Kay, Rebecca and Marta Arellanes
Virginia, Kay & Rebecca Arellanes
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
My mother the mystery.
I will remember Memorial Day as the day of the mother/soldier.
My mother fighting off my father to defend her children from
the great war in our family only to disappear beyond the thoughts of this nation/man.
I will remember all mothers who fight off the drunken rebel and the tyranny of their broken lives.
I will remember all the women and men who fought and died in the struggle to stay sane in our world gone mad.
I will remember Memorial Day as the nation of men and women who died fighting off
the tyranny to make our country free from the evils of mankind.
Our Gererations of Love comes streaming through the Valley to our Hearts.
***
Rebecca
I wrote this piece below the other day to try explaining to everyone that we are here no matter what happens to the earth.
I realize that the earth could explode and dust/and or vapor would be all that is left. Whatever.
Some particle of life will be there. Some substance of our presence will be there.
Saying that I thought about my mother and her presence on earth.
Her physical presence has not been found or I am not aware of whoever knows of her presence on
this planet but I realize this.
She is here.
She loved, lived and became a mother of three children that I am aware of.
She was a sister in a family who say that are not aware of her present existence today.
All that is left to me is speculation about her whereabouts.
So I now I know that in a photo taken from space of this planet that my mothers dust or presence will be there.
Her marble marker in life is here in these words and every photo of earth.
Her life is in my substance and in my families.
Life should have been better for her.
Rebecca
***
We are the dust as we are the body.
I am going thru a phase where I understand words. This should have happened
when I was sixteen years old. Well whatever if by some chance I'll be reincarnated
as some minute particle on this planet of ours I want to be completely aware
of my standing in life.
When they take a photo of the earth from space to give us our weather and
show us a nice snapshot of earth. We are there with all the animals and
trees and rocks and sand. The water moves about in waves and our long lost
and departed are there. Nothing has changed but time as it passes. We are
there on earth, we exist, and we occupy our space in time. We can't seem
to see our bodies or the soil beneath our feet but we know we are there.
We are the dust as we are the body.cca
***
Do we as humans blunder into places where our mind has no business being?
You know the place that keeps us up all night with worry and a chocolate high.
The place where the heart races to undo the damage of lost sleep.
How do we get back to the place where whatever we see is there?
Do we have to count on our fingers about this little piggy?
Are we getting closer to the point in time that sees the word before you and as you look away you see whatever you eyes see?
Can we clearly see the puzzle?
Are we there? Are we here?
Are we at the place our scholars talk about?
The answer is always yes at this time and no we are not in 1945 but we
do understand that they were as aware as we are now.
Rebecca
***
We read poetry and sometimes a great novel.
History and biographies pass along our paths.
Sometimes we meet a human that is a novel, a human story, a biography, and a person with a life that is a story.
Could it be that each one of us is indeed that great novel?
We as individuals are cloaked in suspense and drama, veiled in insecurities and peaceful oblivion.
We share what all great writers write about, we carry our novels in our souls as
we walk into that great storeroom of good words.
This is a nice thought.
Rebecca
***
Things you hate to write down but somehow you must.
Berea, Ky. in the late 1980's.
My sister Sandy told me that my father had said to her that a good place to hide a body is under a tree.
Deep down in her heart my sister was not impressed with that statement.
Marion, Ky. in the year 2002.
On our recent trip to California my stepsister Diane told me that my father had threatened my stepmother Gladys by saying that she could be buried under a tree. She left him in the late 1970's or 80's. I do
not know if that particular event opened the gate but it was probably close to the end for them being together.
I have come to the conclusion that my mother is buried in some beautiful garden in California.
My grandfather and his sons including my father worked at a prominent garden in the San Gabriel Valley.
My grandfather worked all the years that I remember at this garden.
Rebecca
My mother the mystery.
Is s
My mother the mystery.
Is she still alive?
In July 1945, My mother brought my sister and I to the Aurelia home, her parents home.
She said she was going to look at furniture at a store in San Gabriel, she then disappeared and never came back.
Rafael Arellanes hired a detective to look for her, but there was no trace.
Dennis Diaz was almost 4 years old and Sandy Diaz was less than 1 year old.
Per Betty and Daniel Arellanes. Dianiel was my mother's brother.
This is 1998 and she is still missing.
Laurel is looking for her, obsessed by the idea that my mother can't hide from her either dead or alive..
My skin is tanned, keeping the rain, sun, sand and emotions at bay for the last forty years.
The Trekkies would be proud of my defensive shield.
It is a sad state of affairs when I'll neither care or cry When/if she is found.
I get the feeling that the less I ask the better.
I can't ask any of my family about my mother without bringing back pain and tears.
The best minds are at work looking for her.
***
Hair, long corn tassels, my grandmothers gray-orange-white-gray hair.
She had long hair down to her waste, hair that she braided and rolled up
into a bun on her head. Hair that you would see in her photo, hair that
reminded me of an Indian Maiden. Hair that reminds me of love, comfort
and reason.
***
I am reminded of my mother, while taking a shower this afternoon, thoughts of my mother
came to the forefront. I wonder why no one has come forward to explain
where she went. My mother has not come forward. My father while he was
alive did not come forward to explain. My aunts and uncles only know
that she left, they did not come forward. The government has not come
forward. Not even a vague sense has come forward.
No one has come forward with an explanation. Here I am a man of
nearly sixty with no explanation about my mother. No clue. Every time I
broach the subject I bring tears into the eyes of my aunts and uncles, I
am forever lost, an island, a constant reminder of something sweet in
their past that has gone, forever lost.
Out of sight out of mind, how sad.
I sit and write wondering what I did as a child to have to endure such
emptiness.
I sympathize with everyone that has some sort of problem; I defend his or her
existence. So when everyone in the sixties defended every ones right to
the pursuit of happiness I was very pleased to take my place on this
earth, to be accepted as a being on earth.
Speculation
Where do I turn to find my mother. Laurel has exhausted all the legal tools at hand.
S.S. can not mail a letter to her until they find an address. No one has ever reported her dead.
She has disappeared from visible site, I do not know what she looked like, thought my dad showed me a picture of her in 1951. That photo is lost.
She was a beauty with a singing voice. She was not meant to be a mother. She loved the night life, my dad and her partied across Southern California.
What do I think?
Was she moved into hiding by the government for some knowledge she possessed?
Did my dad do away with her?
These two above thoughts are in the direction I lean toward. The first thought can be traced in two directions, from her end and from this end. Nothing!
The second thought. My dad is not capable of hiding a body without help? So I look into where he worked or his family worked? My dads parents were devote Catholics, my mother was christian, I assume
her mother was a seventh day adventist. Her sisters were Methodist? I spent many hours in tents in downtown L.A.
If my dad had help covering up a body, who would get him out a jam?
Where were people working at that time.
What did everyone have in common. Three places come to mind. My fathers home, where he grew up. (Where everyone danced at Gilberts baptism party.)
The San Gabriel Mission, the Pablo family is quite prominent in this community and helped mold the structure with mortar.
And last but not least, The Huntington Library.
This is where Pablo was a prominent gardener. His cactus garden is famous.
All the sons worked there with their dad Pablo in the forties, fifties and sixties.
My dad told my sister that under a tree would be a good place to hide someone.
***
Henry Huntington and his Botanical Gardens
My mother fighting off my father to defend her children from
the great war in our family only to disappear beyond the thoughts of this nation/man.
I will remember all mothers who fight off the drunken rebel and the tyranny of their broken lives.
I will remember all the women and men who fought and died in the struggle to stay sane in our world gone mad.
I will remember Memorial Day as the nation of men and women who died fighting off
the tyranny to make our country free from the evils of mankind.
Our Gererations of Love comes streaming through the Valley to our Hearts.
***
Rebecca
I wrote this piece below the other day to try explaining to everyone that we are here no matter what happens to the earth.
I realize that the earth could explode and dust/and or vapor would be all that is left. Whatever.
Some particle of life will be there. Some substance of our presence will be there.
Saying that I thought about my mother and her presence on earth.
Her physical presence has not been found or I am not aware of whoever knows of her presence on
this planet but I realize this.
She is here.
She loved, lived and became a mother of three children that I am aware of.
She was a sister in a family who say that are not aware of her present existence today.
All that is left to me is speculation about her whereabouts.
So I now I know that in a photo taken from space of this planet that my mothers dust or presence will be there.
Her marble marker in life is here in these words and every photo of earth.
Her life is in my substance and in my families.
Life should have been better for her.
Rebecca
***
We are the dust as we are the body.
I am going thru a phase where I understand words. This should have happened
when I was sixteen years old. Well whatever if by some chance I'll be reincarnated
as some minute particle on this planet of ours I want to be completely aware
of my standing in life.
When they take a photo of the earth from space to give us our weather and
show us a nice snapshot of earth. We are there with all the animals and
trees and rocks and sand. The water moves about in waves and our long lost
and departed are there. Nothing has changed but time as it passes. We are
there on earth, we exist, and we occupy our space in time. We can't seem
to see our bodies or the soil beneath our feet but we know we are there.
We are the dust as we are the body.cca
***
Do we as humans blunder into places where our mind has no business being?
You know the place that keeps us up all night with worry and a chocolate high.
The place where the heart races to undo the damage of lost sleep.
How do we get back to the place where whatever we see is there?
Do we have to count on our fingers about this little piggy?
Are we getting closer to the point in time that sees the word before you and as you look away you see whatever you eyes see?
Can we clearly see the puzzle?
Are we there? Are we here?
Are we at the place our scholars talk about?
The answer is always yes at this time and no we are not in 1945 but we
do understand that they were as aware as we are now.
Rebecca
***
We read poetry and sometimes a great novel.
History and biographies pass along our paths.
Sometimes we meet a human that is a novel, a human story, a biography, and a person with a life that is a story.
Could it be that each one of us is indeed that great novel?
We as individuals are cloaked in suspense and drama, veiled in insecurities and peaceful oblivion.
We share what all great writers write about, we carry our novels in our souls as
we walk into that great storeroom of good words.
This is a nice thought.
Rebecca
***
Things you hate to write down but somehow you must.
Berea, Ky. in the late 1980's.
My sister Sandy told me that my father had said to her that a good place to hide a body is under a tree.
Deep down in her heart my sister was not impressed with that statement.
Marion, Ky. in the year 2002.
On our recent trip to California my stepsister Diane told me that my father had threatened my stepmother Gladys by saying that she could be buried under a tree. She left him in the late 1970's or 80's. I do
not know if that particular event opened the gate but it was probably close to the end for them being together.
I have come to the conclusion that my mother is buried in some beautiful garden in California.
My grandfather and his sons including my father worked at a prominent garden in the San Gabriel Valley.
My grandfather worked all the years that I remember at this garden.
Rebecca
My mother the mystery.
Is s
My mother the mystery.
Is she still alive?
In July 1945, My mother brought my sister and I to the Aurelia home, her parents home.
She said she was going to look at furniture at a store in San Gabriel, she then disappeared and never came back.
Rafael Arellanes hired a detective to look for her, but there was no trace.
Dennis Diaz was almost 4 years old and Sandy Diaz was less than 1 year old.
Per Betty and Daniel Arellanes. Dianiel was my mother's brother.
This is 1998 and she is still missing.
Laurel is looking for her, obsessed by the idea that my mother can't hide from her either dead or alive..
My skin is tanned, keeping the rain, sun, sand and emotions at bay for the last forty years.
The Trekkies would be proud of my defensive shield.
It is a sad state of affairs when I'll neither care or cry When/if she is found.
I get the feeling that the less I ask the better.
I can't ask any of my family about my mother without bringing back pain and tears.
The best minds are at work looking for her.
***
Hair, long corn tassels, my grandmothers gray-orange-white-gray hair.
She had long hair down to her waste, hair that she braided and rolled up
into a bun on her head. Hair that you would see in her photo, hair that
reminded me of an Indian Maiden. Hair that reminds me of love, comfort
and reason.
***
I am reminded of my mother, while taking a shower this afternoon, thoughts of my mother
came to the forefront. I wonder why no one has come forward to explain
where she went. My mother has not come forward. My father while he was
alive did not come forward to explain. My aunts and uncles only know
that she left, they did not come forward. The government has not come
forward. Not even a vague sense has come forward.
No one has come forward with an explanation. Here I am a man of
nearly sixty with no explanation about my mother. No clue. Every time I
broach the subject I bring tears into the eyes of my aunts and uncles, I
am forever lost, an island, a constant reminder of something sweet in
their past that has gone, forever lost.
Out of sight out of mind, how sad.
I sit and write wondering what I did as a child to have to endure such
emptiness.
I sympathize with everyone that has some sort of problem; I defend his or her
existence. So when everyone in the sixties defended every ones right to
the pursuit of happiness I was very pleased to take my place on this
earth, to be accepted as a being on earth.
Speculation
Where do I turn to find my mother. Laurel has exhausted all the legal tools at hand.
S.S. can not mail a letter to her until they find an address. No one has ever reported her dead.
She has disappeared from visible site, I do not know what she looked like, thought my dad showed me a picture of her in 1951. That photo is lost.
She was a beauty with a singing voice. She was not meant to be a mother. She loved the night life, my dad and her partied across Southern California.
What do I think?
Was she moved into hiding by the government for some knowledge she possessed?
Did my dad do away with her?
These two above thoughts are in the direction I lean toward. The first thought can be traced in two directions, from her end and from this end. Nothing!
The second thought. My dad is not capable of hiding a body without help? So I look into where he worked or his family worked? My dads parents were devote Catholics, my mother was christian, I assume
her mother was a seventh day adventist. Her sisters were Methodist? I spent many hours in tents in downtown L.A.
If my dad had help covering up a body, who would get him out a jam?
Where were people working at that time.
What did everyone have in common. Three places come to mind. My fathers home, where he grew up. (Where everyone danced at Gilberts baptism party.)
The San Gabriel Mission, the Pablo family is quite prominent in this community and helped mold the structure with mortar.
And last but not least, The Huntington Library.
This is where Pablo was a prominent gardener. His cactus garden is famous.
All the sons worked there with their dad Pablo in the forties, fifties and sixties.
My dad told my sister that under a tree would be a good place to hide someone.
***
Henry Huntington and his Botanical Gardens
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Mother's Day
Mom have a nice Mother's Day.Were over on Facebook so just stop by and say hello.
In the meantime have a great Mother's Day.
Love Ya
Dennis
In the meantime have a great Mother's Day.
Love Ya
Dennis
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, November 08, 2008
I can't believe how fast the years are rolling around, but there's one good thing to look forward to at the end of my days, and that is finally getting to see you again. I must admit that I don't think of you often, but today you are on my mind for some reason. Maybe it's because today I feel your presence somewhere in this room, watching and listening to my thoughts. Whatever it is, it's comforting to know that you still exist, even though it may only be in my mind.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Friday, October 05, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Happy Mothers Day Mom
I realize that I am a day late but I been thinking all week about you. I thought I would put my regular Mothers Day post up but I .decided to wait for something not so demanding.
So it is Happy Mothers Mom, both links are demanding so if you want fluff stay away from both links
Love ya
Dennis
So it is Happy Mothers Mom, both links are demanding so if you want fluff stay away from both links
Love ya
Dennis
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
40 Bellefontaine & 310 Third St
Another day has arrived on this planet and I have no other clue as to where my mother is; I am tired of pestering my relatives for some obscure memory or photo
of her. While I was living in Alhambra on Third St. my father showed me a photo of her and he also showed me a photo of himself at the CCC camp with someones leg on a truck bumper; I think it was him. My sister also had seen these photos.
of her. While I was living in Alhambra on Third St. my father showed me a photo of her and he also showed me a photo of himself at the CCC camp with someones leg on a truck bumper; I think it was him. My sister also had seen these photos.
My half brother gave me a lot of photos but some had my father cut out of the photos. Had my step mother thrown out those photos just as she had thrown out my father for having an affair. I remember seeing his clothes piled on this red painted porch. My father always had girl-friends and wives. I realize it is also my fault for not pursuing those photos at an earlier stage in my life. How can my mother disappear so perfectly. All images and documents have been swept away so carefully. The only clue of her existence is my birth certificate. My dad said he danced in a movie doing the jitterbug in the background of a Dagwood Movie in the 1940's. Was my mother his partner? They met at a friends home at the corner of Bellefontaine St. and S. Fair Oaks Ave. across from the Elite Cleaners. I grew up at 40 Bellefontaine Ave. in Pasadena, CA. which was next door to the above address. I was born at the Mothers Clinic on Fairmount Ave. across from the Huntington Hospital. The clinic was located just below the "con" on Congress St. but is now only a memory for those of us born there. I was hit by two cars on two different locations on the map. One I was riding my small bike at breakneck speed through the Huntington Hospital grounds (I used the Hospital as a short cut from school near California Ave.) when I caught the rear bumper of at a passing car as I existed an alley near "Ave" in the Fairmount Ave name. The other accident happened when I stepped out into the street and was hit by a car while wanting to go to a grocery across from the intersection of Fair Oaks and Hurlbut St. Looking at this map nothing exists that was there in 1950's except the Huntington Hospital which has expanded to cover more ground closer to Bellefontaine. I chipped my tooth from jumping out a moving Ice truck on Alessandro Place. The tooth was covered with a silver cap. There was rail spur that came from South Pasadena up toward California Ave. It ran parallel to Fairmount Ave and Fair Oaks Ave. about 100' east of the green arrow on the 40 Bellefontaine map. Trains moving on the spur were moving at a walking speed and had one or two cars at a time.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Guess what mom?
You're going to become a great-grandma again.
I'm really happy about the news
and at the same time very sad that you aren't going to be here to celebrate the happy event with us....and maybe you are in some way that I'm not aware of,
or can understand. It's times like these that I miss you most.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Early Influences
I am five or six and I am living with my mother's mother, my grandmother.
She has long gray gold Indian hair that falls down her back.
She sits in front of the mirror and brushes her hair.
Her braids are long and she rolls them up into a bun, where they stay with pins.
She speaks only Spanish; she opens the watchtower and shows me the garden.
The utopia where I see the pictures of the lions and the lambs living together in the garden.
She and I travel by train from Pasadena into Los Angeles to see relatives and go to her revivals.
They speak only Spanish at these revivals; there are only tents, tents and more tents.
I can travel about freely I am looking into large tents, it reminds me of a circus,
I know nothing of what is going on, they are speaking in Spanish.
My grandmother is comfortable to be around.
She is a peaceful woman, she is my ideal, and I sit and watch as she brushes her long hair,
she has influenced my life, and she speaks only Spanish.
I spoke only English because that is what I was taught to speak, everyone in this
household spoke only English to me except my grandmother, and she only spoke Spanish.
These are early memories of the garden this is a nice place to be.
I am five or six and I am living with my mother's mother, my grandmother.
She has long gray gold Indian hair that falls down her back.
She sits in front of the mirror and brushes her hair.
Her braids are long and she rolls them up into a bun, where they stay with pins.
She speaks only Spanish; she opens the watchtower and shows me the garden.
The utopia where I see the pictures of the lions and the lambs living together in the garden.
She and I travel by train from Pasadena into Los Angeles to see relatives and go to her revivals.
They speak only Spanish at these revivals; there are only tents, tents and more tents.
I can travel about freely I am looking into large tents, it reminds me of a circus,
I know nothing of what is going on, they are speaking in Spanish.
My grandmother is comfortable to be around.
She is a peaceful woman, she is my ideal, and I sit and watch as she brushes her long hair,
she has influenced my life, and she speaks only Spanish.
I spoke only English because that is what I was taught to speak, everyone in this
household spoke only English to me except my grandmother, and she only spoke Spanish.
These are early memories of the garden this is a nice place to be.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Arellanes
Origin Displayed: Spanish
Distinguished surnames, such as Arellanes, evoke images of the ancient homeland of the Spanish people. The original bearer of the name Arellanes, which is a local surname, once lived, held land, or was born in the beautiful region of Spain. In Spain, hereditary surnames were adopted according to fairly general rules and during the late Middle Ages, names that were derived from localities became increasingly widespread. Local names originally denoted the proprietorship of the village or estate. Many Spanish local names reflected Arabic words or place-names, because the Muslim Moors from the 8th to 12th centuries conquered Spain. The Arellanes family originally lived in Navarre. The surname Arellanes originally derived from Aurelianus which referred to the farm or estate of Aurelius.
Spelling variations include: Arellano, de Arellano, Arellana, de Arellana, Arellanes, Orellano, de Orellano, Orellana, de Orellana and many more.
First found in Navarre, one of the medieval Christian kingdoms of northern Spain.
Some of the first settlers of this name or some of its variants were: Among the early explorers of the New World was Francisco Orellana, who accompanied Gonzalo Pizarro on his expedition to Peru, and was one of the founders of the city of Guayaquil, Ecuador. Orellana then set off to seek spices in 1540-41.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
We only have one photo of Rebecca.
And I guess I should put it up here.
I know we had more photos but somehow her photos were lost.
My dad showed me a photo of her when I lived in Alhambra in the Tony Stuppy rental on Third Street.
Those photos seem to have disappeared.
If you think you might have a photo of her "scan it into a computer" and send it to us via email.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I will remember Memorial Day as the day of the mother/soldier. My mother fighting off my father to defend her children from the great war in our family only to disappear beyond the thoughts of this nation/man.
I will remember all mothers who fight off the drunken rebel and the tyranny of their broken lives.
I will remember all the women and men who fought and died in the struggle to stay sane in our world gone mad.
I will remember Memorial Day as the nation of men and women who died fighting off the tyranny to make our country free from the evils of mankind.
Our Gererations of Love comes streaming through the Valley to our Hearts.
I will remember all mothers who fight off the drunken rebel and the tyranny of their broken lives.
I will remember all the women and men who fought and died in the struggle to stay sane in our world gone mad.
I will remember Memorial Day as the nation of men and women who died fighting off the tyranny to make our country free from the evils of mankind.
Our Gererations of Love comes streaming through the Valley to our Hearts.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Mother…I hope I get another chance at life…another chance to live on this earth once again…a brand new life with you in it this time.
Today people are celebrating their mothers, by posting pictures of them. Mothers who lived a long life and, mothers who are now departed. They’re writing of memories…And I don’t even have ONE…not a single one. The only thing that I know with any certainty is that you once lived…for Tomas and I are living proof of this.
I have missed a very important relationship in my life that everyone takes for granted...having a mother. You weren’t there for my skinned knees, or my nightmares…You weren’t there to kiss everything and make it better.
You missed my first steps, my first words, my first day of school.
You missed my wedding day and all the births of my children, your grandchildren. I missed you a lot…but YOU missed so much more.
When you left, my father left too…We lost both of you. He returned into our lives, but only for a little while…And then he was gone again, only to return years later. My father didn’t think it important enough to attend the birth of my son and was no where to be found when my daughters were born…So, you see mother, when you left, for whatever reasons, our whole world fell apart…And no one has ever been there to take your place.
I might have been able to call someone else mother, but we lived a transient life, never staying anywhere for very long and, never getting close enough to anyone, to be able to call them mother, or even to seek their advice. So on this day, when everyone will be celebrating Mother’s Day…I will be thinking of you and wondering whatever happened to you.
Today people are celebrating their mothers, by posting pictures of them. Mothers who lived a long life and, mothers who are now departed. They’re writing of memories…And I don’t even have ONE…not a single one. The only thing that I know with any certainty is that you once lived…for Tomas and I are living proof of this.
I have missed a very important relationship in my life that everyone takes for granted...having a mother. You weren’t there for my skinned knees, or my nightmares…You weren’t there to kiss everything and make it better.
You missed my first steps, my first words, my first day of school.
You missed my wedding day and all the births of my children, your grandchildren. I missed you a lot…but YOU missed so much more.
When you left, my father left too…We lost both of you. He returned into our lives, but only for a little while…And then he was gone again, only to return years later. My father didn’t think it important enough to attend the birth of my son and was no where to be found when my daughters were born…So, you see mother, when you left, for whatever reasons, our whole world fell apart…And no one has ever been there to take your place.
I might have been able to call someone else mother, but we lived a transient life, never staying anywhere for very long and, never getting close enough to anyone, to be able to call them mother, or even to seek their advice. So on this day, when everyone will be celebrating Mother’s Day…I will be thinking of you and wondering whatever happened to you.
You will remain a mystery for yet another year, but you will always remain in my heart forever.
Happy Mother's Day
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Why do I have such a strong belief in alien beings? Were you whisked away by an alien ship…from the outer reaches of space? I’ve seen it in the movies…the ship hovers with blinding lights blazing and swoops down and mysteriously….you’re whisked on board. Then the ship travels away to a faraway galaxy.
That’s where you are; I’m almost sure of it, and that’s where you’ll remain until the aliens release you back to earth someday.
I’ll continue to watch the skies…because who knows…they may bring you back home suddenly….And I want to be there for the special occasion.
They say you don’t age in space, on board alien ships, so perhaps you’ll be as young as you were when you were abducted.
If so, you’ll have another chance to live your life once again,
on this beautiful planet called Earth.
That’s where you are; I’m almost sure of it, and that’s where you’ll remain until the aliens release you back to earth someday.
I’ll continue to watch the skies…because who knows…they may bring you back home suddenly….And I want to be there for the special occasion.
They say you don’t age in space, on board alien ships, so perhaps you’ll be as young as you were when you were abducted.
If so, you’ll have another chance to live your life once again,
on this beautiful planet called Earth.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
You are part of my flesh,
You are part of my soul.
My every breath
Was in your control.
You gave me life,
When you gave me birth.
I was your child,
Even though,
It was just for a little while.
You held me close,
Against your breasts
And I could feel
Your sweet and soft caress.
I felt your love
When you were there,
And when you left
It was hard to bear.
One day I’ll see you once again,
It may just be around the bend.
Until we meet
Just hold my place,
I’ll walk with you in Heaven’s Grace.
You are part of my soul.
My every breath
Was in your control.
You gave me life,
When you gave me birth.
I was your child,
Even though,
It was just for a little while.
You held me close,
Against your breasts
And I could feel
Your sweet and soft caress.
I felt your love
When you were there,
And when you left
It was hard to bear.
One day I’ll see you once again,
It may just be around the bend.
Until we meet
Just hold my place,
I’ll walk with you in Heaven’s Grace.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Mom today seems to be one of those days when I wish that you were here to give me some parental advice. I would look to you as someone wise with all the right answers. Do I just sit back and let them live their own lives and make their own choices, even though I know that the choices they are making are the wrong ones. When I try to intervene, they shun me and give me the silent treatment. Don’t they realize that I only have their best interest at heart? I would never do anything to harm them; I just want them to get along. When I voice this, it’s as though I’ve put a dagger through their hearts.
Mother…what would you have told me to do?
I know, you would have told me to stand back and let them make their own choices in life. And reminded me that
God has a plan for them.
Mother…what would you have told me to do?
I know, you would have told me to stand back and let them make their own choices in life. And reminded me that
God has a plan for them.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Rebecca
I wrote this piece below the other day to try explaining to everyone that we are here no matter what happens to the earth. I realize that the earth could explode and dust/and or vapor would be all that is left.
Whatever.
Some particle of life will be there. Some substance of our presence will be there. Saying that I thought about my mother and her presence on earth. Her physical presence has not been found or I am not aware of whoever knows of her presence on this planet but I realize this. She is here. She loved, lived and became a mother of three children that I am aware of. She was a sister in a family who say that are not aware of her present existence today. All that is left to me is speculation about her whereabouts. So I now I know that in a photo taken from space of this planet that my mothers dust or presence will be there. Her marble marker in life is here in these words and every photo of earth. Her life is in my substance and in my families. Life should have been better for her.
Rebecca
***
We are the dust as we are the body. I am going thru a phase where I understand words. This should have happened when I was sixteen years old. Well whatever if by some chance I'll be reincarnated as some minute particle on this planet of ours I want to be completely aware of my standing in life. When they take a photo of the earth from space to give us our weather and show us a nice snapshot of earth. We are there with all the animals and trees and rocks and sand. The water moves about in waves and our long lost and departed are there. Nothing has changed but time as it passes. We are there on earth, we exist, and we occupy our space in time. We can't seem to see our bodies or the soil beneath our feet but we know we are there. We are the dust as we are the body.
Rebecca
***
Do we as humans blunder into places where our mind has no business being? You know the place that keeps us up all night with worry and a chocolate high. The place where the heart races to undo the damage of lost sleep. How do we get back to the place where whatever we see is there? Do we have to count on our fingers about this little piggy? Are we getting closer to the point in time that sees the word before you and as you look away you see whatever you eyes see? Can we clearly see the puzzle? Are we there? Are we here? Are we at the place our scholars talk about? The answer is always yes at this time and no we are not in 1945 but we do understand that they were as aware as we are now.
Rebecca
***
We read poetry and sometimes a great novel. History and biographies pass along our paths. Sometimes we meet a human that is a novel, a human story, a biography, and a person with a life that is a story. Could it be that each one of us is indeed that great novel? We as individuals are cloaked in suspense and drama, veiled in insecurities and peaceful oblivion. We share what all great writers write about, we carry our novels in our souls as we walk into that great storeroom of good words. This is a nice thought.
Rebecca
This is a belated Happy Birthday Mom
My sister posted a nice thought to you and here is the link her post.
.........Click Here..........
I wrote this piece below the other day to try explaining to everyone that we are here no matter what happens to the earth. I realize that the earth could explode and dust/and or vapor would be all that is left.
Whatever.
Some particle of life will be there. Some substance of our presence will be there. Saying that I thought about my mother and her presence on earth. Her physical presence has not been found or I am not aware of whoever knows of her presence on this planet but I realize this. She is here. She loved, lived and became a mother of three children that I am aware of. She was a sister in a family who say that are not aware of her present existence today. All that is left to me is speculation about her whereabouts. So I now I know that in a photo taken from space of this planet that my mothers dust or presence will be there. Her marble marker in life is here in these words and every photo of earth. Her life is in my substance and in my families. Life should have been better for her.
Rebecca
***
We are the dust as we are the body. I am going thru a phase where I understand words. This should have happened when I was sixteen years old. Well whatever if by some chance I'll be reincarnated as some minute particle on this planet of ours I want to be completely aware of my standing in life. When they take a photo of the earth from space to give us our weather and show us a nice snapshot of earth. We are there with all the animals and trees and rocks and sand. The water moves about in waves and our long lost and departed are there. Nothing has changed but time as it passes. We are there on earth, we exist, and we occupy our space in time. We can't seem to see our bodies or the soil beneath our feet but we know we are there. We are the dust as we are the body.
Rebecca
***
Do we as humans blunder into places where our mind has no business being? You know the place that keeps us up all night with worry and a chocolate high. The place where the heart races to undo the damage of lost sleep. How do we get back to the place where whatever we see is there? Do we have to count on our fingers about this little piggy? Are we getting closer to the point in time that sees the word before you and as you look away you see whatever you eyes see? Can we clearly see the puzzle? Are we there? Are we here? Are we at the place our scholars talk about? The answer is always yes at this time and no we are not in 1945 but we do understand that they were as aware as we are now.
Rebecca
***
We read poetry and sometimes a great novel. History and biographies pass along our paths. Sometimes we meet a human that is a novel, a human story, a biography, and a person with a life that is a story. Could it be that each one of us is indeed that great novel? We as individuals are cloaked in suspense and drama, veiled in insecurities and peaceful oblivion. We share what all great writers write about, we carry our novels in our souls as we walk into that great storeroom of good words. This is a nice thought.
Rebecca
This is a belated Happy Birthday Mom
My sister posted a nice thought to you and here is the link her post.
.........Click Here..........
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