Caroline Gerardo's Blog, page 52

Brandon Belt It is Good Friday

Brandon Belt there is no crying in baseball, even on your birthday.

Take your losses with grace. Step away from the camera. It is Good Friday. Think in perspective.

As children, we are taught to brush it off, walk away and ignore the bully. My parents drilled in us to turn the other cheek.

 "Be Christlike."

My usual response to hurt is to cry in private and march on. I recently suffered a betrayal. Someone I deeply love lied and caused harm to me and my children. I forgave. I stupidly furthered my own injury by "being friends." Then cruelty repeated. Shame on me.

I am no Rookie of the Year, who is batting .192/.300/.269 with a homer, a double and 13 strikeouts in 60 plate appearances. I have everything to be thankful for and much to be forward looking, but I am not twenty-three years old. At this point in my life, I advise Brandon: living in Fresno is the equal to smelling the armpit of the world right now but grin and bear it. Act grateful for the opportunity to serve. This too will pass.

I am back to work. I issued my marching orders to finish my novel first draft, with grace.

Read Steve Montano's Books

Black Ice Well (d20 Fantasy Roleplaying Adventure)

Steven Montano's,   Fane of the Witch King is a dark tale that I just ordered on Amazon. I am adding Steven to books I will read on rainy nights. His current work in progress is Blood Skies series. Check him out, an unassuming accountant by day and a brilliant and dark author by night.

Keep Practicing

 Everything in Life takes hard work to reap any reward. I love this painting in New York. The image reminds me of the hours I spend reworking a sentence. The metronome just keeps ticking. I started working on my novel on a computer that does not have internet access. It does not make it any easier. The writing remains solitary. It gnaws at me to reach the finish line.
 I have a clock in my heart that is filled with stories, but not enough time.
Painting is Matisse, The Piano Lesson. The little boy is actually Matisse's son Pierre. The close up image I photographed at MOMA.

Greg Mortenson Needs to Come Clean

I loved Greg  Mortenson's book Three Cups of Tea, and Stones. CBS and rehashed by CNN reports today that some of his facts are fiction. Do readers ask for their money back? The stories inspired many military men and women in Afghanistan and Iraq, do we just pretend we are at war for nothing?
Frankly, it does not matter to me if he was held hostage, or what date he traveled to this country. I hope the Central Asia Institute will open it's financial books and disclose what they really spent on schools. If the not for profit fundraising went mostly to advertise the Mortenson brand, then "Lucy you got some 'splaining to do."

The books on their own merit remain in my heart inspirational.

Quotes

Sometimes quotes just hit me as funny. I think it is the word or song out of context.

Split by Swati Avasthi

Swati Avasthi's debut novel Split, recommended by my fourteen year old son. The story deals with a young boy, Jace who my son related to as a lacrosse player. The character attends anger mangement classes, suffers an abuse homelife and runs away fo find an estranged brother. He dreams to someday have his own place where no one will tell him what to do.
My son read this one in one evening, he enjoyed the run.

Do Not Blow Kisses At The Bus Stop Mom

This is Napoleon enjoying the baseball game, it gets cold at night in the canyon. Thinking about a discussion I enjoyed about our children (for both of us our youngest becoming independant).
There comes a time when children tell you, "Mom don't be blowing kisses when you drop me off."
For my oldest, she wanted me to be a block away from anything that indicated babyness when she turned nine. My youngest has now reached the stage at fourteen where he no longer holds my hand. Fortunately he is still loving at home.
The friend's son told her last year, " Mom don't be using your funny voice to say Hi XXX (son's name) in public."
At what point do I stop advising my children to wear a sweatshirt or carry an umbrella because it is raining?

   I relate it to the characters in my writing. I am working on this novel, now renamed Lucky. The leading man, well he is a boy for most of the story, is a very disturbed guy. I have put him through the rings of fire and poked him until he now has all kinds of personality twitches. At what point do I let him go and say, I'm done?

   I still want to go back and re-edit works which are published. So many little quirks I missed. It is as if a writer is Doctor Frankenstien who is never satisfied with his work.

   This photograph I took last night of Napoleon. He is a pug, cheering our team, the Beavers ( yes really they chose the Oregon Beavers name horrible as that may sound to yell "Go Beavers"... I side track there). So is it O. K. to keep being a Mom to everyone around me?

   My son had three night games this week. It has been hectic keeping up with writing to my goal therefore this weekend I have piles of Thomas Moore Care of the Soul chores - gardening, laundry, taxes, errands... where will I find the time?

Missing

Pain exists on my lips.
The upper is not cracked or bleeding, the scar tissue is from the grief.
The retainer nailed to the roof of my mouth stifles from speaking my anger.
Fiscar shears cut my finger to the bone. I stitched it myself.
I pull thorns from my mouth.
One and two and one trillion.
What is the measurement when I will no longer miss you?
Did my father die yesterday or in the Devonian Period?
He is a young man in dreams doling my penance.
I awaken.
A yellow tear stained notepad next to my bed holds Pig Latin drawings in the morning light.
The words are in ancient Panjabi, not Farsi.
The handwriting is poor from not wearing glasses. I drink clouded moon.
What did he say?
Tasbeeh phiree par dil ni phiriya Kee lena tasbeeh phair kay Hu-
Throw the rosary beads away if your prayers remain unanswered. When the cross on my necklace meets the clasp I recite the whole rosary. This happens several times a day. It is beginning to suck up my waking hours, that and researching angiogenesis inhibition. To block the blood cells that feed you.
I started sleeping with the blinds wide open.
Peeking reflections jump off the swimming pool. A snow goose hit the mirrored surface.
No, it was an owl. He has a pearly wingspan.
A soothsayer who purposely hides the truth from those he loves.
I left the door open to the surf.
I wake up at two and three and four.
I look over on your pillow. You are not there with your hands on your chest.
I prefer the earlier trick of just going back to sleep and seeing you in my head wound.


***
March 29, 2011 copyright © Caroline Gerardo
Title: missing
Contact: Caroline is Author of two novels, and flash fiction pieces. She lives in Laguna Beach California.

M. L. Gardner's Jonathan's Cross

M. L. Gardner's book Jonathan's Cross, released January 2011. Jonathan and his wife Ava must overcome the Crash of 1929 and build a new life. I ordered it on Amazon today, in paperback the old fashioned way to read!
Living in the Third Great Depression today makes me know this will be a good ride.

Loretta's Ignore Reality and Trust God

Loretta my new Twitter friend's book. I ordered it today. I look forward to reading her writing