Here and There at the Same Time.

Shane, remember when we just couldn’t take being in the house, doing nothing, going nowhere, seeing nobody? And we would go out to the “shop,” turn up the radio to 97.3, sing Led Zeppelin, Queen, or whoever? I just want to say, “thanks” for the great memories and a deep appreciation for music. I always said I wanted to live in a song. Now, even more since I know I can find you there. Anyway I love you and didn’t realize until now how much we were singing about what was to come.

Forgive me for making this song true. Peace to you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atS4w44zYA4

Blue on Black- Kenny Wayne Shepherd

“Nite falls , and Im alone
Skin, yeah chilled me to the bone
You, turned and you ran,
Oh yeah,
Oh slipped, right from my hand

Hey
Blue on black
Tears on a river
Push on a shove
It dont mean much
Joker on jack
Match on a fire
Cold on ice
A dead mans touch
Wisper on a scream
Doesnt change a thing
Dont bring you back
Blue on black
Oh yeah, blue on black

Blind, oh, now I see
Truth, lies, and in between
Wrong, cant be undone
Oh slipped, from the tip of
Your tongue”

April 2nd, 2008

Is there room to forgive parents? Can I say, “you’re exonerated?” For leaving me home alone? For never saying I’m beautiful? For not helping me with anything even when I begged? For never saying, “I love you.”

For letting me go without a fight.

But, I love you Marm, Doodle-e Dad. It’s myself I can’t forgive.

Winter 2008

When Shane died I knew it was just the beginning. That summer I had many premonitions. They were acute fears, and I was accurate. I dreaded failure of any kind and yet it was all I had to give. I knew I would have to watch each of them go. Just me, myself–alone. I would be the last one. It was an undeniable role-unavoidable, frankly. This was made starkly clear as foreign borders offered no protection.
Now, approaching the one-year anniversary it seems everything is getting harder rather than easier. Loneliness has an unfamiliar sharpness, sadness a dull tension. Sometimes I wonder which grieves me more: the past or the future.

I did not value him enough in life to miss him this much in death.

October 2007

The weight of hope crushed me. I collapsed under its ubiquitous and unrelenting pressure, and then I disconnected. I’m a terrible commuter. Hypnotized by the rumbling monotony, I’ve missed my exit, again. I slip into anonymous mediocrity without the slightest movement.

September 2007

Out on the deck the air is still summer-warm, surging cool at intervals. The ground displays a few dead leaves that weren’t there yesterday. It’s coming, I think, a new season. It seems to feel right. I like this in-between, transition time. It feels good to know something else outside myself is adjusting, changing, indecisive. Reflecting on this year, 2007, the year of loss, el año de perder. I wonder when it concludes if I will continue to refer to it as such. Images of the propaganda billboards in Mexico flash in my mind. “Avanzamos.” Juntos Podemos.” We can advance in what? For what? Just to advance? And together we can? Together we can feel more alone?

Autumn 2007

I feel in my secret self you are already being tugged away.
It lends itself to bittersweet meetings and perpetual goodbyes.
And although a permanent fixture in some respect-you are fleeting.

2-5-06

Don’t make me be the youngest.  That is your role.  It was never meant for me-that’s why it was mine for the shortest while.  Is there something I can do?  To make you come back?  Why can’t you see that I need you, playmate of old?  Don’t leave me more memories; I’m haunted already.  Don’t make us three instead of four.

The following is an attempt to grieve. It is unedited and raw. I request that for the next several posts you refrain from commenting (and implicitly from judging). Thank you.

In loving memory of Shane Elliot Hinds 1983-2007

11-10-05

What? You are so proud.

You think you are the only

one that listens to that

You think you are the only

one that thinks about that

You think you are the only

one who wants an escape.

You think you are the only

one You think you are the only

one. Shit.

Since I know no one reads this, I can be as boring and opinionated as I want and therefore write about whatever–even something so prosaic as……”the reading list.”  So far, thanks to a sick day and the frozen tundra called the outdoors, I’ve managed to read a few….and rate them.

 1. The Catcher in the Rye  J.D. Salinger, 1951

            This was my second attempt to read it and it was still very uninteresting.  I know the rest of the world loves it, but I could not see myself and Holden hanging out.  3 out of 5 for being relevant to others.

2. Of Mice and Men   John Steinbeck, 1937

        Very enjoyable.  Very Steinbeck.  Much more readable than The Grapes of Wrath. Touches on the simple and yet undeniable complexities of the illusive “American Dream” and its frustrating disparity with reality.   4 out of 5 for being realistic and just a good story.

3.  Ethan Frome  Edith Wharton, 1911

        My favorite so far.  Very dark.  Great to read in winter. 5 out of 5 for making me cry that it was over.

4.  Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott, 2000

          Memiors are always good.  A little less focused and developed than I like, but it made me think a few times.  3.5 out of 5 for eclectic qualities

My sister asked me the other day what I wanted for Christmas.  It was only 2 days until THE day so I quickly informed her that it didn’t matter, she had already gotten whatever I was getting.  She really just wanted to know in order to see if her gift buying skills were on target.  It didn’t bother me that she asked…I laughed, but then later couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I couldn’t think what I wanted for Christmas.  I never answered her question even when she prodded. I told her I didn’t want anything which usually means I want something way too expensive so I shouldn’t even ask.  But, I truly could care less if I got anything.  I really mean that.  Because I realized what I wanted more than anything was Joy and Peace and Purpose for myself and those I love that hurt so much.  And that, I fear, is the hardest gift to receive and keep all the year long.  And yet, especially this year, how I need it.