I have posted 97 tales and poems since January 2023. My list says I have 50 stories to go in addition to a couple dozen poems. Stoicism Redux is fun and informative — it could go on and on. And what if I push the creative button and try some short fiction? Sherman Alexie just shoots it out to his readers, testing things out with his listeners beforehand. No, I am not pretending that I have Sherman’s gifts. But I like his grit. his vulnerability. Go to his Substack to see what I mean:
But what am I to do? I have enjoyed the time. I started writing on Substack to have a disciplined way to tell some tales to my children. Others have joined in and that has been fun. A number of you are “paid” subscribers and that is nice. Cinny, my actual and literary wife, has been my wise editor. Do you get the feel that I am groping for direction? I think about putting “paids” on pause (a Substack tool) and take some time to seek direction. Your thoughts are welcome.
The photo is not of my mother but it made me think of her — full body and early grey hair. She was always busy: factory worker, gardener/canner, clothes maker for her two boys, homemaker, wife, and giver of kind gifts to all. Here is a poem I wrote at the time of her death.
Mother 1922-1998 600 years ago it was written: The worst is done and it has been mended, and all will be well, and all will be well, and all will be very well.* Dear Mother, this is true for you today. As we say our farewells and feel the pain of loss, gathered in love for you we too can say "All is well." But even so, your life, suffering and death raise questions. The questions of the ages -- why you, why that, why pain. And what is the meaning behind the mystery of life? You have been a courageous and strong woman, a lover of people and a dear friend to many, a devoted mother and gloating grandmother. Your sons went different and traveled far. You supported, you raised concerns, you loved. Your love seemed without conditions. You were a wise woman. In the fall of 62 on the phone I will never forget your words. "You can't get away from yourself." I heard you, but I didn't get it. I still try. Life has been difficult for you. I feel anger. Money, work, marriage, children -- all so hard. Yes, why when you saw a bit of daylight it vanished? You had no time to enjoy a little extra. I am angry. Strokes, dementia, another statistic and we lost you. The anger is filled with the pain of the loss of you, dear one. Even in the lost years you showed family and staff the gifts you had been given -- a ready smile, a wonderful laugh, a devilish little twinkle of the eye, the gifts of humor and helping. You are gone now -- a body that has had to bear so much. Your soul carries on into eternity with new freedom. You have been a blessing to us and will continue to be. Dear Mother, thank you for giving so unselfishly. Mother, as you now know better than we, the worst is done and it has been mended. *Julian of Norwich
Thanks for the encouragement. One a week seems good at this time. You are a motivator.
Well, if you've got 50 more stories, you'd better keep at it! If you aim for about two a week, you'll be done by the end of the year. So keep them coming.