Excerpts from
Loosely-Braided Fog
A 3-D Single Mom in the Making
by Deirdre Weaver
“This book is for those who can feel hurt without being bitter, and hope without being naïve;
an audience who can handle Deirdre’s authenticity and say, ‘She knows where I’ve been.’
This certainly is not the ‘flat, storyboard model’ of a single mom.
Some won’t want to face the doses of reality she delivers,
but she doesn’t live in the pit of despair.
She just visits occasionally, as we all do, if we can admit it.”
-- ANDRE BUSTANOBY, Author of
But I Didn't Want A Divorce
All Rights Reserved - Copyright © 2001
by Deirdre A. Weaver
Excerpts reprinted with permission.
Sound and Fury
After another fight,
like a jetty in the setting sun,
I watch one-eyed the sand and rooftops.
The jetty, one side darkened, one side in light,
the top plateau-part blotted in hazy rose.
How perfectly symmetrical it seems, and yet up close,
take notice the crevices, barnacles and drill-holes.
Imperfection and man-madeness.
The sky a sunglasses-fire, I wonder why I never
saw the minnows flapping up silver out of the dirty water.
Why do they jump, and so fast?
All in a line to make me think they are skipping stones,
or that someone behind me had carefully tossed
a fistful of pebbles and broken shells…
Christ, where are the boats? A minnow or two ago,
I counted the boats of the fishermen elite.
Nine little dinghies, all in a row,
and now they’re falling off the horizon
into the Sound’s sister to the Black Hole:
a thin black line, an inch deep at the water-sky-line
and growing toward me as I watch in alarm,
afraid of the swallows darting at me like bats.
Freezing as the black line races down from the horizon,
coming at me to slap my face, I blink,
and am surrounded. I feel forewarned,
though it was only the wind,
forcing the changing hue
of the distant swells
as it charged the land.
I stare to my right, hard.
The water, where once silver and rose,
is now full of fine zigzags, like the skin
on the back of a hand.
Staring still in one spot,
I see this dark blue skin of the Sound
profusely bleeding liquid silver toward the shore.
And yet, if I roll my eyes with the waves,
all returns to normal.
® © Copyright 2001, All Rights Reserved, by PersonalRadar Books™
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No One Ever Snores
The sun is shining,
pale yellow streaks raining down.
It’s a warm, 85 degrees,
but no one is sweltering.
No need for sunglasses either,
despite the brightness.
The grass is freshly mowed,
thick, green, soft beneath the feet.
No grubs, no moles, no deer ticks,
no weeds, no brown patches.
The birds are making a racket,
but there are no crows cawing.
Sunlight streams down,
the tan lines deepening,
but there will be no worries.
The white summer shorts fit
perfectly, and the tank top too.
Legs smooth as silk,
stretched out on the blanket.
An ice-cold glass of beer,
some Pepperjack cheese,
purple grapes,
a French baguette.
All stay just as they are,
in the hot, white sun.
No one ever has to shave their legs.
Or anywhere else.
No dark circles under the eyes
to attempt hiding with cover stick.
A perfect tan that never threatens cancer.
A full, long day in the bright light,
no chance to burn.
No rumblings in the stomach,
or specks of dust in the eye.
The birds are always singing.
The clouds scud by,
puff balls you could bounce on.
No sandals unless you want them,
no calluses or plantar warts.
The ability to breathe deeply in,
and just as deeply, out.
To fall asleep whenever you wish to,
rather than having to try.
Having a drink doesn’t make you sleepy,
having three doesn’t make you drunk.
You can stretch your muscles
in ways it took weeks of work to do.
You can run without cramping,
swim without gulping water,
bike without gasping,
blade without falling.
You can sing without going hoarse,
listen to loud music without going deaf.
You can hear anything you want to hear
on the radio or CD player.
And all without commercials.
There are no more commercials.
There are no marketing calls.
No fundraising events to fund.
You can see your friends anytime you want.
Your family too.
You don’t have to work unless it is fun.
There are no floors to sweep,
pots to soak, or
groceries to put away.
No toilets to clean,
no windows to keep from streaking.
Housework doesn’t exist.
You only need take a shower if it feels good.
Your hair is always perfect.
Never needs cutting, perming, drying, fussing.
Your face and nails too.
Without make-up or cuticle remover.
Your pillow is always just the way you like it:
cool, warm, soft, hard.
Your bed is always made,
the sheets are always clean.
The alarm clock never rings;
you just wake up when you’re rested,
never before.
You remember the good dreams,
never the bad ones.
There are no nightmares.
No depression, sadness, sorrow, pain.
No one feels these things anymore.
No one has these things anymore.
Everyone has what they have always needed,
and what they have always wanted.
Without stepping on another’s back or being,
to get it.
There are no lies. No more tests.
There is no homework.
There are no more lessons.
No more Promises broken.
No more trials. No sentences.
No more juries, no verdicts.
The exams have all been passed.
You don’t have to pay for anything.
There is no money anymore.
It is all free. The Price already has been paid.
You get to do all the things
you never could manage to do somehow.
You get your second chance, finally.
Or in some people’s cases,
you get your third, fourth, or fifth chance.
And it is never too late.
No one is left out, ever again.
No one is ever taken for granted.
Everyone gets chosen.
Everyone knows how to love.
Everyone knows how to forgive.
Everyone loves.
Everyone has already forgiven.
Everyone has already been forgiven.
Everyone has enough.
Everyone is safe in the never-ending light.
Everyone is remembered.
Everyone is needed.
Everyone is wanted.
Everyone is loved.
No one ever goes to sleep alone again,
if they don’t want to, that is.
And no one ever snores.
® © Copyright 2001, All Rights Reserved, by PersonalRadar Books™
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EUREKA! MOMENTS
The S.M.O.K.* Guide to Feeling Proud
About What Single Moms Manage Single-Handedly
(* Single Mom/One Kid…for even more pride, add more kids)
10. Attending the Scouts' Blue & Gold Awards, four hours long, with a 101-degree fever, discovering later that you have walking pneumonia and are now "confined to bed."
62. Mailing your Christmas cards by Super Bowl Sunday.
64. Remembering to put on deodorant before getting to work.
68. Getting any sleep at all.
117. Squeezing Easter Egg-dyeing in between soccer, packing your child's overnight bag, karate, shopping, laundry and re-mailing the tax return that you forgot to sign last week.
119. After an overwhelming day, about to cry because you're too tired to cook and nothing's defrosted, having your toddler, puppy, cat and kittens all trying to sit on your lap and be hugged.
120. Having your son hug you, saying, "It's OK to cry, Mom. Just let it out," patting your back like you do for him when he cries.
® © Copyright 2001, All Rights Reserved, by PersonalRadar Books™
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IT'S A RED FLAG...
. . . IF HE IS A HECKLER AT COMEDY CLUBS: He busts the comics' stones until they can't ignore him and the crowd knows his name by the end of the night. . . . WHY? Either he thinks he's the next Don Rickles but with less hair, OR he's just like the animal that symbolizes our National Democratic Party.
. . . IF HE HAS NO WALLET: Peeling off a hundred dollar bill to pay for McDonald's, flashing a two thousand dollar wad in broad view of the general, drooling public. . . . WHY? He's been living under a rock and doesn't know how to conjugate the verb "To Mug" OR he's a pompous braggart who's got to prove to you he's "made it."
But guess what? He hasn't. I mean, really: McDonald's?
. . . IF YOU SAY YOU’RE SORRY FOR SOMETHING YOU DID WRONG, AND HE BEGRUDGINGLY ACCEPTS YOUR APOLOGY.. . . . WHY? Either he’s got gas OR he’s holding the grudge to use against you later when you think you’ve been forgiven.
Get ready, here comes a well-nurtured, safe-harbored hurt,
thrown squarely in your face.
. . . IF HE STARTS MANY PROJECTS, BUT FINISHES FEW.
IF ANY.
. . . . WHY? "Follow-through? Isn’t that what I do with my golf swing?"
And how, pray tell, can he keep a promise to you
if he can’t keep one to himself?
. . . IF HE USES TOO MANY SELF-HELP, MOTIVATIONAL BOOKS,
TAPES, SEMINARS, HAS TOO MANY INSPIRATIONAL MOTTOES
ON PLAQUES AROUND HIS HOUSE.
. . . . WHY?
Too many quick-fix schemes,
nothing but lip service to each.
Flits from one “surefire answer” to the next, searching
everywhere for the quick-and-dirty solution to life and happiness.
Except the one place he’ll find it.
But hey, it fools the babes every time.
. . . IF HE TRULY RANTS ABOUT
HOW MUCH HE HATES HIS FATHER
FOR CHEATING ON HIS MOTHER.
. . . . WHY?
Unresolved anger may be visited on you just for the heck of it,
BUT he could have learned, by example, that:
1) men can get away with treating women like dirt, and
2) women will stay in the relationship and put up with it.
So: 1) why shouldn’t he? And 2) why shouldn’t you?
® © Copyright 2001, All Rights Reserved, by PersonalRadar Books™
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Lifetime
One’s year is another’s lifetime.
One’s lifetime should be everything
you want it to be. How, though, to condense
that effort and experience of a lifetime,
into one year, or two? Pick and choose;
what would you do?
Sleeping so softly, like an infant.
Eyelids flickering, one or two fingers
squeezing mine every once in awhile.
The tube crackling faintly like a wet wire.
She looks like a Marine,
with a soft crewcut growing in…
Don’t take her.
Can’t sleep alone at night.
Can’t stay awake at night.
This ward will make me
toughened to many things
but never immune.
My stomach turns every time
1022B coughs,
but I’ve learned to keep on
eating my lunch.
Don’t bring her pain.
Isn’t it enough that she
may die not knowing
her first grandchild?
That she’s losing the fight?
Don’t kick her when she’s down.
You know she deserves this
less than any of us.
If You can allow this
to happen to her,
how much worse off
will the rest of us be?
Don’t. Don’t think about it.
Not now. Wait until later.
Maybe after Sunday. Then I can.
But then I have to switch into high gear again,
and go back to work and perform…
How I’ll long to see her chest rise and fall,
and her fingers move like an infant’s in sleep,
then.
® © Copyright 2001, All Rights Reserved, by PersonalRadar Books™
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[This Website is a Copyright © 2000-2009 of PersonalRadar Books™, All Rights Reserved, Deirdre A. Weaver. LOOSELY-BRAIDED FOG™, EUREKA! MOMENTS™ and RE-ENTRY-DATING RED FLAGS™ are trademarks of PersonalRadar Books ™]
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