Fall is early

The children start school on Monday.  Three of them: 3rd grade, 1st grade, and Kindergarten.  The fourth still has his hand in my shirt but I'm kicking him off to preschool in September.  Everyone I talk to (every adult) says this time goes by quickly.  I agree with that because I looked up one day and realized I hadn't bought diapers in six months.

No. 4

No. 3

No. 2

No. 1

No. 1

Last summer

Last summer, my sister and I cleaned out our mother's house. It was more than an ordeal. It was... something my mother still is not over. And in the times when she recalls that her daughters gathered up her things and gave them away, I have to leave her presence. My mom started hoarding not long after my first brother died in '89, and got out of control not long after that. When my second brother died in '04, she stayed in the house for about a year, then we had to get her out of there.

I'm sure she wouldn't recall the past 19 years of her life that way, but when faced with the task of emptying a house one has lived in for over fifty years, that was pretty much how my sister and I saw it - like rings on a dead tree.

I had, still have the ambition to edit the video I shot during this time, but I'm not even done logging the tapes. It's just taking a tremendous amount of time on top of all the other things going on. So just to keep this project fresh in my mind, I'm going to post some of the footage here.

This is Mom's House.

We are showing our house today, as on other days.

I have never been homeless, but I get an uneasy feeling when I must
leave the house with all of my children.

Sent from my iPhone.

In my late thirties

Where are my thoughts? Where are my thoughts of writing that book the world has been missing. The inspired one. They were here. My thoughts were-

Where are my notes on changing the world? I can't seem to put my hand on anything solid.
It's all gas.

That movie script?
That play? - the one that was going to make me the next Lorraine Hansberry.

That revolutionary idea escapes me.

All I can do now is scratch and try to remember.

Read a book - that I could have written and enjoy the word of a writer in his rhythm.

Dangit! Where are my scribbles? The ones that used to pull me out of the bed one limb at a time.

I sleep now.
Instead of waking up,
I sleep.

I sleep.