Writing

Happy Anniversary–Suede: A Collection of Poetry

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Nearly two years ago, my beloved father (and best friend) passed away from a severe lung infection. Had he not contracted TB from an employee in his early fifties, he might not be dead. This employee did not divulge her disease while she worked for him. He found out later. And my father’s TB stayed dormant for years. When it finally blew up, he almost died (but that’s another blog post). His entire life he’d battled asthma, and he used to joke, “These lungs are going to be the death of me.” It’s a shame that the careless act of an employee may have caused his death. Because of the scarring on his lungs caused by the TB, doctors said he could not survive the surgery needed to cure his lung infection. But I digress.

The book Suede: A Collection of Poetry is dedicated to my father because his death prompted me to dig out fifteen years’ worth of poems and finish the book. My older brother Tony, my father’s namesake, was killed in a motorcycle accident when I was eighteen. He is the subject of several poems. Loss has defined much of my life. And while many of the poems in Suede include loss, some talk about childhood, love, lust and sex, family, and some even discuss abuse. I write in simple, image-driven language, because that’s what I know. My father, with his high school education, read all my poetry and understood my poems. They are not lofty. I call myself a “blue-collar” poet. I published Suede for my father and my brother. Perhaps you or someone you know might like it. http://bit.ly/WE66YU

Birthday Poem–The Week My Father Was Dying

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 1 Comment

The Week My Father Was Dying

The week my father was dying, I fell in love with him—
again. When I was six, I’d proposed, scrawled
I love Daddy over the wood benches in the back
of his shoe repair shop, carved hearts into the
hard plastic of the sewing machine table. 

But the week my father was dying, shrunken frame
slouched in the fort of pillows and sheets on the giant
hospital bed in his living room, oxygen tank in the corner,
his black hair was combed straight, almond-shaped
eyes wide as a child’s, toothy smile yellow and straight.

I stood in the kitchen scooping chocolate ice cream
into a bowl, covered the mound in crushed pineapple.
I felt him staring, so looked over and waved. Up
to his neck in blankets, it took him forever to lift
his big old hand from beneath the fort to wave back. 

I have his hands, and feet. It’s enough to have his wiry
hair, scratchy voice, flat Italian nose, and stubborn streak—
but why the chimp-like hands and feet with every
toe the same size? I want to pluck them off with
the pincer pliers he used to rip the soles off shoes.

He once told me, “You couldn’t be more like me if you tried.”
I drink to excess, choose damaged lovers, live 3000 miles
away from family. But the week my father was dying, I sat
with him, said, Everything good about me came from you.

You’re my best friend, I said, and I love you.
Thank you, he said. Some kids don’t feel that way about their dads.
I laughed out loud, rested my arms around the declining
slopes of his shoulders. He felt so small.

meandaddy

Corn is a four letter word.

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 1 Comment

Three years ago, I almost lost my son Vinny to his severe food allergy to tree nuts. He secretly ate a piece of toffee and lied about it. While his father and I sat in the E/R crying and watching Vinny sleep off his Benadryl/Epi-pen-induced coma, the doctor came out and said, “That boy needs to be under the care of an allergist.” Within the week, Vinny had an appointment.

We already knew Vinny was allergic to peanuts and tree nuts from an earlier blood test. But now we were requesting a food panel. They would only test for a couple foods, because of his potential for an anaphylaxic reaction. I agreed to be tested, too, to offer moral support. Turned out Vinny and I are both allergic to cats, dust, dust mites, and all the grasses, weeds, and trees that grow in Idaho. He’s also allergic to dairy and corn. I’m allergic to chicken, barley, malt, coconut, and corn.

At the time of the allergy test, I wore a size 10. I was still drinking beer, eating bread, fried foods, including chicken, you name it. I was running three miles a day several times a week and lifting weights. I looked pretty good and weighed about 160 for my five-foot-six frame. The allergist recommended a full elimination diet.

Later, I discovered that if I ate any type of food with corn in it, i.e., restaurant french fries (deep fried in vegetable oil that had corn oil) or enchiladas with corn starch, Heinz ketchup, gravy, within two days, tiny blisters formed on my fingers that opened up into full-blown eczema. And since I’ve taken corn out of my diet, I’m incredibly sensitive to its effects.

Corn is everywhere: dextrose, fructose, modified food starch, Xanthan gum, vegetable oil. I can’t eat at any fast food restaurants or fried foods at sit down places.imin

Vinny’s ten. He eats popcorn, which makes his skin itchy. He says he doesn’t care. The allergy will become worse with age. He cannot eat dairy. It gives him horrible flatulence and the runs. And as one teacher described his behavior after he dairy: he wilts like a flower.

The benefits of my food allergies are that I have been turned on to clean eating, and my body has shrunk four pants sizes. I’ve lost 30 pounds because of healthy eating! I have to watch every bite I put into my mouth, not because I want to lose weight, but because these foods I’m allergic to quite literally poison my system. The effects of chicken on me aren’t even worth discussion. Once you stop eating poison, your body loses inflammation. It’s that simple.

When I go to barbecues, restaurants and gatherings with friends, some say, “Wow. I’m lucky. I’m not allergic to anything.” I’m like, “Really? Have you ever had a food panel done? How do you know?” Plus, I didn’t ask for this. A little sensitivity goes a long way, folks.

Writing to Heal and to Feel Connected

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

When you’ve had experiences such as mine–emotional, physical, and sexual abuse during childhood–you can choose to ignore the pain or zap its power through the written word. Yes, it’s scary.

I write to share my experiences with others to create a sense of community. Because when I read the work of others who have had experiences similar to mine, I feel less alienated and less “freakish.” In the words of John Lennon: “It’s not just me.”

Today I learned that my best friend, a therapist, lent my poetry book Suede to a client, who was able to use my poetry as inspiration to write her own healing poems. That, my friends is what it’s all about. Let’s continue to form a community of writers, readers and healers. Let’s make each other feel more connected.

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Live and Let Write

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Recently, I was asked to respond to a blog post by a fellow blogger. A fellow writer posed the question “which courses should I take if I want to learn how to write?” I simply shared the courses I took when I was a student at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho.

Not long after my post, a young man posted a response to my response that I found a bit disconcerting. He came back with something similar to don’t waste your hard earned money on a degree when you could get the same in late fees at the library. Obviously, this is not a direct quote.

Let’s forget first of all that there was a typo in the quote he did post. He meant to say “writer,” but he wrote “write,” so instantly he lost credibility with me.  It’s not that I haven’t made errors—big ones. But if you’re going to argue for or against a cause, double check your words.

Let’s also forget that he didn’t cite where he lifted the quote from. He took it from the movie Good Will Hunting, which I love. As a matter of fact, it happens to be one of my all time favorites. I’ve seen it numerous times, and I have shown it in the classes I teach.

Good-Will-Hunting-Script

Basically, the quote is from the scene where Will takes the graduate student aside and chides him for his “overpriced degree” when all he really needs is to read a slew of books from the library. And, if the young man who responded to my post would have gotten the point of Good Will Hunting, the story, that is, it was that Will needed other people. That his reading all of those books in isolation didn’t allow him to grow.

In summation, the blog poster was either trying to be a complete smart ass or was just plain ill-informed. I am hoping for the latter.

If you want to be a writer, take any path you wish.