Becoming Jackie

for pb She will not stop So throw your stones Pour your words Draw your sword She will not give in She will not be moved As she grows In confidence She knew you were coming To try to break her down To try and knock her off balance She built well Her fort she built with love Digging deep to ensure She had a solid foundation Learning constantly Seeing challenges before her She knew all along those she fought for would in turn become the enemy It saddened her to her very core She’s seen sadness in the past She knew her strength would shine Brightly calling to those who heeded her call Those who could see her true value, her true worth The new paradigm had begun The drawbridge lowered Bridging a gap between old, outdated ways For new worlds they would create together Built with kindness and compassion With equality inclusion and abundance By those with courage Prepared to take action By those willing to stand as pilla...

To the Greeks, it was everything To high school, it’s THE thing. To her, it meant every thing was as it should be, should have been is and will be the magic of youth working its magic when old friends plug in electricity humming, buzzing connections resetting power surging as we fall in love again with who we were who we are eagerly anticipating who we’ll be the next time lightning strikes more than twice. -dao/dd

The Summer of ‘15 this Time I spent the longest five day weekend of my life back home in Southern California at my (gulp) 30 year reunion. Some of those girls go back to 1st grade and Brownies. Being 17 again for 5 days is both exhilarating, and exhausting.   I was one of the bridge kids in our little corner of Los Angeles. Our elementary school split into two middles schools. My middle school fed to the OTHER high school in town (I have an honorary diploma, and placed for most talkative. Some of them never knew I didn't go to Warren); I lived in the neutral zone established when the newer high school was built (not mine: first graduating class was four students in 1900, I think. My  friend’s great grandmother one of the four). Two blocks from Florence to Telegraph; Two blocks from Lakewood to Downey Avenue. Not sure if my mom chose Downey High, or the schools wanted some of the biggest talkers permanently separated. Didn't work. I was a YMCA kid; A FBCD Kid, and then a...

This time of year, my thoughts turn to my mother. They almost always do, especially as we march into March. When I was small, I learned she'd had a mysterious husband, Richard the First, before our dad. Her real wedding dress, the flowing white one, not the one she designed to marry my dad--one did not wear white to become a remarried divorcee--was tucked away, along with her first wedding album. Her cousin wore the dress, when her time to marry young came.  Mom kept the dress boxed away for me. My early 20s turned into 29, and then my thirties.  It happened, of course, when the time was right and the man was right.   The dress came out, a final command performance, in December of 2001.   After my mother passed, some ten years later, photographs of the past popped into the present, the dress took on a life of its own.  I wrote this to my Mother, and to her cousin, and for myself, as a present. The Dress.... Three women Three marriages Three men F...

a follow up, because life sometimes gets in the way... To my former self, who began this blog: Don't kid a kidder Reuniting starts with why Reuniting starts another why another where, another whole set of who look hard enough, a how look long enough, a what now wait patiently and hope to forget so many questions so many answers so many unanswered questions along comes a why now a why not now a where to and a what's next...                                        --2/9/15