Audience

When I was 14 I received a book prize for creative writing, Modern Library’s, Great Tales of Terror and the Supernatural. It was presented in front of the entire school. I'm educated and I've had some training. I’ve been told over the years,

You write well, or

You should write your stories down, or

Have you ever thought of writing for teenagers? or

You have something to say.

I think, Really? Not what I've got to say.

OK. I got nothin’ but time. I give my self permission, and I start to write. I'll test it out. I posted on blogspot.com’s platform; it’s easy and public. I presumed there’d be a reader. I thought, It’self-selecting; that was liberating because I thought, Nobody’s going to read what I've got to say. I gave myself permission. William Accorsi told me, The hardest part is to give yourself permission.

Blogspot aggregates SweetWilliamNow’s hits into “audience” and “ranks” my posts in real time; daily, weekly, monthly, and annual numbers. Now I know there are readers.

Really?

Haiku

I lost my voice

looking for another.

I think I will rest.

Love

I hope my children feel they’re loved. I need to know I've made the effort to tell them I’m happy with them and happy for them. I don't see them nearly as much as I'd want or need. So I tell them, text them, write them, email them, phone them, whatever, from time to time, “You're my daughter. I'm your father. I'm well pleased with you.” It's my way of turning my heart to each child.

I rarely get a reaction or response; but one time one texted me, “I love you too, Dad.” Another time, when I needed a response, and for a reality check, I asked if he received my text,

“Yes, he said, I don't know what to say.

“Good; that’s OK; I love you son.

“It’s embarrassing.

“Yes, I know; it’s all right; I’m fine, we’re fine,” and I rub his head and we move on. I hope, in his heart and mind, he likes it. I sense he does. He responds.

I remember how I felt when my father told me he loved me; embarrassed. I was unable believe it. How could he love? He was such a drunk and prick. He enabled me to avoid owning my emotions, my sense of inadequacy in the face of my embarrassment and his expression. Now, if my Dad were to tell me he loved me, even if he was drunk and a prick, I'd hope I’d say,

“Thank you. I love you too.”

Notice

One 1 Man/1 Mower goal is to provide a service that gives added value to the final result. I'm a visual person. I bring a natural sense of design and style. It's a small gift. I don't announce it; I just do it.

I know from experience 99% will not consciously notice. So it's a joy to know one customer did notice. It's a greater joy to know one customer makes time & effort to tell me and thank me with a hand written card.

I received this some time ago.

Dear Bill,

As I drove up White Oak Lane this afternoon and glanced over at my property, I was struck by how good the yard looks! Thank you for your decorative mowing. You made me a proud owner.

Caryl

Blurring

I wear glasses; worn ‘em since I was 15. I couldn't see without ‘em. I could read without ‘em but I couldn't learn without ‘em. I like my glasses and I like clarity. I learned to express and assert myself with glasses. I trained to look, to observe, and to see. I earned a living with my eyes and my glasses as a photographer; attention to technical and visual detail was premium. I’d separate disparate details to build a set, unify them into a visual set in a camera, and make an image in a photograph. I don’t make images now. My glasses, my sight, my mind, and me? We’re still symbiotic.
I sometimes remove my glasses to rest. I don’t mean to sleep. I always take them off to sleep, respectfully place them in reach; it’s a ritual. I do mean to see blurring, deliberately smearing my vision. I get bored, at times, with visual details. I see detail; it’s cluttering. 

Monet painted what he saw; he painted blurring detail and shimmery color. Brilliant! I like to see blurring detail and shimmery color. It's a relief.

Granny

“Sweet William, will you take me to store?

“Granny, you mean right now?

“I do.

“Well, all right then, let’s get goin’.”

We trundled out to car. I got her nestled into front seat, scooted round, and got in too. Just then, birds made a bombing run on windshield.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” I turned on the wipers and wash; that just made it a washed white smear.

“Good Lord!

“William, they sing for some people.”

Virgin

Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you . . . .”
I too ask, “How can this be, since she is a virgin?” Do I speak of eros? No. Culture speaks of eros and biology we know. The superficial and literal reading is cultures’. It’s not innocent. Mary's question knows her culture and her role.
Mary's doubt says, I'm undefiled; I can't fulfill my cultural and biological purpose. She believes her lack of fulfillment is her virginity. Gabriel tells Mary Elizabeth is doing something Mary believed couldn't be done. Mary's reply is, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord . . . .” She's starting anew. Mary and Elizabeth are doing something they didn't believe possible.
I speak of living experience happening for the first time. I speak of living a life anew. Before my children were born, even with time to live into preparation for their births, I couldn't have foreseen my life, our lives, and now their lives, 26 and 22 years later. The power of creation overshadows me.
The annunciation and the incarnation, is living an experience of being born anew. Virginity is a sense of the end of what I've left behind as I look back. Virginity is the feeling and experience I live into after I've said, “Here am I,” and I live forward.
I'm a virgin more than I've ever imagined. I say to start over is to say, “How can this be? I'm a virgin!”