Journal Read in Winter

Journals…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            I found an old notebook with some journal entries from 1988. I'm writing this in that notebook now, while sitting in a lounge chair in my backyard, watching the Great Tailed Grackles rummage for pecans. Gorgeous, raucous birds. The sleek black males look majestic even, walking among the blades of grass where the nuts have fallen, although, since the gods saw fit to put their tails on sideways, they fly clumsily and not very far.

            But back to sitting outside. The sun is out and its rays are warm, but I'm covered with a fleece blanket because it's colder than a well digger's ass out here. I'm going to miss communing with Earth Mother and Sky Father. The winters are not so forgiving here as they were in southern California. Lately, I regret moving to Roswell since my husband has been unable to find work here. But we couldn't have made it in California either. The cost of living is obscene there.

            Back to sitting outside again. I write well when I am drenched in nature. The freshness of the air, the warmth of the sun, the sky, the clouds, the birds, the trees - life. They are important to me. They bring their freshness to my thoughts and my words.

            Back to this notebook. What I wrote in 1988 never came to fruition. I have not seen the words and notes written here in twenty-five years. Perhaps if I had periodically reviewed my journal, I would have better stayed on track. But as it is, I have failed miserably in my stated purpose in life. A purpose then not totally beyond my grasp - but, out of sight - soon out of mind and the daily drudge of making a living took over.

            Well, I made a living, and it is now mostly gone. I did not make a life or pile up happy memories against my dotage. I just pretty much used everything up.

            Now I am left with regrets and little time or chance of renewing my purpose. As I half-heartedly yell at my dachshunds for digging holes in my yard (that is what dachshunds do), I take a deep breath (made easier with the medications I now take) and let out an audible sigh. What a waste.

            Being the Virginia Woolf type person that I am, I mainly recall the depths of my existence. My husband surely deserved better.

            My advice (to sum up my ramblings for today):

 

 

Keep a Journal

Write in it frequently

Date your entries.

Occasionally read what you have written.

Don’t let 25 years slip by only to discover your purpose lies unfulfilled.

 

 (In other words don't be like me.)

            My original journal entry will be the subject of another blog and will be appended there. My poem of the moment follows. Mortal Winter - the fifth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left. It is a plea - don't do as I have not done. Keep the promises you make to yourself.

 

Mortal Winter

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

The chill upon my skin

Sinks deeply in my bones.

My soul shivers and my

Tears turn to ice upon

My cheeks. I wipe my nose,

Toss tissue in the trash,

Lament the life that lies,

Nestled in dregs and waste.

I shall yet dive under

Covers, bury my head

In the forgetfulness

Of tortured sleep and dreams.

But I shall not rise on

The morrow to fight yet

Another fight - tilt at

Windmills, curse the sadness.

I only rise to curse

The rising and the short

Unsweetness of what life

I have left. Scant time to

Undo the little that

I've done and not done well,

Scant consolation in

The certain knowing that

I shall not die today.

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

Change of Focus

Change of Focus…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            Perhaps I should change focus from contemplating my final dying breath to merely exploring my more imminent mortality. It may not be as direct, but perhaps, it would frighten my friends and relatives less.

            And as long as I am living a little more than day-to-day, perhaps I should also get my ducks in some sort of order. I have nine novels in various states of completion, and I have a memoir to write. Also, my DH should at least know where the financial and legal papers are located (as soon as I locate them, of course).

            As to why I should finish my novels and write my memories when it appears few are interested in my work - even my dying declarations - I simply ask why not? They may mean nothing to anyone else, but at least they will occupy my mind and keep me from sleeping what's left of my life away.

            Also, since I have lived through most of eight decades some of what I remember may be of historical interest. At the least I can offer opinions and comparisons of the times and draw some conclusions that no one will bother to heed. (I sense a trend here.)

            Do you know it used to take seven long hours to fly from Midway Airport in Chicago to Los Angeles? And that's non-stop on a prop job with actual propellers. And LAX was in the middle of farmland as far as the eye could see. Even in the 60's gas was 25¢ a gallon, if you crossed the county line a few miles away. A loaf of bread was also a quarter, and those hamburgers from under the golden arches were 15¢ - 2¢ extra for cheese.

            Not much ranting today - just some and some advice:

A half-empty glass

Is still half-full.

 (An admission of perspective.)

            My poem of the moment follows. Mortal Writer - the fourth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

Mortal Writer

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

I am merely mortal,

Yet embrace thoughts of gods.

In my well-penned hand I

Do create paper lives

And deal them blows or boons

With equal whim, fancy

That I might perhaps gain

My own most mortal coil.

I write death's scenes for good

And evil as the same,

Nor feel within my soul

That justice ought prevail.

Among the words, I blur

The good deed done and flaunt

Perpetration of bad.

For grayness tints and taints

Life as I perceive it.

And I would not draw those

Lines as black, nor as white.

If I could curb my words,

I would say the same of

My life as the life of

My neutral pen's worst fiend

With bold audacity

To create life and claim:

I shall not die today.

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

Not Dead Yet

Not Dead Yet, Still…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            I am not dead yet. I had some tests recently. I do not know their import. They were to determine how badly my valves leak and how poorly my heart muscle is contracting. I'll find out soon.

            In the meantime, I'm enjoying the beautiful, sunny fall weather and anticipating one (perhaps) last NaNoWriMo. One more novel no one wants to read, let alone buy. Why not? Maybe it will be worth more after my passing - part of my legacy.

            Legacy - what a joke. I leave nothing but broken dreams and unkept promises - unrealized potential. I leave heartache and mixed (mostly bad) memories. I could have enjoyed life better, had more fun, and obsessed less about whether everything was "just right". But that wouldn't have been me. Perhaps everyone else would have been better off, though.

            Now I must live a little longer, if only to pay off the rest of our bills, so I don't leave DH in too deep a hole. Now doesn't the sound of that just suck? I can't even contemplate just leaving the man with happy memories. I can only hope to leave him with enough to cremate me and scatter my ashes to the four winds that blew me away in life - or at least the prevailing West Wind that blew away my soul.

            My admonition from today's rantings? Perhaps this:

 

Enjoy Life

Make a happiness for others

There is way too much grief and sadness

In this world.

 

(One of my few regrets - but a big one - I was seldom truly happy.)

            My poem of the moment follows. Entreaty in the Sun - the third in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

Entreaty in the Sun

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

Earth Mother, Sky Father,

As I yet dwell upon

This earth, I fall under

Your blessed protection.

I do invoke the right

To live this waning life

To the best of what's left

Of my slight ability,

Draw my loved ones' warmth and

Laughter to my sad soul,

To repair some damage

Living has done my heart,

See joy in the faces

Of others, that I may

Slip away in peace, but,

Howe'er soon that may be,

I shall not die today.

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

2nd in a Series on Dying

Sunshine and Fresh Air…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            Today I am sitting in my back yard enjoying the blue sky and fluffy white clouds along with the occasional arrow-straight contrail. I am listening to the myriad chirping birds gathering before they cross the border to winter in Mexico's warmth. I am not thinking of dying…

            Who am I kidding? I am always thinking of dying, except perhaps in my dreams. I do still dream. I don't remember them much except that they are not pleasant dreams. They allow me no escape from my waking life.

            But death? Death permeates every waking thought. Even when I am thinking of the things I must do, the deadline is shortened by my pending doom.

            Within the next few days, I must complete the filing of income tax - knowing that, although I have nothing left, taxes my be paid on what I had and had to throw after the mounting bills I could not pay.

            Yes, I know about bankruptcy. It didn't cover everything. And my meager Social Security doesn't cover my current even though minimal obligations. It seems there are no jobs in the small, economically challenged New Mexican community we moved to.

            So maybe I have a heart attack and die with the stress of the taxes and the bills, but that would offer no relief to my family.

            Wait! Didn't I start this out sitting under the wonderful, warm fall sky, enjoying the sound of the birds? Yet like E.A. Poe there is "no surcease of sorrow". (Gee was that period outside the quotation mark?) I don't care - I'm dying. I can put the period where I want to.

            My admonition from today's rantings? Perhaps this:

 

 

Put every cent you can safely by. A dollar in the hand can buy food. Pie-in-the-sky is just that and will not fill your belly.

 

 

(An admonition I have long been aware of - yet, again, there was always tomorrow.)

            My poem of the moment follows. I Sing the Body Dying - the second in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

I Sing the Body Dying

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

When every breath I draw

Consumes my will and strength,

My every waking thought,

The beating of my heart

The only thing I need

Not cause, I may contend

Demise most imminent.

I would let go and fill

My head with numbing dreams,

Perhaps reach for the light.

But there is part of me

That will not acquiesce,

That measures still each breath

A victory of life

However hollow, part

That screams my wild rantings

Into the dull, dead air.

I shall not die today.

 

 

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels out of Roswell New Mexico. The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversay Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales are all available on Amazon.com

Resurrected Blog

The Beginning of the End…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            The days I've left may be precious few. I do not know their number, only that they are fewer than I had reckoned on. (Oops! I ended that sentence with a preposition.) You know something? I don't care. I'm dying - I can end a sentence whatever way I want to.

            OK! So I'm not sick-in-bed-dying (there but for the grace of the gods go I) But I have a bad heart, and I am sorely feeling my mortality, especially after a particularly nasty bout with congestive heart failure and a less than happy prognosis of a severely damaged heart muscle.

            This blog is not so much about the rigors of death, as it is about what I need-want-aim to do before I die and what I can't possibly accomplish, given my history, circumstances and pathology.

            As hope no longer springs eternal for me, I am forced to face that I may never see another… What? Holiday? (Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years?) Birthday? (mine, my husband's, my kid's, their kid's, their kid's kid's?) The friends I've left behind? Yet I do not feel a compulsion to engage in the frenzied activity necessary to enjoy each and several one last time. Perhaps I'm merely weary of the struggle that has become my life. Perhaps I've developed a somewhat jaded, fatalistic view of things. But then I always did see that proverbial glass as half empty, and I'm a life long subscriber to Murphy's Law and its main corollary: "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong and at the worst possible moment."

            Those moments now being anything, anytime as my resources to deal are now severely limited and my prospects are not the greatest, if not non-existent.

            So much for my complaints - what does my reader gain from my rantings? Perhaps this:

 

 

DO IT NOW!

BEFORE IT'S NEVER!

 

 

(an admonition I have preached to myself and yet ignored for more years than I care to recollect. Remember - there was always tomorrow. That at some point becomes no longer so.

            Remember, too, these words from the popular hymn: "You who have dreams, if you act, they will come true. Would you turn your dreams into a fear, it's up to you."

            Forget about the 'paying your dues' right of passage. You were born into this world. You have already paid enough. You are entitled to whatever success you can garner.

            My poem of the moment follows. Shades of Wild Bill - the first in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

 

Shades of Wild Bill

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

The acrid scent of death

Hangs heavy on the air.

Soaring vultures spiral

Warily overhead.

A gray, yet cloudless, sky

Drifts hapless west to east.

Summer cools to the touch

Of harsher autumn winds.

I sit and wait, aware

The aces and the eights

I hold bode never well,

But no dark figure looms,

Nor pistol cocked and primed,

No ante has been raised

Against my brazen bluff.

I fold the hand I'm dealt,

Face down the damning cards

Upon the table strewn

With my now straitened life.

I shall not die today.

 

 

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels out of Roswell New Mexico. The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery, The Seasons of Sam Rock and the 25th Anniversay Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales are all available on Amazon.com