us not to visit her grave. She used to say if we couldn’t visit her in life,  then we weren’t welcome in death. 
                  Grandma Ethel,  my mom’s mother,  was a very complex woman.  One of the strongest I have ever known.  It’s from her I have my love of reading.  She loved me unconditionally.  She was a natural born story teller.  I still repeat some of her stories… she used to work in hospitals as an admission clerk.  Well the ambulance brought in a drunk recovered from an accident.  The staff got him awake,  and he started looking around.  “Where is Bob? ” He asked getting more and more agitated.  The ambulance went back and found Bob. They get them together,  only to have both men start asking for Steve.  So this time before the return to the scene,  the emt’s asked how many there were. Five total men. None were really harmed by the crash,  which wrapped the car around a tree. All were drunk.  Turns out the reason for the crash?  All five were asleep in the back seat at the time. 
          However,  for all that I loved her, she was a stubborn person.  She literally could burn water. She had broken her back three times,  had to have it fused five.  So she was often cranky because she was in so much pain. She crotcheted, knitted,  sewed, did cross stitch and plastic canvas.  She loved old movies and British comedies. She was everything to me. I know i was a disappointment to her, but I never doubted her love for me.
           Grandma Harris,  my daddy’s mom, was old fashioned and strict.  She and I really didn’t get along as well.  She adored my brother and felt I was too misbehaving.  Maybe I was. She was also a strong woman,  raised five kids by herself back when that just wasn’t done. She made doll furniture,  did ceramics,  and made candy. She always kept busy.  There was a piano in her house, and music was a big thing around her.
           Last but nowhere near least,  “Grandma Sis”, my Stepdad’s mom. She was tough,  and I really didn’t get to know her well.  She when I met her was already unwell. Yet she took the time to welcome me into her family,  and gave me a box of books.  She took the time to find out what i was into,  so she could welcome me. She really was an amazing woman.
      Of course not everyone has such abundance.  I also had my great grandma and my momo. I think being surrounded by such wonderfully strong female role-models has helped me to really reach to be strong like them.

Various views

   I was saddened to awaken and find another idol gone. Each little light going from the world makes it such a darker place.  After a time each loss stacks on the heart,  weighing it down.  So I set about grieving on social media,  I set myself down and reliving the Joy I have felt in his music.  Rewatched my favorite movie that he was in. I felt sad, until I read a blog post by one of my favorite webcomics ( http://www.dominic-deegan.com) . He was far more elegant than I at how he expressed the combination of sadness and shock that this light going out caused.

Michael Terracciano
Don’t be sad that David Bowie died. The man lived a fiercely unique, artistic life. He was a relevant cultural icon for decades. He was Ziggy Stardust, Jareth the Goblin King, and just David fucking Bowie. His music is immortal. His last work is (from what I’ve heard) a masterpiece of a finale. He left us as ashes, not dust. This is probably the best ending to an artist’s story that any of us creative types could hope for. Hell, if I accomplish even half of a fraction of what David Bowie achieved, I will have surpassed my wildest dreams. Today I celebrate, not mourn.

        This got me thinking.  So i started looking at my behavior when each of these lights went out. Each time we lost a bright light who brightened my life in some way, I reacted the same way. I went back to what I loved.  Their light.  I really believe many do this.  It helps us make sense of death,  of disease,  and of violence.  So tonight i rejoice for the light I found in a creative soul. I also hope someday far into the future,  someone does the same when I pass.

R.I.P. to all those lights that have gone out in the last few years,  even those who only lit up one small world.