Doleful as an adjective is expressing sorrow; mournful.

I’ve chosen a poem I wrote about my grandson. We raise our children to believe they can do anything but sometimes that fearlessness goes to far. Johnny had ridden a dirt bike for years but like all boys wanted a bigger and faster bike. He worked hard and saved for the bike. 24 hours after he purchased it, that bike killed him.

I’m still in mourning. We’re all still in mourning. I think we’ll always be.


antics of a boy
invincible illusions
echo silently
reverberations define
self-inflicted martyrdom

It doesn’t get any easier without you. I was standing in the kitchen looking at the school pictures on the book case and began crying. There won’t be a new school picture but then I realized with the distance learning I probably want be changing any school pictures. I cried even harder. Everything Gram’s always taken for granted is changed. The biggest change of all is you’re not here.

Your friends are struggling with the distance learning, no football games as of yet. I would give anything to hear you bitching about all the stuff happening right now.

Your chimes were active this morning… the wind was coming from the northeast. Just like where you used to be from Grandma.

Your sisters both have their own places now. I’m putting stuff together for them both. Grandma won’t need all of this stuff once she moves. It’s time to downsize. Or as your Dad would crap… crap.. Grandma has too much crap.

We love you. We miss you so much. ❤

letter-c day 43


I was remembering Vic and my early dating times as I tried to decide upon a plan with the vignettes. Do I want to do ten year time frames with random stories or do I want to group a collection of stories that show my personal growth with happier memories. I’m tired of the bad crap always getting my focus.

This picture appeared in the facebook feed. We had been in Camden, Maine driving when I asked Vic to stop so we could simply enjoy the ocean’s salty smell. We walked around the town a bit enjoying the peacefulness of a small town after the tourists have left for the season. Vic loves snapping pictures which is uncomfortable for me. Usually it’s me behind the lens taking the photograph not being the one before the lens. I feel awkward because pretty and photogenic are things that don’t apply to me.

This photograph surprised me…  he captured the introspective me and the harbor lights beautifully.  Anyway, looking at the photograph Eric Clapton’s song came to mind. Do you remember Wonderful Tonight?

My very first date in person with Vic was at DeMillo’s in Portland, Maine. I didn’t have an extensive wardrobe. Shopping was never something I enjoyed or could afford to do. I decided to wear white dress shorts, a black tank top with a red mesh sweater over the tank to dine. Vic wore an orange and blue polo shirt and khakis. We were comfortably dressed for a summer night. The restaurant was a short drive from the hotel. Our view from the table was perfect as the sun set on the ocean. The candle glowed upon our food as we talked about different things.

I still remember how special he made me feel, opening the door, taking my hand as we walked around for a bit after dinner. These may seem like small things to you but prior to him… no one opened a door for me, or took my hand or even took me to a nice restaurant. It was a perfect first date.

I don’t say or write it as often I should but Vic is a loving kind man. He’s the perfect man for me. I feel wonderful whenever we’re together even when he’s beating me in cribbage. Our time together means so much to me.

We’ve shared many dates since in fancy restaurants and some not so fancy but with good food. He teases me because I tend to want to stay with places that make me feel like I’ve come home. Like this diner near us, its not fancy looking at all. It’s owned by a Turkish family that work well together. The food choices are many and the taste is excellent. But that’s not what keeps me wanting to go again. It’s the way we feel while there… as if we’re part of their family not a customer.  They remember what we like, how it’s prepared which is awesome. The small talk we exchange is genuine prior to ordering and after makes the evening for me.  Not many fancy places make that extra effort.

“It’s late in the evening; she’s wondering what clothes to wear
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair
And then she asks me, Do I look all right?
And I say, “Yes, you look wonderful tonight
We go to a party and everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady that’s walking around with me
And then she asks me, Do you feel all right?
And I say, “Yes, I feel wonderful tonight”
I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don’t realize how much I love you” ~ Eric Clapton




Tonight, we’re having stuffed zucchini since the ac is on. It’s humid as all get outside I don’t like running it but on days like today, it’s a necessary evil. So since we have climate control oven day it is. I wish I could say I picked the zucchini from my garden but soon. I have a buds with fruit behind them. And no more bunny or chipmunk invasions either.

More things for your culinary pharmacy-

Brazil nuts are selenium rich as well as anti-inflammatory which is helpful against colon and prostrate cancer but did you also know they’re helpful for your heart, brain and lowering your blood sugar. That’s a lot for your crunch.

Broccoli is also an anti-inflammatory. It can inhibit breast cancer growth as well as slowing leukemia and melanoma growth.

Buckwheat is another anti-inflammatory. It’s high fiber content helps regulate bowel movements as well speeding up the removal of toxins in our body.


I edited the short story that transpired from the prompt about an island suddenly appearing. I don’t know if i made it better or worse. 

Dear Johnny,

Last night, Dad shared a picture of Jacob at work with him.  Jacob was making him laugh. I’m glad for your Dad and Jacob that they have each other since you left us. You’re little brother looks so much like you. Except for one thing. He doesn’t hide his smiles like you always did.

I wish you could see Jacob choking the hammer as he nails. He looked more comfortable with the drill than he did the hammer. I wish I had taken pictures of you at that age using a hammer.

Zach has a tribute painted on the hood of both of his cars for you.  It looks so beautiful. Racing this year is crazy. The drivers and crew only at the track. No spectators allowed because of COVID-19. Zach missed a gear yesterday and didn’t finish where he hoped. I’m sure you can imagine the language that transpired.

This poem was reviewed on WDC today and it reminded me of the morning in the restaurant when you ordered my breakfast and then explained how I was wasting the waitress’s time by not knowing exactly how I wanted my food prepared. All that time you spent at the restaurant with Momma paid off. You taught us all.

two fried eggs on corned beef hash
sizzling in the pan
tantalizing my taste buds
with salty cravings
scrambled mess

Gramma and Grandpa love you always. We miss you. Maybe when you have a chance could you rattle all the chimes again for me.

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri




Cancer Fighting Kitchen by Rebecca Katz and Mat Edelson


Life at its core

I tried to process my grief in poetry. It was easier at first with haikus. I couldn’t focus on anything. All I saw was my baby crumbling because his baby, his precious son was dead. There’s no greater anguish in life as a Mom than not being able to protect your child from unbearable pain. I tucked my own pain away until I could process it as I do best in poetry.


Magnitudes beyond

Dismantled ruminations

Tickled pink sorrow


Corpulent spirals

Reverberated silent

Rapturous horrors


Quietus be damned

Soporific prophecy

Accolades revoked



A blooming life

It is not a sweet budding rose

Or blooms oozing blood

It is not petals of withered love

Or stifled blooms gasping

It is not a mere passage

Or cracks of blooming suspense

It is not a promised bouquet

Or a requiem symbolizing regrowth

It is not a forever perennial

Or a blooming happy ever after fairy tale

But it is our budding rosy story

Filled with daily anguished decay.


October 15, 2005-July 1, 2019

We love you ❤️


Rapturous visions

Suspended revelations

Accolades denied


Love, Gramma and Grandpa





The Doe and I

She glanced timidly
left and right
never letting me
out of her sight

Her soft brown eyes
lowered each time
I tried to lock hers
with mine

I think she hoped
I’d move a long
but I was drawn to her
like a lyric in a song

She looked terrified
teetering in place
like the moon trying
to outshine the sun in space.