July was the mid-year in a farm season and for most work I suppose, and Father’s returned from the North for one glorious week when they seemed happy to be out working like slaves to catch up on the farm chores, the news, and to wish to hell that they could just stay home and farm away from the grunge of South Chicago or wherever the Southern migration had  landed them.  In the evening Dad would walk the fields with his head down were he in for that week’s vacation from the factory, and that is how most men walked;  Head down.

I would know that all were wondering and planning what and where was a path to stay home from their trashy rooms which did not matter to them back in the cities, and they all forgot they were not on the farm, so when evening came and Chicago heat set in;  Then they would do what they always did, especially the younger ones who would wind up on the streets, pitching their cheap and sweet bottles of Wild Irish Rose out the windows and endeavoring to sleeep away the lonliness for the fresh air of land and of  home,  and though they did the work that is now done by most illegal workers from the outside, they were falling in to the trap of city life, so many of them, the increased alcoholism, some old woman willing to be bed for five dollars and a bottle of cheap wine herserlf, so the city folks looked at them, gawked at them as the itennerates who they were becoming, and who knew nothing of tras bins;  Old bottles must hid in the grassees of old home places ry eady to be salvaged and sold, while in the city everything just carried the web of hopelessness, for as bad as it  was, they did not want the children back home to start to school without some shoes nor did they not want the women the mothers buying on the dole at the General Store where news spread fast that the nobodies had nothing.

Some have said that we were the butt of all jokes then, and with apologies I must say to those who could sit around the store gloating at other family’s poverty, they were not much better off than us, probably one mik check away from it and a few more fowl in the yard pecking for the least insects when corn and grain were scarce, and as beautiful as the homeplaces seemed to my fathers and the men who went North, for the life of me, I do not understand why they could not at the least pick up their garbage, and the only excuse which I can give for them is they hated the city so much that they wanted to leave it scared and ugly, because it hurt them so much to have to relinquish to this lifestyle where one had to knock themselves out and to be ready to hit the brick yard the next day to shovel, to hoe, and to lift the owners bounty which would be used to feather the owner’s nests in the year to come.

So in mid-year many factories would close down, for the farmers needed a week, and that time began equivalent to our cotton picking days of old which we would see an end to as our father’s dreams of growing cotton  was just another trick to the small farmer as large companies started doing everything with heavy equipment, and when we first saw aotton picker, I think we were almost shocked, because it looked impressive, but those bolls had cotton left in them, and we knew our daddy would have whipped us for being so careless.  It probably added up to ten acres needing 20 acres of land to get the same yield, and this waste had the same effect on me when I learned that the fruit and vegetable growers of places like California just let the old fruit or damaged fruit rot instead of taking the part off which could be eatten.  It was not much trouble to cut around a worm hole, and the only perfect apples we ever saw were at Christmas time.  Dad just never got the hang of using pesticides, and I think the worms and mites of the tree thought;  “This fool just gave up something which makes us feel hungry and horny, and these blue lights are flashing; Insects on drugs;” that appeared to be what Daddy sprayed his trees with, because we would work until our hands hurt peeling and cutting to get every morsel from the goodness of the two good bites on a core of any fruit, and yet we did, because we always knew that on a winter’s day it would taste just fine.

Mid-year, and I procrastinate finishing off my copy editing of my book.  I am lost in the dream, for the garden is in, and it is canning time for pans of preserves, and the rotten apples aloong with removed worm holes.  Tonight Mama will bring in that washtub of green beans, and we will here about all of her ghosts, because that is how Mama lived six years with her husband gone until it drove her to the point of having no expectation that anything would ever get better.  It would all change, but at mid-summer I am already worried about the ringing school bells and the hour it took us to get to Huntland where sometimes I would fall asleep, energy sapped, and worried about the nasty place daddy was when he  could be home with us.  I never was able to presume that my parents feelings did not count, for that is the how the normal person generally reasons unless they too are brick and straw – brick and straw that a poor man was going to get just enough to get by another year to please the bossman who had his family gathered in prayer, for they were decent;  “And Lord, he wanted to save all of those sinners from down south  who couldn’t pull their weight, and he forgot to add that his prayers were his absolvment of keeping these man as down as they were.  Mid-Year, and I think school somehow, and we all worry about the fact we may never get to be a family again.

Pinkhoneysuckle Blogger

It has been bewildering not to hear from the community of souls who like me believe that somethings 5are simply going to far in this country, and I am worried for those who are my offspring, and the giants who are my friends.  We are in harsh days when name calling seems to be the order of the day.  Name calling and hysteria impedes the right of discussion, and I dislike pointing fingers, but many of you who complain the most about what is happening to the moral direction of our country and of the world are the last ones to get off your speeches and come to the new area of communication, the internet to talk about;  I stress, “To Talk About,” why another person may feel the way they do about any issue whether it be the most evil of all, the violence which is occuring across the globe, the killing fields, the starvation, and to come together as friends to speak of what we might possibly be able to do about such pathetic and immoral acts.  We sit and fail to mention that global economy may hones to God be on the verge of colapse.  Oh it can’t happen here;  Famous last words showing poor judgment.

It is as if we wait for the Tsunami, and think about running when we hear a crash at the edge of a wave that cannot be stopped, when we are no longer at the sea, but we are the sea.

Many of you, if you read my comment section will notice that I have been accused of being biased against the GLBT movement, and as I have told you;  Part of my year is in the very heart of the Castro in San Francisco.  Do I despise my neighbors and friends;  I do not think so, but I have disagreed with this movement even taking on the garments of slavery.  I receive all the quotes, see people handing out literature, and I almost feel that it is pathetic.  The very people who preached against Bible Thumpers are now making their own Bibles about human sexuality as they see it and taking partial quotes from anyone and anyplace they possibly can to prove the correctness of it all.  I have addressed one personal issue, my daughter who came from my womb and who lived an almost princess life of her choosing.  She wanted to be the prettiest, the most loved, and talked and planned for marriage.  She called me, “Mommy,” long after the other children stopped.

She was my little shawdow, and I worshiped her and the next thing I knew, then I was evil incarnate;  And she has done everything imaginable to separate from our relationship as a mother/daughter bond.  She did hate that we were older parents, and that I give her.  She has found a young family with a female partner with benefits of a sexual liason, and she has left our home, because I have asked her not to bring the partner.  I saw the partner at work before my daughter knew what hit her, and when she first slept with the woman, I said to my child;  “She finally got to you, didn’t she, and I cried just like any mother would in losing her best friend who three months earlier had talked marriage to her boyfriend who turned out to be a jerk.  There are jerks out there ladies, and they do not need or want wives in many cases and are living prolonged childhoods.  Beware!

But I wrote one story about my daughter’s experience with the bisexual, and I have encountered the same in your face tactics which congressional persons, Christian and Judaica, followers of Islam and most cultures have defined as not fitting with the standard of the culture, and I have taken the verbal abuse up to a point.  It stops here though, because I do not plan to write the letters GLBT anywhere in my blog again.  I see the tactics which were defined as immoral by the community of gays and lesbians being used by the community who said this would not happen.  It may not be the Bible, but it is all of the quotes which can be conjured and to appear as if it is absolutely supporting statements stuck in your face, yelled in your ear, and the selection of papers and research thumped as if there were no studies showing the polar opposite of everything which has become the tired old mantras.  We have heard it all, and we are entitled to feel a wrong is done when we see the same horse’s color over and over again, and I said it and I meant it, and for the last time I am going to say it, and I will delete your sarcastic letters, and the prose you write, because you can concentrate on nothing else but gender issues, and I will delete them, because You are not a slave to anyone;  Poor little slave girls are hidden all over large cities/  The poverty stricken Mexican dies in transit endeavoring to pick the fruits of border countries, so their children can have bread, and  sweat shops are still running as they were a century ago, because without a work VISA, Human beings are taking slave wages to put clothes on your backs. 

I said;  Leave our children alone, because that was going to far GLBT friends, and I do not care if they  are nine, nine months or nineteen;  Keep your hands to yourself, for children are vulnerable, and isn’t it easy to say that you did not rape a willing drunk girl that you waited for until she was 21 making her feel as if she had the best new friends, and now she has totally forsaken her family, because I asked her pleafully for us to just have our relationship and her relationship should be private, because I did not believe in it for her, do not believe that it is her, and she will suffer for her mistake when Dad or I leave this veil of tears.  She has crucified me, because she had to kill off her first love before the lesbian lover was in full control.  Leave our kids alone, for when you go there;  Then your powers are going to be in question, and you can thump and preach;  Grovel and yell, but we are going to start changing votes, and you are going to lose the ground gained by years of those among you who actually suffered.  You also do not own hate crimes;  Ask the bullied children or their parents who cut them down from a rope.

I shall from henceforth leave this topic, and one day I think it is only fitting that every city town and village be allowed to have a pride week for just ordinary people who have married and given birth to children in the manner in which nature prepared us to replemish the society, for it would be entirely appropriate that marriage between a male and female have a celebration day and a name called, “Pride.”

I think that as I have gone through my editors suggestions that I have relieved part of a life time through thoe book which I should be working on at this very moment, but I am doing what was obvious to me in the first place, clearing up the places which I wrote while half asleep, but then I am suddenly startled into wakefulness as I run across a passage which I wrote and where she has made a suggestion.

One of the most interesting thus far is that as much as possible we want to leave our readers able to feel good in the end, for that is the essence of life, that we want to feel good, from the down and out junked to the bum on the street who finally drums up two or three bucks to get a bottle of the cheapest wine in the store to make them just liberated and stupid enough to go and to rob a home near by finding something bigger and better to sell for the real bounty of something from the drug thugs on the corner, and it wasn’t supposed to be this way, because every human being started out as someone’s  pink and sweet cherry blossom or as anothers sweet and cuddly raisin with a touch of brown to their skin, or a big sweet chocolate drop that a mother with darker skin can kiss and hug; For a real live doll has been born.  I will get caught up in these moments, and something philosophical will start to ring my neck and make me want to jump around like a dead chicken after its head is twisted off, having the last dance, and perhaps one golden squawk from a body that just realized that its head has the eyes closed now and has gone to sleep over in a Rosemary bush; So the dance is over, but the scent of the rosemary just makes one want a little more time to linger at the show.

I have always known as a Christian that, “Forgiveness is somewhere in that right next to love,” and no one could have closed their eyes when the Amish families forgave the man who shot their little kids at point bland; because he was so owned by the devil at that moment that he had to compulsively do the most evil thing which he had left to possibly do to show the hate which was so overwhelming within his heart, and before the day was over;  Before the night had fallen;  The Amish had gathered knowing that their faith called them to knock on his wife’s door and to say;  “We forgive your husband, and we forgive you, and they wanted to be of whatever help that they could.  The conservative Amish and Mennonites have among the most outstanding ability to do the right thing even in their darkest hours.  While the rest of us do battle and endeavor to to influence the future, they immediately know that they do not want to stand before God and to be denied paradise without saying the inspirational words of;  “We forgive.”

Contrition and Absolution are similar in Catholicism; Testimony and prayer are more of the protestant style, and one should forget Nervana in the more mystical Eastern faiths  to seek such enlightenment is their alternative theological growing process.  I now find myself feeling a little bitter at Ms. Oprah Winfrey for whom I feel deep respect about most things, but somehow I do not entirely understand that the kind of faith which she bears and discusses is not entirely believable to some of us, because she has a spiritual guide of her own choosing, and that spiritual guide does not hold all of us in sheer belief, because we earch are searching for our path to Paradise though I am expecting that streets  of gold are somewhat of a metaphor, and right now;  Let me say it with absolute respect to those tied to Bible Christian communities who believe they are living the one and only truth which God gave to us;  Especially, The New Testament folks–I could be Dead Wrong at the end of times, but Metaphor, Mysticism, and Revelation are among my personal choices of ways to read and to look at scripture.  Folks,  I am not saying that I know, see, and hear all;  And it does bother me, Ms. Winfrey states things so absolutely as fact of what she has learned.

Forgiveness and lack of being able to forgive is among the provocative truth of why we cannot find peace in The Middle East, for we are blinded here to how tribal warfare is so tied to, “The absolute,” that in God’s name.  People are destroyed and mamed, but we are many, not just a tribe, and we open ourselves over and over again to be critizaued.  This web;  This blog is public once I release it. Maybe we should find some way to simply accept that theirs is a culture where we are not wanted.

I have found that a few things which have knocked me down in this life are forgiveness and in some cases not even the will to seek such.  I am separated from a daughter, because she wanted another family, and not only did she find another family;  She has made the past years hard, because she has become so alienated from me as to not respect that I am her mother, and our family has a right to be together without her parading in her sexual mistress.  It hurts me, but she does it over and over again from her sister’s wedding to feeling free to bring her friend to our birthdays, the Holidays, and she gloats in the idea that Dad thinks it is all fine.  He is a Northern Californian;  and there is an attitude on both coast that we are brain dead here in the middle of the country, though most of the great medical discoveries of the twentieth century were not begun first on the Northwest coast.  Techies, do have more companies and prowess there. From Frank Loyd Wright, the architect of 20th century fame; most of the prized literature which will last another 100 years, to Jonas Salk, and the beginning of flight;  It happened in the East Coast and among the middle states of America.  Never underestimate the imagination and intelligence, the plain genius that flows anywhere from Cincinnati, Ohio, to the great universities of the south, and the midwest, so we are very proud of our accomplishments and our heroes..

We are equipped to say that, “Anything Goes,” may not nourish the talents of very talented children.  Discipline actually along with patience and some virtue seems to stand behind the most productive among us.  Philosophically though;  We come back to the idea of forgiveness, for we are an intelligent people here, and I have came up with the reality that some things are too aggregious to forgive, and one of them is breaking your mother’s heart because you can, causing family discord, because you can, and disavowing everything you were ever thought to be true–Because you can, and to think keeping at it long enough that you as a child will finally get your way.  My mother in law used to used the expression;  “Time to pay the piper, and I am going to say that I believe such a time comes, and that children do have a moral and social responsibility to their mother and father, not even to mention the world  at large.  We can forgive without having younger people rub salt into our wounds Just because they can, and the hilarity that is garnered from doing so I honestly believe will require a payment and a sum that is incredibly large, not in money, but in your life to come.  I cannot predict the tomorrows, but I can predict that in your lifetime the manner in which you have treated people who worshiped the ground that you walked up on is going to tremble, and you are going to suffer.  It is feasible that you are somewhat psychopathic and that you do not have an appropriate conscience, and those people live and die marginalizing the hurt they have caused, and nothing ever touches them. 

Forgiveness;  Is it something you can force up on people, and that I safely can  bear firm witness to, and the answer is, “No.”  The lost sheep is always welcomed but behaviors have consequences.  Wh ever gave you the idea that to break your mother’s heart and  soul and  feel victory that you had learned to be so callous was going to bring some king of reward in your life.  Did it really feel that good  to sit on the mother’s face figuratively and let the drips of your partner run down her cheeks, again metaphorically speaking;  But I know that The Holy Spirit was present when you mocked the day of your womanhood.  It has taken some time for me to associate that children can and do purposefully inflict pain at times;  And whose fault is that?  Ask the piper when you hear the music on the wind, and reflect on how and when you began to destroy the person who worshiped you.  I am not certain that the child who so willfully hurts is capable of going beyond themselves, and they will smile and say;  “I can, but not for you.”  I am no longer looking for what caused your murder of part of me, for you are grown, satisfied in your glass house, but all glass houses will shatter someday.  It is the way of things.

I want to be forgiven by the patients that I once had when I would almost grimace when they wanted to brush their teeth and the man and  to the man across the hallway that I stopped to drink some water when he was in pain and I was his Hospice nurse.  I want to be forgiven by the mother of my grandchild, because I did not know that her mother was so mentally ill that I did not drag her from the bars and the dirty dance places where old men gawked at her decaying body with the liver going, going, and in the end that I did not contact the last family and tell them;  You do not know us, and we are not whom or what you were told by this poor girl who ran last to you;  Oh I need forgiven forgiven but not by you.  Daddy needs forgiven, because he cannot say;  “I love you,” and he never could;  Heintzs weere not affectionate you know, and this important man I had to learn to accept the gestures of love instead of the expression, “I love.”

Part II

So, the editor said to me;  Leave your audience feeling good, because you are special, and they are going to want to know how you worked through yet another unexpected hurt when you have had so much in life, and I am going to have to tell her that I will do my best to make people feel good about the bad story with which my story ends; .  “Some things cannot be forgiven, and we may have to walk the path of gold to get to such reality, for it stings and haunts, and it burns to the marrow.  But on that day and hour when the veil is closed, I feel a sense of certainty that God who called us will be there; The ansestors of Christianity, the roots of Judaica, and the followers of Mohammed;  all meeting together at the gates of God’s heaven still discussing why to forgive was our failure of all failures.

Sweet Jessica, a graduate of The University of The South heaped the praise on me for the writing which is to be my book so full of truths that I told her about, “The Blue Baby Doll Pajamas,” and the sleepness night that was my wedding night, and it has been so long ago, but it haunts me like a stab in the center of my back, and such things I have tried to let go, because I would learn that I was second to anything the man I married enjoyed, because he could not help himself, but I have to make the story come out right somehow, or these 41 years mean so little.  How can I say that I was second to any task which interfered with my chosen love’s time, that I traveled alone, that I love alone half the time, that I am just a chore;  And he knows what is right and what is wrong, because his mother told him he was that smart.  Oh; I cringed when I opened my mother’s present which I know she thought would bring me luck when she left home without a nightgown, just a little bag with a change of panties at the age of 16,  I will pull it out of my Jessica, the humor that you ask for, because I am vaudeville spinning on a stick of kebobs, and my burns prove that.

This week I burned myself literally so badly that most would have fainted at the site, for boiling water has the tendency to do that when spilled down ones thigh, but I let myself be second to a Jr. High Class Reunion, and one night I started laughing so hard that I could not stop, because when I stopped laughing the tears were choking me, and I was back again looking like a Barbie Doll In the silly ruffly short pajamas Mama had thought so beautiful.  I have got through my years laughing at me, because I knew the truth of me, and my friends saw my shell, the anxious fool who could make them all laugh, so I will do it, Jessica, I will come up with the perfect ending; Just wait for it a little while while the evenig casts the spell, and great big fools like me discuss the inevitable;  That we are ingrates who need forgiveness.

Ask the blue eyes, the blue nighty, the blue heart, and forget the blue days, because all that is important is that I leave them laughing, so I  will;  I will, I will, and the blue bird will will take wing, fly away, and carry the news that a lover knows their place on second;  And the one those who hurl the mortal wounds might have to atone for their sins.  Forgiveness for some things are beyond me, placed in a package under the pecan tree in a place of comfort which I have no more.  The denizens of hurt will read the news and be startled at the truth.
The Pinkhoneyscukle Blogger

When my children were small, I told them this, and I told them meaning what I said, and felt that it was among the most valuable lessons which they would ever learn;  “When you purposefully hurt another human being;”  that is a very great sin.  Then the perpetrator of hurt wants you to come over with the bandaid as if they were a child;  But they just keep hurting, because evil came to them one day.  It has been 41 years, and I can only remember my wedding night for what it was, but I will make it sound pretty.  I have left my fifties while my daughter allowed herself to be soothed by a sinner, because she could.  My lesson was forgotten, and it has been a diasterous journey;  But I will tell you that I have come to understand that it is only living Saints like those Amish families who can forgive when all that is expected is forebearance.  I am not a Saint, and there is a bell to toll, and if you have not heard it;  Then you, and you, and you will have participated in the sadness of supporting the calloused soul, and maybe that is where and when the tune to be played will float like the midnight song of the dead, and you will have the cost of the toll or the lost memories to contend with in the despair you have flung like sparkles on the snow for the reindeer to show them the path to some bright morning.

I posted a blog about my daughter’s arrival into her new Lesbain lifestyle choice, and I placed our family laundry on the internet, because I am a writer, and writing makes me feel very good.  Living in the heart of San Francisco in one home, and having a place in Cincinnati brings me back to our years of orchestral affiliation, my career as a nurse, and leaves us in proximity of our grandchildren;  So we are so blessed that I am almost ashamed, but I have some things to say, just like other human beings.

I have stated concern that the Conservative Movement in this country is threatening the poorest of the poor.  If anyone thinks we do not need national health care;  They are sorely incorrect.  Until one has used something;  they should never speak about it.  I got desparately ill when last in Canada; and I got the same great help there as I did in London for a similar event, and the security tied in to this luxury is worth it considering how many families have to declare bankruptcy because of medical care.  President Obama has continued the war which he could stop right now and place far more emphasis on jobs and that the American people are hostage to liberals and conservatives alike.

I  wondered what would happen if a president;  Maybe President Obama just stood up and said to the American people that for once;  I am going to make all the branches of my cabinet nervous, because I am going to just open my heart even if it means not getting re-elected and give the people of America the facts of life, instead of our watching this do-nothing congress further convince us that politics and money have so corrupted this country that we are not going to see the end of this mess until mid-centtury when all of the baby boomers are centurions or six feet under.  God knows the number of us is a huge problem.  I appreciate States Rights;  But there is corruption in state houses too;  so sometimes Federal watch dogs are a comfort, at least to me.

I moved away from the theme; “I wrote about my daughter,” because I am endeavoring to turn some heads from Hollywood,  from overly zealous news pundits on either station, and look at the fact that we are in disaster mode people.  Are we going to hit 10% unemployment, and what future is there for the collapsing health care system around us.  People are poor all over now;  Even a white collar poverty is developing, and kids are still coming home in body bags in what should not have been started almost 11 years ago when we cheered going in to Afghanistan.  So I am going to tell you that writing about my daughter was a therapy.

I got an insufferably stupid letter from a woman today who just had to tell me about her older lesbian lover; and she tried to make it sound that I had written about a 23 year old child that made a decision, so again;  This all began when my daughter was 19;  Just read the blog if you want to comment.  But folks, am I totally a lone wolf or are there some of you out there who want to get off the subject of sex and same sex marriage, and education on GLBT when across this nation there are issues that, if you believe in God;  Or if you worry about your children or grandchildren; Could we not expect that the news could be spent better going around the country, and lets take another look back at 32 billion dollars for unanticipated weather disasters.  Does anyone think those places are back to normal;  But we are spoon fed GLBT and gay marriage.  No one is talking much about ordinary marriage and the ordinary families, the problems of aging among us all, so I must be missing something.  All the network TV favorites now have to include gay couples in most segments; and Lord let us just rush to turn those TVs on to see women as the new, and exciting thing on old favored shows like ER.

Is there anyone out there who thinks that it is feasible that we can give the GLBT community and respect without having to hear it day in and day out.  Is this discussion our diversion from the concerns of mothers and fathers that a house payment is due.  It is absolutely no wonder that we have reality TV, because apparently that is as smart as we get for enjoyment beyond gender discusssions.  When I make a comment on Xanga, whether I like them or not; I think it through.  My editor said of me;  That I was a master of seeing both sides of an issue and breaking it down;  I love you tonight, and I’m busting my butt after scalding my leg literally to get caught up with the editing.

If you wish to comment regarding my daughter;  Let it be about the concerns of a mother and of a family.  Let it be that you understand other people are entitled to hurt, and we all are not just in love with the fact our children are now being indoctrinated to the point looked for in the 1960s of a genderless society;  the X-child, and God forbid;  I did have to bite my tongue for the gal who calls herself blondie or something and shows her rear end on her Xanga photo;  But even blonde jokes have gotten awfully tired plus I am not surprised that my writings would seem convoluted compared to her exceptional discourse.

Are you out there; not rightist, leftist, or hooked on the sexual habits of people in this country.  Talk to me;  I just want to hear some people who know how to be thoughtful; who can write a reasonable comment, and who know something about the fact that even in nature;  There is a balancing act; and if you get it out of balance the entire system collapses.  We have got to come to know each other;  Because we are the ones who avoid the shouting and think our cleverness will buy us a loaf of bread.  We are the problem solvers, and we always have been, and in a better America;  once upon a time there was respect and balance even in the halls of congresss.

Barbara Everett Heintz, Pink Honeysuckle

I wander through the pages of my blogbook; and I am aware that it gets tiring at times just hearing about what I am doing, that I have written this book, and it is being published in South Carolina.  Harvard Lawyer trained son was son number three, my baby boy who is now over thirty and he and his beloved also Harvard Law schooled wife live in Seattle, and I feel confident with my publishers, because I became aware of them through some very brilliant people, and I will remember Matt’s words;  “Mom;  These are the people for you;  I just know it, so I took a gasp, made a call, and I soon found myself in contract for publication of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,”  which I am erasing regularly from my blogs;  Because I wanted people to read it while they could, give me some feedback if they too are capable of making editorial comment;  and just because some of it may help someone else who is a pilgrim who made a long journey from the end of the road to wherever it is that I am now.  We Everetts were brought up that way, and I can honestly tell you that I was less than three when My Daddy gave me my first lesson in sharing, the age I remember, because we were at a little girl’s house my age, and I had in my mouth what we called a sucker,  just a penny candy lollipop, and Daddy sort of looked at Fannie, then he looked at me, and he said;  “You know some other little girl might like a lick too, so I handed it to her.  Fannie’s face has disappeared to me over time; but I can see me with Daddy’s big hand holding mine, and I put my head down, and I did as he instructed;  Handed it over for some most grateful taste of sweet sugar candy.

I have memory back to two years of age, and I have almost a pictoral memory for many things  which has left me with a few stomach scars said the old endoscopy and the Dr; and the pain crops up now and again if I am remembering events which were traumatic at the time.  I am shy, except when I am writing, and then I strip myself stark naked until you could see the bones if I had not plumped up a bit as a grandmother might do, and I remind my husband that not all fat is bad, because if you are at ground zero in the ICU;  Your body is apt to be able to tolerate a little more when it can call on the fat which you have stored.  “Hum;” The good doctor may say,” as he considers it to be a vaguely pertinent piece of  health care’s call for us to all look like we are tennis pros or at least exercise junkies;  “That is how to live longer;”  the good doctor retorts.

I’ve been told by my people preparing the book for publication that I am going to have a lot of questions to answer over the next few weeks about myself and about my expectations.  I am thinking about the self part, and my expectations are that I have the courage to get down on these failing knees and beg almighty God to make this book speak for the voices which I endeavor to speak for, and I would like for it to be so successful that I can go back to my home town and drink champagne with one of my brothers on the old courthouse steps and have his wife ask us to; “Stop acting like a couple of damned fools!”  I want it to make a dent in finding a way to help my former home area come out and realize that everyone there is someone special;  And if you are at the end of the road there is a better way than waiting for relief from Uncle Sam or watching your teeth decay like rust from the intoxicating feeling of meth, alcohol, and whatever else people think makes them feel like a million bucks until the long way down becomes the grave. 

“Oh God;  Would you just help me to save a few more beautiful human beings from being lost to a demon they cannot get off of?  I cannot place my outstretched hands and give any moral victories;  It is going to have to come from the conscience of the many who remember when our county roads were cleaner, when being sober saved families from losing their dignity, and from the sheer will to use what our fathers and mothers were the only ones who had any control over their destiny.  I want my classmates to remember Ralph P., Agatha, Mary Sue, and Leonard who graduated with us, and how they, so similar to us were persecuted for being poor;  Only  we got to glimpse outside more often while they had to tolerate even more abuse, because Everett kids, if they were bullied; Our neighbors, and Daddy were going to see that you got your ass kicked to hell before you were called there anyway.  Yes, I want you to remember who had the least among us, and that is saying a lot if you look into the circumstances from where, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” grew.

“Why should I have bestowed upon me the ability to have a book published in the first place when in the scope of things;  I am no one?”  That is what I call myself sometimes, and it harkens back to being made to feel that one is who they think they are by virtue of what they posses.  My publishers would like for me to have had awards for writing up to my ears, but instead;  I have been writing as presents, writing as assignments, writing to endeavor to make sense of anything, so on this day;  “Judges;  What say you;  Does this woman have anything we can write that she has done recently that gives her the credentials to write an American story; and do remember that she puts her poems and stories away in boxes, because she could not imagine that all of those teachers, college professors, and simply dear friends and loved ones said that she should be publishing her stuff?”  The judges wave gnarly fingers, point a finger at me, and I hear them say;  “It is a consideration that she is simply an old, “Home girl;” Rather pretty in her day, was a wife, mother of a bunch of successful kids, and that she received all kinds of awards when she was just a girl;  But lately,  I haven’t heard much talk around the Judges” bar that suggest that she is a writer.” 

They think and think, and they are very indecisive, for it is rare that an old horse jumps out of the gate and passes the Quadruple Writers Guild more qualified souls to make such a claim, and I saw a couple of men and women with medal dangling down to their genitals, so why is she standing before us.  I am at this point almost without words until I tell them the truth of the whole matter, and it goes some thing like this.  As I begin to speak;  I croak a little before I can make the sound of a human being actually about to defend themselves before this auspicious court.

“How  do you know me ladies and gentlemen, for under the mushrooms where I have sat;  I have not seen a one of you there, and the day that I danced with my lover on a branch of the cedar tree;  I noticed that not a one of you could climb that far.  I have been told that you want the unexpected, the break out marvel chosen from all of the rest to have me called a successful writer, and all I can see are the silver threads the spiders keep weaving to protect the precious pages of what I have written before with the purest of silk, among that valued by the magistrates of villages in ancient Asia from where the finest silk is woven;  But you did not ask to see my treasure chest, or you would have known how even the spiders have a name for me.”

” I can change waterfalls in to sterling silver; light a match and light the night so bright that if I am not careful;  Even the forest will blaze, because the forest and I can whisper the sweetest things to one another.  I say a want a song bird, and the forest for a laugh calls in old mockingbird instead; and when I come into a meadow where no one is aware of my presence;  The sun spins gold, and all the meadow grasses sing, and people walking there hear the music, look at each other, and might right then and there have to fall on the grass to love until the whiperwill tells them it is night, and that is when I help paint another sky full of stars.  I do not want them to get lost on the way home, nor do I wish for them to have a love affair without stars to remember the magic meadow where even the grasses sing.”

“So you think you are a Deity, Barbara Everett Heintz, creator of the, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” a book which has not been proven yet, and you stand before us blasphemously claiming to do all of these things which only God could create, and it took him more than a week.”  They are amused that I said that I was a shy girl in the beginning, and their laughter is breaking my heart, so once more I have to thing on tired feet.  One gets that way after giving life, love, being a nurse, a mom, and a chef of sorts, so I decide that I will give them the end of the defense which I have for writing a book at this point in life when they presumed that I was just another attention seeker not wanting to admit that I just did not have a chance, so I end it all with this small story.

Within my house, a pencil was never thrown away, because a pencil was something Daddy might have in his pocket at Christmas time, and it had to last us for almost the entire school year, for pencils were two for a nickle at the old store in Lexie Crossroads.  I loved them, especially when the eraser was new and clean and when I had fresh paper, so I never lost track of what was mine even though we had no lockers at our grade school and certainly no fine book satchel to carry our things.  I stand here today to confess that I am worried that you will not choose me, because I am a fraud of sorts.  You remember that I said that I had to learn how to share, so now I will share how I deserve some credit, but I left out that I had a hand, and the hand held a pencil like a diamond, placed the point upon the paper; and that living piece of lead began to write so long ago.  It wrote of places where I had not been, of Kingdoms I never dreamt that I would see, but it was a workhorse.  It could write my stories of the woods, the meadows, and the light which sometimes was hidden from me;  But it was my comrad, my way, and it is what I wish that I could wear as my medal, and I would have dozens around my neck, and people would be so impressed that I kept the tallis of my art, and that the point was perfectly sharpened as only a father could do, and the teethmarks are mine from thinking about who I was and what and where that I should be.

“Ladies and gentlemen I am as powerful as a sharpened piece of lead in a wooden pencil bequeathed to me in love most Christmas times;  And that is who and what I am as I stand before you today.  I am not alone; And others have come before me, but pencil writing is gone, and I remain;  So I am eligible to have my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” read, because it began with all the power  which a girl who loved pencils could create, and if you need more than that, then I will be seeing you and you will be seeing me standing naked again without the medals which you expected, for the last of my wealth is buried in a school yard somewhere in Lexie and in Huntland, Tennessee.”  “Need I say more about who that I am?”  I will leave my fate in the hands of the Creator, for this is wearing, and I wish to say no more.”

Pinkhoneysucklle Blogger, Barbara Everett Heintz

I have a daughter that I can hardly bear to see anymore, and let me tell you about her, as much as I can and what I remember.  She was the first of my twins born twenty-three years ago, has graduated from college now, and when she is dressed up, she probably could knock over the heart of any man or woman as being an exquisitely beautiful girl.  I lost half my circulating blood volume when the twins were born, and I could not even go to see them in the nursery for a few days, because if I raised up or sat up I would faint.  Losing a couple of liters of blood leaves one very weak for awhile, and I was fragile inside and out.  It was a birth which occurred in the period of time when no one could guarantee you that you would not wind up with AIDS which was killing young men from coast to coast, and I have neveer forgiven America for not placing a quarantine at that time just like what had to be done for polio and scarlet fever, and flesh eatting bacteria.

We had a political problem though, and this is truth that a lot of the entertainment and the art’s communities are made up of rich individuals who can make or break an election, and I will apologize to know one for telling that as truth.  Thus they tracked cases, and narrowed it down to a population which was gay men in the beginning in America, and they even narrowed it down to the first gay man who brought it in to the country.  I believe that it started out in Africa, from all that I can remember, and it was mainly confined to the primate species of one kind or the other;  But I am not going to give you the history in exactness, because you can look up the first cases in The United States.  There was no quarentine though, because something was in play here that was never prevalent before.

Right and left;  Gay men especially felt free to acknowledge their sexuality, because the public had become less harsh judges, and though there were gay men in all communities another well known fact was that those who came out were usually wealthier, not afraind of breaking social barriers, searching each other out in the best cities like San Francisco, Washington D.C., and Miami to mention a few places.  Wealth means political clout and power, and old wealth to this day governs a lot of what goes on in politics through Hollywood, the most glamorous of magazines, and life styles over and above the common person.  I fear that wealth and politics went hand and hand in reporting that AIDS had become an, “Every Person’s Disease,” and we were made to feel ashamed if we believed anything less, even though mothers and fathers from coast to coast were burying sons; And some women were beginning to show up with the disease, kids like Ryan White;  And these cases went before the national audiences;  And the camera’s were there to record;  “This is not a gay person’s disease!.  Thus, I did not accept a blood transfusion, and was endeavoring to clear my mind of the cobwebs in remembering the baby blue eyed twin had a sister that died.  She died, was left with a cerebral palsy which we now have put away, because by the miracle of God’s abundant Grace and a wonderful pediatrician;  My baby with eyes as brown as spice would live.

I was shattered when a nurse accused me on the third or fourth day of sloth, because I had not gone to the nursery to see the babies, and she did not know me, but I was still mentally and physically broken;  So blessed by Almighty God, because my brown eyes had lived, and I would name her Mary, for were a child beautiful, tiny, too weak to nurse, but so sweet to touch;  It would be Mary with the cinnamon brown eyes, so I pushed my slothful self into a wheelchair, and for the first time I held my darling raised from the dead baby Cinnamon, and I rocked her and loved her until I felt that I was going to faint again.  My baby blue eyes was getting to come in to nurse;  Though after one has almost bled out;  You are not as apt to have a good and generous milk flow, so my blue eyes was fattening up in the nursery, and we noticed that she had a little lower pouty lip with the eyes as big as saucers, a trace of dark hair;  And she was perfect in every way.  If I would just have taken the blood;  I could have gone home in fairly good condition at age 38 years, but the day we were to leave they wanted me to leave my little baby who had the stroke from lack of oxygen to grow a little more.

I argued all morning, and I finally got my way, and both babies came home with me to be nursed every hour and a half, and I struggled for three weeks to keep this up.  I slept in the room with my Mary, and let my blue eyes have her bassinet, so I could get up and make certain that I was regaining strength.  I would say that if every nurse was as horrible as the one that visited me at home and the one who had labeled me as sloth at the hospital;  Then I would have no respect for my given profession.  These nurses were not used to we gals who tryed to heal by letting our own blood volume return to normal, so the last two nurses that I had got no kudos from me while the L@D and the recovery nurses, and the nurses that took me by the nursery to show me my living babies as I came from recovery got praise and get praise for the rest of my life.  I do not know who you were;  But I loved you as women can love other women and men for eternal kindness.

I adored my angel dolls, the prettiest little babies that I had ever seen, the answer to a 17 year prayer for one daughter;  And then Holy Father;  One day little Mary used her paralyzed left arm and dragged herself up and learned to walk by pushing princess blue eyes in a little push toy, and the young woman who helped me then and I just broke up, tears and laughter;  Every emotion known to man, and nine months, but here they were my little gifts for suffering, my baby girls.

We were getting daily reports of the growing AIDS epidemic, still mainly gay men, the few women who shared drug needles, who society found to be dispensable anyway, and others who had received tainted blood, but the money was pouring in, for “Everybody’s Disease,” had now passed ever social barrier, and as some political leaders would get shouted down for saying;  “It was the first communicable disease in America with such aggression to kill, that had quaranteen been placed in effect at the time;  Many people could have been saved, but it was the genie fully out of the bottle, and whoever could be called out to speak on behalf of a loved one lost;  They were there, on the evening news, and one begged the universe to at least keep it as confined as it was.

Money poured in after a few years;  So many lost and promising young men with grieving partners waiting their turn for the death count,  but under the bridges and on the streets;  The women kept coming down with the disease also, and the next thing we knew we had an AIDS army, and at one point certain people with unrelated cancers buy similarly shot immune systems would be counted as AIDS also;  And God Bless you all who say the need and heard the cry, and the gay and lesbian populations were coming out as never before;  “Loud and Proud;” and Tom Hanks did Philadelphia story, and just as Hollywood helps us to remember the Holocaust with the goodness of producers like Steven Speilberg where we get a movie at least every couple of years, because we need to remember what happened when a people is decimated over the land and the world.  AIDS has had Hollywood support from the beginning, and all of the sudden people were not just gay and lesbian;   But they opened up the Gay Pride movement, and still there were huge amounts of money in these communities, because we must remember.

Kids were being exposed to males kissing males;  Females kissing females, and more was coming out than ever before that;  “It is great to be gay and lesbian;  Do you hear us all of you straights out there?  We are a lucky group, because, “We,” take care of each other.  In my little girls early years;  The triple cocktail would come out, and AIDS victims were surviving as never before, then better drugs, but it is truth there are unpleasant side effects, and now that the girls are grown;  This year a man who had AIDS has no traces of it in  his system.  We have had a war on cancer for fifty of my sixty years plus, and progress is made, and Praises to the givers, for some of the AIDS medications have shown some progress in crossover as cancer therapy;  So there is a sharing going on,  And all of this is so good.

When I was a child;  It was a treat to get to see a man and a woman kiss each other in the movies, and nudity was greater in the 70s and 80s movies than it seems to be now, and where my girls grew up in San Francisco in the hills above the Castro;  Almost anywhere;  Men kiss men and women kiss women passionately, almost a show for the tourist, because to be alternative is the new in thing.  One cannot watch primetime TV dramas without having gays and lesbians on most shows to make love, even more than the straights sometimes, and female’s kissing has become the open mouth;  Down your throat look standard as they tear each other’s bras and get naked for their sweet and soft sheets, and this has all come about within my daughters years.

My blue eyes;  I mean it;  Like sapphires startles people and she went to work in our town around the time she was 18, and the gay workers befriended her.  She knew all the moves and all of the language, and her fun time was downtime with them whether it was getting drunk after work, which was usually when they worked; working together, hiring and firing together, promoting each other;  Making friends in all of the other GLBT that served them, but my daughter and I;  She loved me then were a pair in my eyes, just one day a week maybe, but it was my time with her, and my Mary fell in love and got married;  The little girl with cerebral palsy is no more, for she has outgrown most of the signs of her traumatic birth.  She keeps me sane, and at times has almost had to mother me.

You see;  Between wealth, Hollywood, television making certain all of the kids thinks it looks so cool;  My blue eyes found a solution to some great hurts.  Until she was almost 21 she wanted one love;  Someone who loved another, and she had loved him since she was a kid, so naturally he had a life plan without her, and she endeavored to accept that.  I heard about him so much, and she worked herself day and night when his rock band needed help, but he just kept pawning her off on his buddies instead of counseling her that they were a bunch of users who wanted, “Laid,” and from there;  She would be left again.  Every man she would go out with would either wind up to be in a relationship, have a child she did  not know about, and leave her in the middle of the night, because guys who are jerks, and there have always been jerks in both sexes do that to people who could love them so very much.

One night a bunch from the band got drunk, and one that she would even pair her name with to see how it sounded called her up, and they used foul language, commented on her demure and beautiful body, and she snapped.  She did not come to me with this one, for she had to work in her mind;  And the lesbian who hired her and the alternative gang helped her get good and drunk so much so she albeit had to be carried home.  The older and experience lesbian girl took her to her home where her parents allow her to bring her girlfriends, since she lives with them, and that night;  She showed my blue eyes what it was like to be touched as gently as women touch their men, only it was my daughters genitalia which responded, and I began not seeing my precious girl.  You see;  It would have been dangerous to have had her around her mother where at just 21;  She could talk with me again, but it all happened, and I have made a long story short.

Two years later she still brings this woman to all of the family gatherings, and now they both live with the parents, and the younger brothers and sisters in that house, and my daughter whom we loved with every inch of our souls is out to punish me, because the one time I asked her early in the relationship to step back three months;  She wouldn’t even give me the time of day saying;  I have a new father and mother, a brother, and sister, and I am happy, and I do not need your approval, and is it not strange that the benefactor lesbian of my daughter’s love caught her just at 21, and then in one night;  My blue eyes is determined she is a lesbian, and when I tell her that drinking does not mean that you have to drink until you pass out, so she will console me with;  “Well, all I had was a shot and three beers;” And I worry about a call coming, except she is now 23, is contributing to a new family, and she even suggested that I had somehow abused her.  At that one, even her brother’s have to laugh.  I can laugh at nothing, for my daughter went away one night, all just around 100 pounds of her, and now she is a lesbian who hires and fires; And if you get to be with their group you are cool, and no one gets in the, “Family,” group easily.

My husband could never talk with her about the idea of taking some time out when it first happened, because he is California cool, and in California, around our area;  Everything GLBT is cool, and my blue eyes who hated high school partially  because San Francisco parents are so cool and such better parents than those of us from other backgrounds;  I am a moron for not getting on with the fact my daughter was set up for the catch.  Her partner is 7 or 8 years older than her;  and do I not believe that she had her eye on my girl.  My daughter would come home with bruises on her legs, because her small but mighty black belt in karate girl was showing her;  “The Moves,” back when my daughter was younger;  And does a girl become bisexual within a month after three bad male relationships;  Is that bisexual;  Or do we have someone older really showing the moves, and do we as a people need to decide we are homogenaically programed to be bisexual.

I am certain that my story is going to be blasted, and I do not even have my editor around to correct all of my errors, but as I look back over the years of AIDS,  and I realize the outpouring of gifts from gays and straights to endeavor to save the Holocaust of the gay community;  I see that love went a very long way, but I am daring to say on this night and on this day that I still believe that AIDS should have been quaranteened in the infancy of its being, and a lot of us have come a long way in loving the alternative lifestyle communities around us, and we open our hearts and homes, for we know that there are genuine people who were born to the culture of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender; And these friends;  we hold them in their joy, their needs, their sorrows, and their pains.  There is a generation gap in every community of gays where there are virtually no men around a certain age, and it dates to the ones who died before any help was on the horizon, and we endeavored to understand.

We will never understand the Holocaust of the non -Arian people of Europe, nor humans that act like animals, beat, mame, torture, and kill our women, children, or anyone based on sexuality;  But my blue eyes was no lesbian, and she has torn our family apart all for the price of an older woman who she told me on the phone once, “Stroked her so gently,” almost like a child;  And I cannot tell her that was what I did with her with her tiny hands and eyes as blue as emerals;  I brought you to my breast and nursed you and kissed your tiny head.  You were out to hurt me when you finished junior high, because Dad got sick again, and Mom had to move us to San Francisco.  You want me to tell you that all is well;  It is just about sex, and come on home baby, and bring that girl with you, and to whomever it may offend;  The woman was a pedophile, and her gang gets off on alcohol and a pretty blue eyed girl that I almost died for.

I am mad at Hollywood and the movie industry for promoting a lifestyle that has become just that;  A jet setting lifesyle, and it is no longer about genuine gender difference but about molding young people early to be confused, and do not pick them up when they are drunk and sad, wipe their brow, and kiss their lips as if you love them, for you are a sadist;  You destroy families.  You took my baby born with the sea in her eyes, and you rocked her, and you have nursed her, because you convinced her that you were love.  Here as this country is about to default on its debt, though we know it a year where presidential contenders are coming up;  It is not going to happen;  One hour of evening news and even more was devoted to gay marriage.  We helped you so much my GLBT political power brokers;  But get this through your heads, that when you start pouncing on our children;  Even if they are at 21, and even if  the Arts and Hollywood are giving you a hand up by indoctrinating our children that this is the new way of living;  We are going to fight back.  For me;  It will be at the ballot box,

As for my child;  I do not know her future, and I am aware that even when she was a child she did not like old parents, for she was outspoken about that, but I will love her until the end of my journey no matter the pain she infuses like a blood token that she could disregard the life we had for 21 of her 23 years;  But enough;  you are getting to our kids now, and we say nothing about the fact that you can have children now as couples.  No matter how you slice or dice;  You got something from a man to have those babies, and I will not live long enough to see the social issues arise from the process of the best looking and smartest sperm donors selling life like they are small Gods;  But the tide is going to change, because you are reaching in too far, and some of us are empty.  We are not necessarily the ones who need fixed;  Maybe it has something to do with Alternative Lifestyle means you are taking the last cookies from the jar and feeding them to our kids when we know;  I am positive, that my child had planned to be a wife, and not to another woman; So opportunity might seem irresistable;  But remember when you were drowning, and we wiped your brow.  I believe that if the dead could speak that they might say to you that for once;  You have just gone to far.

And I still pray for my beautiful child, not for me, but for herself;  Remember me;  In the whole of things;  I have not the years, but I will be there someway and somehow.  Pinkhoneysuckle

More and more I am seeing people deal with the grief of lost animals; And those of us who lived on farms during mid-century knew that if a dog or cat was ill; Or if a cow was suffering so from a calf that could not be born;  Then we would see our fathers go out with a rifle, and a familiar sound would cause birds to shriek and the country wind to echo back the sound;  And you knew that it was done.  We did not have the means to have the cheerful British vet come around to the farms to fix the dogs with parasites in their skin, nor the means to hide a dog that had taken a fancy to mother’s chicken coop for a tasty lunch.  Dad would watch the cows when they began to labor, and I remember seeing him reach in, the human forceps, the farmer’s hand and to bring for a new baby calf only to see that the mother cow was bleeding far to much; and the crack/pop of the rifle could be heard again; For it stopped the suffering as he would say.  The saddest of all was the death of the last mule which Dad had whipped and kicked, pushed and pulled the plow with, and swore to everything outside the sun;  “I will kill you;  You Son of a Bitch,” but then they would go off together; acre after acre, and if the miles the mules Dad and the mules logged could be walked together could have been plotted;  I am certain that it would add up to a cross country trip;  But when old Loge pronounced, “Loag,” and Dad knew the time had come;  The poor mules work was done, and his breathing was labored;  Then again came the shot, and Daddy’s tears washed old Loge down, and I heard Dad telling that mule;  You were a good old friend, and then we would wait for, “The Dead Wagon,” to come and to take it away where everyone told us they were going to make soap of our mule;  And we had to put it out of our mind that the fresh dressed cow was the dinner on the table come Sunday.

One dealt with death early as a farm child, for it was inevitable, as inevitable as the evening star breaking through the evening sky on an autumn night when the moon was full, so children, and even parents learned about grief early.  In years to come I would become the neighbor who needed to pick up Susan’s prized cat from the middle of the street after it was hit by the car, to take it to the animal shelter, and to see the pile of bodies which had not been incinerated yet.  The inevitability of loss would make me the Hospice nurse, and I cared for my families deeply, and never could I hold back my tears.  There is pain in loss; And there is no gain that we endeavor to be so stoic and to hide our tears, for we are human beings and unless we are sociopathic or have something deep within us that keeps us from grieving; Then grief is a very good thing.  To help someone to know when the grief should be resolved is impossible, for you are as apt to read a mind as to be able to read a heart.  If the gut wrenching grief goes on;  Then I highly suggest immediate help. 

For others;  It does not end, but we find that we have let go somehow when we no longer wake up weeping for the lost.  We have begun to free them and to let their souls fly away, because their task are done; and ours are to continue, at least for the while, but there is no absolute end to grief from what I can tell.  It is just that we are grown up, and we no that we cannot survive crumpled in remorse and loss, and love is best expressed sometimes by being the giver, the one who is able to bid farewell, because it is up to the living to say the good byes.  Just like the mule,  Dad’s old mule;  You know that there is a shot in the dark that in another time, and in another dimension;  We might get to meet again, for heaven is certainly possible, and we have been taught that, And we long for that truth.  At this very moment St. Peter could offer Dad a ride on a shuttle mission of the Universe, and Daddy would say a little embarrassed that he can’t be more appreciative;  I think my corn could use one more plowing;  Do you mind precious Saint? and I would know that the decision was known in advance, so young boy could jettison off to some other galaxy while daddy plowed the rows of golden corn.

My sister called me today, and I could listen for I had no real comfort.  The kitty that was through all the worst of my Marcie’s life had to be put down last week, and she has been grieving.  It was there when she would come home nights from the nursing home when her husband was dying from Huntington’s disease.  It was there at her feet when she wept for Dad and then two years later for Mama;  For 20 years the cat, Dena, who thought she was a dog at come to her feet, or sat on her lap, or jumped like a tiger on her bed scaring the wits out of her sometime.  My Lord;  I had anxieties with that part Siamese maniac of a cat which employed itself as, “Guard Cat,” could open the door and surprise guest, like me by suddenly biting your feet, and when you jumped; Then it really pounced for it would then pretend that your feet were a rat that needed a good whipping before chomping down one more time, and if the truth be know;  Had I a gun with a silencer;  I might have killed that cat many visits ago, and would tried to have blamed it on a stray bullet through the window, because Dena The Cat tortured me.  No;  You are right;  I did not have the courage, but it was a thought.

Sister is grieving for Dena now.  He held her head for the merciful execution, and her kitty died in her hands, the same uneventful last breath that human’s somehow give, and you look at the clock, for the moment must be recorded, and she had her old friend cremated and has made it clear that when she goes to God;  Then Dena gets to go to heaven too, for she will be in sister’s arms.  We do that kind of thing in our family;  Place little tokens for the journey;  A picture, a flower just picked, a touch of Holy Water or Chrism for the journey, for we are convinced of the other life;  For;  “Love never dies;, and I just wonder how many times love is used in scripture, the epitome of a long love letter which asks;  “Come to me.”  As for my sister;  She will mend, for we mended from losing parents, that long goodbye, and someday we will mourn each other;  But for now, we must hold a sister and ask the saints mercy, for she is now alone in her house which once was so full of life.  Everyone wants to give her another cat;  But in losing her cat;  She has discovered that she was allergic to her all along;  Her  whole family is allergic to cats;  But this one;  It came along, and it loved her though the worst and the best of times, and so she had to clear her eyes each morning;  This was the right cat that found the best of homes;  And I bid it farewell too realizing the angels, The Cherubim and Seraphim are in for one surprise when the welcome Dena in to the courts of praise; for if the ephemeral can be bitten;  Then this doggone cat is going to nail them good and hard.

Ray, Mama, and Daddy will save her though, for Dena liked red carnations;  So they will distract her from the heavenly host and let her run around with a red carnation just like she did when she welcomed my sister and I home one night from Ray’s care setting.  Never will I forget that goofy cat running around, the carnation between her teeth, and the vase from which she took it still stood upright.  I think she was wanting Marcie to play fetch, but we were too tired and needed our rest.  Dena, you were a fine specimen of cat;  You comforted and consoled; But you must wait for a while, because Marcie has some living to do.

For Marcie From Barbara – 2011 22nd,June

Drink the sweet water, said the mother to the child and fill your thirst.  Cool yourself and be refreshed.
The desert we have crossed is barren and our feet bleed from the hot ground and the thorns.
I tried to protect you, my darling ones, from the briars, the serpents and the hot ground as we walked,
And somehow we found this stream which flows between craggy rocks, which spared us this moment.
It is somewhat of a brook and I heard it from very far away.  I felt the drips of water on my feet, even before we got this far, before the sun rose and the moon laid down and the stars all slept.
So I listened and pleaded to a higher God, one I could not see to quench yours theirs and man.
Now we can stop and play, but only for the moment.  Ease our pain. But for a moment.  So drink well my love.
I carried you as far as I could walk and as far as we could see, but even I had to put you down and when I did, I heard it louder:  The drops, The drops, The thirst quenching drops and I cried with no tears.

For I am too dry, too burnt inside and the tears must be saved, for we have miles to go, my love.
So now sleep the last moments of morning and hold our fresh washed hands and place your head next to me.
And there we will lay until the morning and Father called the sun to burn again over the miles ahead;
But we can get there, you and I, this day to the forest and you will be afraid of the trees and the unknown.  Thus you must hold my hand a little tighter when we cross in the place that saves us from the sun.
I will find you berries beautiful child, my lost child, and I will feed you one by one and see you smile.
My heart will burst and I will tell you not that I am afraid of the forest too.  I need a place to rest as well.
Over there, see over there, the wind has left a chair where once sat the timber.  So again, my baby, rest.
From your feet I pull the briars first and then from man and I found a natural balm to ease the pain.
I break the grass filled with aloe and the flame within our feet disappears and we are not alone little one.

“We are not alone,” I say and we linger on the grass in nature’s chair and I see life stirring within your eyes.
We hold our faces together, hear the birds of midday and we are happy for the refuge nature strung.
I knew that I could find it if we could just get this far.  This garden of miracles where flowers spring forth
I remembered it from a time a go, a long time ago when I was brought here to Miracle Garden.  It is true and the same voice that called me then, called us now when I was but as small as you.  I’m glad.
I am happy and this time I am the guiding mother and not the child who was led by the unknown spirit,
to the place where children come and every tree has a secret in its bark. An orchid perhaps or a garland.
I will dress you with woven grasses, place the flowers in your hair and we will find the trail that leads home.
Just remember this day when you are without thirst;  You are fed with dew drops and flower petals.
It will disappear again waiting for another mother and child who are lost and they will hear the water.  Splash against the rock and know as we did that we are safe, for we have found the path to home.

Pinkhoneysuckle – An Impromptu Poem of;  “Where I Found The Safe Place,”  And it is for my mother with love and remembrance of, “Miracles.”

Love; My fellow writers; I send you love.
Barbara

Alright;  Now I am angry, and tonight I feel as if I am having a porn invasion, because some group who uses beautiful Russian;  Who Knows;  Maybe American women as objects for the depraved sexual community of America.  If we did not buy it;  The truth is it would not be on the internet, but my computer is being invaded tonight by pornography advertising Russian women, so American men and women;  Give yourselves a great big thumbs down those of you who are supporting these sites.  Women have come from being totally subserviant to being participants in international hunger for porn, and I believe that it is a damned shame that one cannot use their computer without a beautiful woman who is apt to be selling us peeks of her body, because some woman or man thinks they can make some solid cash on the fact that, especially;  We of the dear old USA just cannot get enough peeks into others private places.

Oh now;  What is wrong with a little fun, you ask; and I will tell you that what is wrong is that you are so stupid and without imagination that you have to go to a computer made mainly of plastic bits in one way or the other to get your fill of naked people; Because in every sense of the word, you are allowing women to be used and abused.  We watch TV and see children brought in as prostitutes; And some of us mourn;  Oh; God;  Please spare the children this.  Has man and woman gone so low that one cannot feel sexual gratification without slobbering over a plastic device that spits out dirty pictures until you are awash in either your own seminal fluid or the slobbeers from your mouth; or women so without that the only comfort they have are the same stupid pictures, a free hand, and endeavor to find their own sexual gratification??

It doesn’t sound quite so nice when we put the scenes in the perspective of what you are actually doing, and what you are actually seeing.  It is an underworld tradition; Prostitution, but porn on the internet legalizes it as freedom of speech.  Because the women are willing, or even the men to make a living this way;  Then what business is it of mine, or yours, or anyone else who gives a damn.  I am not even go to the Jewish/Christian and other religious barriers that come in to play, because I know before I start with any of that;  You probably aren’t in to the God thing;  That worked somewhat before mass media; but now;  Even the Godly just cannot get enough of the red hot and juicy good stuff that you can make your mind flow in to and let it blast your head off.  Knowing that you have your hands over your ears if someone said to you;  “You cannot be very happy if plastic and cyberspace are your only gratificaation;”  Then I have to ask the more difficult questions.

Have you ever loved a child in the pure sense of caring for a Blessing?  Are you aware that women and children are being taken from their homelands to be sex slaves.  You may as well bring them in to the center of town, parade them around, shackle them; (Though you’s probably do that for kicks), and just auction them off, for it has little difference than when men, women, and children were brought in to this country to be field hands, nurse maids, and ready to be whipped if they did not do what the Master of The House said.  We can easily compare what appears as happy, innocent nakedness as having brought a bunch of women, men and children out to be used by whomever becomes their new Master, and we are the problem, because it is free speech;  It is just good old porn, having a little fun; And in the old days you had to know the right clubs to find such services.

Once it was maybe;  “Just Porn,” but now it is connected with the international enslavement of women and children in particular, drugs to dull their pain and to addict them, because they are throw-aways;  Just go out and bring a few more in, because the hunger for the big bang;  Whatever it is just cannot be satisfied.  Reaching higher and higher for THAT kind of sex makes us simply stoop lower and lower to make it look beguiling, tantalizing, just so good, because a voice from a plastic box you just typed in to says that is what they are feeling, and you just want it more;  Oh so-o much more.

You do not see the women with everything from bruises to anal tears, nor do you have to feel her body trembling the first time she is put out there.  You do not have to wipe the child’s tears, sooth the lost mother, or place a flower on the grave of the junkie who just died, because she could not break from the circle of enslavement.  Why am I bothering with telling you this, for it is like telling the bull in a pasture of willing heifers to;  “Move along,” and that bull is there fulfilling what he was bought for;  To impregnate the cows, and you get in his way, and he will gore you to death in less than a moment.  Why;  Oh Why???  The people who need to hear this are already down by the computer having sex with mostly women who have no other way to feed themselves or their children, not to mention that it probably takes a thousand morons pleasuring themselves for that woman to have a one day supply of whatever she is hooked on.  The pimp could care less;  It is about power and money, and the rest of us;  We just cannot look inside, for it is dangerous and verbotent, and it is time to put on our nice clean clothes, hit the sheets and to call it a day.

I am aware that there are women and men who willingly engage in prostitution;  And I have come to the conclusion that for the sake of the women and children;  Maybe we should look at a process of legalization, because one person’s morals are another person’s reality; And one can talk until they turn royal blue;  And no mind will be changed.  There is prostitution;  There always has been;  And There always will be.  There will be women flattered to pose nude in men’s magazines;  Though now that is an inappropriate term as I have come to know from a lesbian loved one who thinks its just body parts to be pleasured;  So what difference does any of this make?  It makes a difference for the same reason The Emancipation Proclaimation did in the 19th centurey;  We will only free the slaves until that day we turn our attention to how best to deal with the growing problem; And maybe legalization would save a few women from other countries who see it as fast dollars in America.

It makes a difference, because we are human;  Are we not?  It is difficult to discern that we are human when children are murdered and stolen to relieve some deviant’s psychological insanity, and it matters because if we pass the question on;  “Where does it stop?”  There is no end point.  I could actually see a time when The United States Center For Disease Control would have sanctioned films which couples could watch in the privacy of their own home if they came in to the local health department, spoke with a person about their particular fettish, or whatever was causing them to go to the plastic, fantastic cimputer sites which are produced for the most part by a non caring criminal sordid soul who cares less if a woman dies, if a child is lost and never seen again, or whether they themselves ever make a dollar that has come from their own labor instead of off the backs of the weakest and poorest among us;  Yes, it would make sense to me for the health departments to allow porn seekers to have even free access to some of what they crave.  It is absolutely obvious that I do not feel that any child on the face of the earth should be used any way whatsoever;  Let me repeat that; CHILDREN SHOULD UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES EVER BE IN ANY WAY USED IN CHILD SLAVERY, PORNOGRAPHY, OR DRUG ABUSE.

I just know that on this night while sitting down to endeavor to write my blog;  I kept getting pushed in to a porn site, and I am certain that it is because I have pressed something somewhere which seemed legitimate that got me there;  But I want to know what better ideas that people have to get rid of a business that is beyond all that any of us know of decency, for it is beyond a shadow of a doubt among the shames of a developed nation such as ours.  My suggestions mean absolutely nothing.  Lifetime imprisonment or chemical or full castration seem to be the obvious for child abusers and molesters;  But how do we ever get women to value their bodies enough to know that they are Holy;  Their bodies house Deities of sorts when they are carrying a child;  For every child is innocent and Divine in the beginning.  For the gals out in Nevada where areas of legal prostitution exist;  That is beyond needing my fixing.  We can give the invitation, The call to the Alter where one witnesses that they have found a better life in a Holy setting;  But we cannot dictate behaviors;  So ladies in Nevada; Wherever;  You too will grow old and feel lost love;  But I am not out to make you into a different soul, for only you can do that.

I am one voice that is asking;  “How do we protect the women who come over illegally and impoverished from ever thinking that they are worth no more than to be a  vessel bearing another’s sweat, fantacies  and often times abuse?”  Let us spread the word, and you who sit alone with a computer on your lap;  Can you imagine or even believe that there is someone longing to find you;  But it requires that you bother reach out beyond your hidden room.  Will some of us invite you to find something Sacred and to watch your spirits grow to a higher purpose?  Rest assured;  There are those of us who would love to see you come to The Altar of Whatever Is Sacred, and each of us find that in different places and with different calls;  But first;  Just get a big mirror;  Look at yourself, and imagine the day when you were new.  I am not preaching the ugliness of sexuality unless it brings harm; And right this moment we are in a crisis over this land, so tonight when my computer would not stop with the pictures showing up;  I decided my muse was calling, and it said;  “Write for the children;  Write for the enslaved;  And Even Write for their misguided masters, for once they were children too.

Blesssings – Pinkhoneysuckle

I hear you Inner Self!  I know that it is to late to write a blog entry, for I am tired, and I am weary, and I am still recovering from, “The Green Lagoon Monster,” which affects those of us who insist on playing with our smallest grandchildren who are away this weekend.  Grandmothers, Grandfathers, and those who have small children simply risk having their last breath drawn, because they find little porcelain cheeks irrestible,  and I hear mothers of all colors and from so many backgrounds lable litle babies with all sorts of sweetness.  I say a black American Grandmother say to her grandchildren;  You are the cutest little chocolate drops that I have ever seen, and she laughed and kissed them, and I thought of all peoples babies from porcelain to Cinnamon, to the little sweethearts with a touch of buttercup as are many Asian children, and how mothers just cannot resist kissing their little faces, drying their noses, wiping their milky mouths, and just washing whatever the children might have some resistance to after a fever develops, but the adult such as I just have to feel, and snuggle, and love the willing babies, for all too soon they are running away, and waving at you with a smile on their face.

If one gets lucky they find heros and heroines in their schools and within the communities, role models who will help interest them in this humongous ball called the universe;  And then they will develop stars in their eyes, for they are curious, sweet, and above all like the wonderful ocean sponge absorbing all that is fantastic in their early lives which seem like nothing to them later on.  “Here Mommy;  These are for you,” And you are hanging on to the wonderful flowers purchased with love; And it is dandelions, just dandelions, but  to the child they are flowers for Mommy or for the Grandparents.  You accept it, grasp your chest,, for a lot of us are allergic to such things people refer to as weeds, but to the innocent child;  It is flowers;  “For You,” says the little one; and Nothing else in the entire day will feel more important or more beautiful than that moment.

So;  Lay it on me;  Thr round of antibiotics, the dash of codeine laced cough syrup, and the days of sleeping when all of the outside is calling me to labor.  I will face,  “The expectorated plugs from the green lagoon, wallow in my misery, endeavor not to spread it on;  I will do it all;  For those sweet cheeked little ones who are racing in my blood line and of whom the next generations will come.  Porcelain, Chocolate Drops, Cinnamon Cake, and little Buttercups;  Your family;  We cannot help ourselves.  We fall  in love, and only a ripe orchard peach might cause us to stop and look distantly, but we return to the reality that all of you are the sweetest little ones ever born, and with something like a smile as you fall asleep tired and lazy from nursing;  You acknowledge that you knew all along that we would be the fools and face the merciless lagoons, jump in the muck, and do anything, because we have found love at its finest moment.
Good Night Before Day Breaks;
The Pinkhoneysuckle Author