fromthemouthofmoi

I'm still smarting but I'm happily plodding along with the preparations for Christmas Day dinner. Fifteen are expected and I look forward to each and every one. I shall wear my Thai made red silk dress completed with the lipstick thrown away. I shall be gorgeous and happy, feeling beautiful, and grateful for good friends. I shall persist and go on with joy. Merry Christmas to all. Love, Moira

Dear Daddy, Yesterday I found myself lonely for the first time in my life. I suddenly felt alone with a swelling need inside to talk to someone. Not just anyone but someone good and I blurted out aloud: Let me call dad! and just as suddenly I knew I couldn't.  You would have been the perfect one to have called. I can hear your voice now answering the call: Hi baby! And off we'd go for a two hour jaw wag. But you aren't here any longer and I don't have that luxury anymore. And for me, it was a luxury. So I called John. I was hesitant to call him because I have not often experienced him to be deep or sympathetic in the ways that matter to me. To the chronically ill he is the type to say: Get well soon. But call him I did and I found an old friend feeling just as I do as he has just recently lost the last of his parents; his mother. And for two hours I talked and he talked and I learned that he too felt the same pangs and fears of being single and alone and having a de

A much earlier post, These Misunderstandings Between Us , has garnered the most traffic to this blog with well over 3 thousand hits. I have to assume that its topic struck a chord with many people. So I have decided to continue the conversation, taking it further, with a focus on negotiating and navigating sex. Sexual urges, no matter how frequent or infrequently they occur, are normal. If you like to do it five times a day or once a month, both of those scenarios are normal. Your desire for sexual contact is normal. When people marry, they talk about religion, finances, schooling for their children and a host of other things but rarely do people sit down with their partners and talk about sexual compatibility. If you couple with someone who wants intimacy once a day and you are a once a week person, both of you are soon to be miserable. The once a day person will feel unfulfilled followed by feelings of rejection and the once a week person is going to eventually feel put upon and st

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I am hoping that the day will be wonderful for you wherever you are: Cuba, Mexico, England, Ireland, Germany, Ghana, California, Oregon, Canada, New York, The UK, Kentucky, and Minnesotta. Enjoy your friends and family!

Well you didn't actually knock, you banged a bit. And through the glass I could see you were a tall person. Who could it be? And I opened the door and there you stood, really, like a site for sore eyes! There really was a second of: pinch me, am I dreaming? Do my eyes deceive me? I had a sudden need to cry and hold you tight. I have missed you my friend! And then you sat down, like time never passed, and we began to talk about zeitgeist and art, about Melville, and London, about all the things that make me love you, and we did it in under fifteen minutes. Who else could? You are my treasure for my heart.

I have thought about this rut I am in and all it has felt like is a swamp of sorts. Like I am stuck in the mud: breathing but unable to move freely. What causes my unhappiness I ask myself, and most days I simply don't know. And then suddenly, I know. But then the next hurdle becomes: What do I do about it? And again I am thrown back to: I do not know. I want easy answers, quick ones in fact, but I have known this feeling before. And when I take time to listen and think, listen and think, I know I will come out the other side feeling clear. So I have begun looking for other places to live. I have begun looking for other people to talk to who have ideas about things that I know nothing about. I am gathering information. I am sure my journey has not ended here. I know brown faces are in my future. I know teaching is too. I know my blog is for what can be shared and that journals must be begun again for that which can't be shared. I am reaching towards the unknown sure that wh

There are those that remember details that astound me. One of my brothers is like that. He will say things like: In 1972 I was here or there doing this and that. Others will say things like: It was June 20th when I first heard that song. I don't remember anything in this sort of detail. I remember things like: I was leaning against the wall and so and so was dancing at that party wearing a pink dress but if pressed for the date or whereabouts of the memory I will not recall. I take pictures in my heard and once the pieces are arranged correctly in my memory then I am able to remember the entire scene. I need the entire stage set before I can remember a specific detail. Some people have exclaimed to me, upon my saying: I don't remember, that they just can't believe it. They are even more astounded when it was me that initiated the event they are speaking of. I need clues given to me to remember the entire event.  I have thought long about this quirk of mine and I think i

Moles When I was in my early, early twenties I volunteered at Bellevue Hospital in New York City. I can't even remember what my duties were. What I do remember was that I was taken into a room by a nurse to where a man lay in bed. He was beautiful. His head lolled to the right. He was perhaps no older than 25. His eyes were brown, clear, glassy and failed to focus. You could say he was handsome too. He had no muscle tone; no chest or arm muscle definition. In reality he was a blob. He had a lipstick circumference sized mole on his chest just below his left nipple. The nurse pointed to the mole and said: That is why he is here. I said: I don't understand. She said: His parents thought his mole was ugly and needed to be removed. He got too much/too little anesthesia during surgery and has been brain dead and in this bed for 7 years. I stared at the mole and wondered what light it had been seen under that made that risk worthwhile. We are all beautiful as we are. That mole, th

First you have to jump in the family car about ten minutes behind schedule, race down River Side Drive so anxious you believe you might throw up. Then you double check everything making sure everything is there: money, glasses and birth certificate, (the last item comes later).. You pull off The Drive at the appropriate exit only to start in on St. Anthony, promising him anything in exchange for one measly parking space within four and a half blocks of the theatre (picky Catholics?) You find one, thank old St. Anthony and you lock up the VW bus. You walk half a block and I scream: We forgot your glasses! At this moment, if you are older than eighteen you mentally say: Oh Shit! (Remember time is running out and you haven't hit the bodega for goodies yet). If you are under eighteen, me, you pray the movie hasn't started yet and that you'll have time to get goodies and that you'll make it to the bathroom real soon. You retrieve the glasses, re-lock the door and run to th

Listening to music in a language or culture other than your own is like watching a film with subtitles; you either love it or you don't. I am trying to think of analogy for why we might not like different sounds found in music. Is it as simple as: we like what we like or is it more complicated than this? I recently listened to a podcast, Here's The Thing, with Alec Baldwin interviewing Paul Simon. Simon was researching the work of a man named Harry Partch who according to Simon realized that on a traditional music scale there were sounds (notes) that were often not heard or used in composition and that there were a wealth of other sounds to be heard and used. When I heard this I had a Eureka moment because living here in Mexico I often perceive Mexicans singers as singer 'off key'. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Mexican singers where hearing or using a different scale that my ears were unaccustomed to. We understand this when we listen to traditional Chinese

Nothing bad or sordid can be said about Mike. He was the most gentle and kindest of men, inspiring my life in a multiple of ways. I loved him and was in love with him because he understood me. He whistled in the morning as he made breakfast for whomever was in his home at the moment. His whistling was clear, strong and always cheerful. I write that I was in love with him but he was also peers and had been friends with my parents, and thus, nothing ever transpired between us. Everyone thought we were intimate including his ex-wife but we never were. I was old-fashioned and Mike understood this quality about me. When his kids wanted to go out club hopping I preferred to stay at home with him watching old classic films. He would laugh at me when we watched films together because invariably I would notice a lamp or something else as trivial in the background of a scene and he would laugh and say: This is the best scene in the film and you focus on the lamp! He knew all of the old movie

(L-R Craig Horton , Tom Boyd, unknown, Tano Ro , Sam Myers , Big Bob Deance .  Milano, Italy, October 6th, 1981. Photo rights to Tano Ro). Dear Daddy, Each year that passes since your death I've learned increasingly more about you as a man. Not as my father, but as a man, and I am coming to understand that you were one pretty wonderful dude. I recently received a letter from a man in Norway, Jan Erik Moe, who wrote to tell me of your influential impact upon his formative years and how much you meant to him. The letter was quite heartwarming, uplifting, inspiring and for me, a little bit sad. Jan had two memories of you that I share. He mentioned all the postcards he received from you over the years that had been written by hand, that I am sure where written with your Mont Blanc pen. That pen was a permanent fixture in your breast pocket and I have the fondest memories of your penmanship. It was beautiful; the blue black ink flowing freely and smoothly from the end o

When I went to Bide-A-Wee to adopt a cat, a place I had adopted from before, I picked out a large orange cat that looked to be about two years old. I went into the petting room to see if he was the cat for me and when we got into the room he spent most of his time exploring and very little time brushing against me. He was a beautiful cat and I decided to adopt him. When I went to the counter to pay the fee and fill out paperwork, the worker, without hesitation, said: I don't think you want this cat. The statement struck me as funny because I was at an adoption facility that was there solely to recycle animals to new owners. She removed a paper from the cats' file and reading from it, she said: This cat has been here for two years and has been adopted and returned three times. When I asked her why she said: Previous owners claimed that he meowed too much, scratched in the litter box excessively, wouldn't get off the bed and when you tried to get him off the bed he would atta

I have not had many lovers in my life. What is it that another person does that conveys love to me. Can I only feel love in one way? Has each of these lovers conveyed love to me in the same way? Did I show love in the same way or does each love present a new challenge of love to be taken? None of my lovers have any shared similarities except they were all artists of some kind. They have not had a similar look, nor a similar income. They have not been the same race nor have they shared physical attributes. And none of them have conveyed their love to me in the same way. Each of my relationships has had a moment in time when I knew I was loved; when I've felt loved. I knew P for possibly four years before we became intimate. We were traveling on a bus from San Francisco headed to Ashland, Oregon. It was winter and I was 17. P and I are both from New York though we did not meet there. I was with him because he had heard I was in a marriage that I didn't wish to be in and out o

You have a quality that I could feed from With seemingly little effort you pet me and I slow I feel like Miss Havisham. I wonder where Dickens found her? I feel stuck in time with a mouldy mind Wandering my house in the wee hours thinking I smell smoke I am barely here I am losing time I've lost time I flop into bed exhausted and Miss Havisham nags me until dawn The wailing has begun. It's raining in my head Years ago I cried so much I became dehydrated I don't know where I am in this cycle I don't know where I am in the week, or in my house If I could I would place you in a rocking chair by my bed I would make sure you had a window to watch the gloaming from I might ask you to read to me. I can't listen right now But the sound of your voice will wrap me in fur I will drift to sleep with eyes wide shut and I will owe this to you In all this dreariness please Accept my love

Merida, Yucatan, Mexico Dear Freda, It is going on five years that we have not spoken. I was overjoyed when you responded to my message last month regarding Billy's death. It was odd to learn of his death on Facebook rather than a call from you.Odd but understandable. His death brought back all of my own memories of Billy. I can still see him in his highchair grinning like the happiest person on earth. Or him scooting across the floor. My last memory of him is of him mowing your lawn and my jealousy and amazement that anyone could drive that mower. I had tried previously but that contraption was too much for me. If I recall I ran screaming from that mini tractor. He was so adept at so many things. And he was pretty much always in a good mood. But when he wasn't, I always liked that he said so and could put on quite a rant. I want you to know that I miss you too. I always refer to you as my best friend. The first time I referred to you that way, after our break-up, I st

The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool --Stephen King Tell people there is an invisible man in the sky who created  the universe,  and the vast majority will believe you.  Tell them the paint is wet, and they have to touch it to be sure --George Carlin Every word that comes after, "And the Lord told me…" is a pious lie --Bangambiki Habyarimana Those that are religious oftentimes will tell me that God loves everyone and the job of the faithful is to love one another. So far, in my examination of the Old Testament, I haven't see those instructions. When I hear people quote passages from the bible, old or new, they often quote passages that make no sense in 2017 and even if I were hearing them in 630 BCE, they would still be a little vague. But people utter passages all the times, as though they where there when they were written and saw God utter the words himself. I know that to anyone reading this series who defines themselves a

Those who are capable of tyranny are capable of perjury to sustain it --Lysander Spooner In the previous chapter,  Mnemonics For Antiquity: Part Three , we have continued to examine the Old Testament with a focus, fashioned after the thoughts of Louis Althusser, of the mechanisms put in place which have been built upon, like a canon, resulting in the duplication of itself, through the worker, creating the world as we know it today. In Part Four, I shall continue to analyze the Testament continuing from the last segment of Part Three. ECCLESIASTES This chapter follows closely behind Proverbs with an almost last ditch attempt by a remaining elder to guide those that did not live in his time. It appears too that this is a personal account of life and experience, rather than words handed down from an unseen entity (God). Are we seeing man come to the conclusion that speaking from the self, relaying the personal may be more meaningful, have more impact and result in better p