Force by nature

There's always something that makes me return to what I seemed to have abandoned. I have no excuse for not writing. I just didn't feel like it. Life just got too busy. And it's amazing how many things can change in so little time. Caro is a mother of a healthy baby boy. They named him Christopher, after her husband's late father. A rather boring name if you ask me, but the baby is cute and doesn't seem to be bothered with it, yet. Mom returned to Salinas for a little while. Caro is doing fine in New York, didn't need mom's help, so she returned here to see if she could assist Granna who was raising me. I was raising me, of course and only let Granna help me. I love Granna. She convinced mom I was doing fine and didn't need her help, so mom took a job as a caterer in Las Vegas and took off again. We now Skype a lot, which is far better than having her around to breathe down my neck.

My dad Morris and his wife did not stay in town, despite the fact their kids adapted pretty well. His wife just couldn't settle here in the west. So they went back to Delaware and decided to spend their summer holidays here. I was a bit disappointed, because it was fun hanging out with their kids, my half-brothers and sister. But I'll see them in the summers, when I'm here. I am now living in their house. Granna's granddaughters Emmy and Rachel moved into mom's house, so Granna can keep an eye on them. They're students at the university of Monterey Bay, but preferred to live off campus. My kinda people! They're nice and I sometimes hang at their place, my old home. Or they give me a ride to the beach and then pick me up again when they go home after school. They're twins, have I mentioned this already? I guess not. They're real twins. They dress alike. They think alike. They sound alike. But I can easily tell who's who.

I am on a sabbatical. Morris decided Caro needed her money now, being a mother and all and so he also gave me mine. But it's not as if I am spending it whenever and however I can, no. Not like that at all. And I don't hang out at the beach every day. There's lots of stuff I do.

There's something I need to tell you about Tommy? Remember I was wondering about the keys he gave me? And how I was kind of lingering, to open the deposit box? Well, I finally succombed and opened it. It contained a biscuit tin full of letters from strangers. Old letters. And a note he wrote. To me. That was really weird, to suddenly hear his voice again after so long. I put the stuff back, took the note and went home. And then I read the note again.

This was months ago, you know. A lot has happened since. I've learned so many things I did not know before. But given the current events happening, the tsunami and earthquake in Japan, and its impact on the whole world, I felt compelled to start writing again. I can't just keep this to myself!

Some of the letters were from American-Japanese citizens who were forced to live in the Salinas Assembly Center during the war, back in 1942. The center was on the California Rodeo Grounds. America was at war with Japan, so everyone who looked like the enemy or who had Japanese ancestry, was relocated to these internment camps. For national security reasons.

Some people say it's karma. What's now happening in Japan? Because they don't treat animals well. They keep on hunting down whales, fishing for tuna in the ocean while there hardly is any tuna left. So the sea, the water settled the score. The water rushed ashore fiercely, conquered the land and devoured all on its path. Some people even say it might still be connected to what happened in World War II. It makes me wonder. I mean, there are so many things America did wrong, in the past. They should not have kept these people prisoners the way they did, right? They took away their homes, their livelihoods, their career options, their education. They took away everything. If life is about karma, what can America expect then, for its wrongdoings?

Secrets (2)

Granna made us a very fine eggplant dish when she returned from her family. She is one amazing woman. She is old, but still very energetic. Sometimes I try to count the wrinkles in her face and wonder if I could be like her, when I am old. But she says I have my own destiny. My own path. I never know what to reply if she talks like that, so I just nod and say nothing instead.

So now I am here on my own again. Can't help but think of Tommy. He hasn't left since yesterday and although I didn't mention him to Granna, I think she knew something was on my mind. But she didn't ask. So I could just keep it quiet and all to myself.

Eggplant was her game. I found the song in my mother's CD collection and played it a couple of times. If Caro and her friends were here, they'd be all over me for playing that kind of music. It's not really my favourite stuff, but it is a catchy tune. And the lyrics are absurd. Who in their right mind writes a song about an eggplant?? Anyway, it's fun listening to it. But mainly because of the memories attached, perhaps. Tommy was a weird guy. He gave me two keys last year. As if he knew he was going to die or something. It's still one of my best kept secrets. Nobody knows about those keys or that Tommy has given them to me.

I might check out the blue-tagged one soon. Sometimes I walk by the train station where I can see the deposit boxes. Tommy's got a rental one he apparently paid for in advance, so the box is safe for at least a couple of years, or so he told me. And whatever is kept in it, remains safe too. Until I decide to open it. There's nothing scary about it, he said. It's just going to be a huge surprise. And it might help determine my future one day. Wow, that got my mind spinning! But it wasn't any money, Tommy laughed. Hm. Yes. I think I will just have to find out what's in that box pretty soon now.

Eggplant

It won't make a difference if I apologise for not having been around much lately, will it? It's not as if I am obliged to you, or anyone for that matter. But it does bug me some that I feel a little guilty about it. And it has been on my mind too, from time to time. There is no excuse, I know. Life has just been weird, that's all.

My mother decided to move to New York so she can keep an eye on Caro who dropped out of school because she met this guy in New York and, well, she is pregnant and married now. My dad freaked out about it, but my mother said her new son-in-law is really nice and perfect for Caro. He owns a restaurant and guess what? Mom now works for him and Caro is shopping for baby stuff all the time. Yeah, her friends here didn't know what hit them when they heard the news.

It all happened so very fast.

I'm officially to stay with my dad and his wife, but I am in our own house and at Granna's a lot. Caro took some of her old stuff with her and mom just kind of took one suitcase and said I probably wouldn't mind if she left the furniture behind. After all, it wasn't forever, like nothing is whereas my mom is concerned. And no, I don't mind. I love the place and everything in it. I love to have it all to myself now, I like the space. And quiet. I'm not afraid when alone. Because I'm not, not all the time. May sound weird, but I got this idea that Tommy is watching over me. I know he's gone, but I can really feel his presence at times, in the house. Or is my imagination just a little bit too lively? The other day Granna brought me some eggplants, she was going to cook them in my house. But then her phone went and she had to take one of her grandchildren to ballet or something because her daughter couldn't take them. So Granna went and said we'd be having dinner a little later than planned. No problem for me.

She left the eggplants on the kitchen table. I was making myself some herbal tea, when all of a sudden it dawned on me. It was a funny moment, like a shift in time or something, but I could see Tommy there in our kitchen preparing eggplant for dinner. He'd done this once for my mom and me when he was living over the garage.

He and mom were joking about and singing some silly song about cooking eggplant. I only remember some of the words, because of Tommy, he was singing them over and over. They got stuck in my mind like so many other little insignificant things stay with me until they pop up again, I don't know, to paint a memory or so?

Yeah. Eggplant was her game. Tommy was singing "I can't reveal her name but eggplant was her game."

Nightmare on Octavia Street (2)

So a new year has begun. I spent it at Granna's and watched the people outside from behind the window upstairs in the bathroom. Granna was entertaining some of her friends in her music room. Mom and Caro are still in New York. Dad and his family went to celebrate with his wife's relatives in Atlanta. They asked me to come too. But I don't know. At Granna's I'm left alone if I want to. Spent most of the afternoon in our own house, by the way. It was great with all that peace and quiet and silence. But it was spooky too when I switched off all the lights. Made me think of when we lived in San Francisco. I mentioned that, a while ago. The house on Octavia Street?

Even if I don't really believe in ghosts, I still think I met some. Not that I have actually seen them, but I could feel their hair brush in my face, or smell what they had eaten. Do ghosts still eat dinner after they die, I wonder? Anyway, it was a rainy day and mom's friends were off to some cultural event. Mom, Caro and I were alone in the house and for a change, mom had time to spend all day with us. So it started out real promising.

Mom made us breakfast and all was good. Then we heard a noise, as if someone was banging on the wall upstairs. We thought it were the neighbours, working on their house again. So we didn't really pay much attention then. I think it was about an hour later, when Caro and I watched some old movies while mom was doing the dishes. There. That noise. Only louder this time.

Caro made a joke about ghosts and mom kind of freaked out about it. She wasn't quite herself so shortly after the divorce and all, so emotionally she was very uptight. Caro and I just sat there, waiting for mom to check it out. But she didn't. Instead she locked the door of our basement and switched off the television, telling us to be quiet. It was all so very silly.

The noise continued for a few minutes. Like it followed a pattern or something. Waiting for a response, perhaps? Mom still smoked at the time, so she kept on lighting up one cigarette after another. Caro and I have never really been best friends being sisters, but that morning we were so on the same level. We both sensed mom was maybe out of her mind and we instinctively knew we had to be very obedient and quiet. The sooner it would all be over. So we sat next to one another, with our friend Puffy Bear safe in between us.

Once in a Blue Moon

If I'd play by the book of courtesy, I'd be saying sorry for my absence. Well okay, I am sorry. But I'm back now and my memory stick can be filled with new memories that have been aching to get out and in again. Where should I start?

Morris and his family have moved into town. They found a nice place and Granna and I have already visited. I think Morris was very glad to see at least one of his daughters after so long. Caro is off to New York, with mom. How convenient huh? Avoiding confrontation.

It is weird, though, to suddenly have a dad around. Not that he acts like one, telling me what I can and can't do and such. His wife is nice. And the children are cute, as I expected. They look like her a lot and I think it's funny that they're my halfbrothers and baby sister. We don't relate like siblings yet, but we're good friends already, that much I can tell. It's really cool to know there's more family at my disposal :-)

Morris said I could get my own computer for my 18th birthday. So that's what I'm doing now. Making wordmusic on my very own keyboard. Have to admit that I've been using it for some other things and that I consciously ignored this blog and my Facebook account. Oh, and Twitter too! But I feel, with a new year coming, it's all going to be good. I am so excited about the Blue Moon on New Year's Eve.

Even if I don't get to see it, I know it'll be up there. And it will be special.
Yes it will.

Granna rocks!

Feels like ages since I had the opportunity to sit down and write. Must say it did affect my mood some because I couldn't. Am I addicted? Or do I just need to vent whatever eats away inside? Caro and Granna had an argument the other day about Morris. Morris is our father. His real name is Maurizio, but somehow Morris sounded better when he was young and eager to conquer the world. It's what he once told us, some time before their divorce and when we all seemed like a happy little family. Anyway, Granna heard something she wanted to share with us, his daughters. She felt we were entitled to know. And we would probably learn about it sooner or later in a letter or so.

Morris and his family are planning on leaving Delaware to return to the West Coast. Apparently he found a new job and needed the challenge. His wife liked the idea as well and they somehow must have agreed it would be best for their kids to grow up in a more sophisticated area of the world than in some lame village in Delaware. Oh. I didn't know what to say at first. Especially when Granna said he wanted to be closer to us, for as long as that lasts since Caro will be off to New York next year. Yes. Dad is moving to OUR town and within the next 2 months. Come again?

Caro was at Granna's for a change, had a fall-out with her precious little coven of hysterical friends. So Granna decided to tell us after dinner and expected us to be happy. I don't really feel anything in particular but some curiosity, Caro however really really really flipped out. Which is weird, since she is the one who misses Morris the most and kind of like mom, resents him for leaving us. Maybe that's what made her throw a fit. Mixed emotions. Am I glad I don't do any of that.

Then Caro kind of took her frustration out on Granna. Who is one fine lady if you ask me. And smart. The more I spend time in her company and presence, the more I realise she isn't just a loving mother and grandmother who once had a flourishing career as an actress. She really has personality, not exactly something you'd expect of a person who enjoys being somebody else all the time. Granna rocks! She didn't mind for Caro to be her obnoxious little self and even encouraged her to speak her mind. Although they heavily disagreed.

Caro felt we had to tell mom. And not wait for some letter to arrive to drop the news. Granna insisted we should keep quiet about it and let Morris and Sally (that's our mom) deal with it their own way. Granna said Morris would contact mom himself. Oh. I don't think I want to witness when that happens!

So, I had some time to think about all of this. And I think it can really be fun to finally meet our little brothers and sister. Have I already told you that dad's new wife is black? And that their kids must look the cutest? I sometimes wondered about them, you know. Yes. The idea of meeting them now somewhat excites me. To some degree.

Tainted Love Poem

Facebook is kind a cool. I joined a few groups, mostly about writing or writers. And poetry. Now I have never really been into poetry a lot, although I do remember that when we lived in San Francisco, my mom's friends had lots of people over for artsy stuff. Ira and Leonora Kelman, their names suddenly came back to me. Been thinking about it for days now. Ira and Leonora were artists themselves, and rich too. Leonora's family left her a huge inheritance and she could easily have spent the rest of her life doing nothing but waste that money away. Instead she decided to help aspiring artists and friends, like my mom, to find their way in life. Which is admirable, if you come to think of it. But they're still flaky in my book. I don't know. You have to be crazy to some extent, right? I mean, why take in a single mom and her two kids? And why have all those young artists over every weekend? There was always something going on. Exhibitions in the garden, poetry and literature on Sundays, recitals in the evening hours and not to forgot those ouija board sessions. Because we moved into the basement, they continued their ghostly stuff in the garden chalet.

Anyway, I do remember some of the poetry people. One of them was a nice and elderly lady, Imogen Bradfield Baker. Not like the rest of them, who were mostly in their early twenties and obsessed with the idea that having reached the millennium would mean magic to their artistic careers.

Imogen Bradfield Baker had lived an interesting life back home in England and managed to escape an unhappy marriage by poisoning her husband. He was a ruthless man so she told me. Nobody really cared much for his death. The local authorities in the village where Imogen and her husband lived, never cared to investigate the rather strange circumstances surrounding his demise. The whole village benefited from it, and Imogen became their first and only heroine. Her husband owned a lot of the land and houses. Imogen just gave it all to the villagers who were indescribably thrilled, of course. So no way would they do anything to incriminate her. Not even when Scotland Yard came to ask some questions, since Imogen's husband did have some friends due to his membership as a freemason. But that inquiry never amounted to much, if anything.

It's Imogen's story I had in mind when attempting this poem for a group in Facebook. The Tainted Love Poem group, founded by a poet in Canada, Ken Chichester. It's amazing how all of a sudden you get introduced to people who exist in other places, who share their minds and lives from behind their computers. Maybe I am warming up to all of this after all. And as you probably understood by now, I changed my mind some about poets and poetry. Back then in San Francisco, what did I know, right? I was just a little kid.

The photograph

She tried so hard
To touch his face
But glass and dust
Seemed keen to erase
Her sighs of love
Her sighs of nurture
Kept cruel and wicked
From melting as one

He sat there looking smart
In an armchair warm and comfy
His eyes glazed in a void
While she attempted more
And more and more
No less

The love she once gave
But never returned
She gives and gives
And gives
No less

The glass was cold
The dust remorseful
Crumbling under cloth and water
Drops of hope

The glass shone brightly
Reflecting her eyes paired with his
As close as she'll ever get
So long
A warm kiss