Writing about what I know…

Nothing like costumes and ghosties and fall decorations for Halloween to kickstart that holiday reminiscing bonanza.  It is once again time to remind myself of how the Internet, Facebook, and social media will be filled with maudlin remarks about murdered children, Ebola, incomprehensible fears about The Other and then a heavy dose of the stupid annual insanity parade on Fox News and elsewhere about how Christmas is under siege and knowing damn well the siege those nimrods speak of is nothing like the siege those dying of diseases feel …


So I turn inward now.

Inside my head to what is mine.

Not toward the violence I’ve witnessed because, being nearly 60 years old, I recognize everyone will bear witness to some horror of one kind or another.

A memory walk — I want to remember my parents and my brother. Christmas memories filled with love, joy, laughter and traditions. There aren’t many traditions in my life any more. Early warning: if you don’t preserve what you once knew, no one else will be around to help you activate tradition.

Thinking about how it used to be, how it was when it was a different way than it is now — doesn’t make me sad. Used to make me downright desperate. Now it makes me smile to remember and to  know that by smiling, I honor my parents and my brother. Perhaps even my dead sister will spare me a moment of kind thought, just a peek at who we were when we laughed and giggled at the world. Before she became so angry.

Christmas With the Dead

Not with zombies or monsters.




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