Inspirational Stories & Ramblings…
When the mood strikes, I enjoy writing. Generally, I write poetry in the form of lyrics, but occasionally something else comes through. I enjoy writing short and sweet anythings. I also love writing inspirational stories as well as the occasional rave and rant! Here’s a short list of such pieces including a couple comedic radio commentaries from my days on air (Halloween and Thanksgiving), some ramblings and a quirky reflection from my childhood.
With time, I’ll add more material, as well as some supplementary audio options and imagery to tingle your senses! If you are interested in getting in touch with your inner writer and haven’t already, I highly recommend the book: Becoming A Writer by Dorothea Brande to give you a kick start. Enjoy and thanks for perusing!
My childhood room was blue. Sky blue really. Blue drapes, blue carpet, blue sheets, white walls. I thought there were sharks swimming in the carpet at night. I used to quickly wipe my boogers in the carpet before the sharks could bite my finger.
The coolest thing that ever happened in the blue room- happened only once. I came home from Bonaventure, our local roller skating rink and placed my glow stick on top of my lamp. I fell asleep. When I awoke in the night the lamp had burnt out and it seemed all the world’s stars were in my room! The glow stick must have burst from the heat of the lamp. It was magical. I was on a pontoon in the middle of a blue sea surrounded by stars and phosphorescence.
The color orange seems red,
the same way your mood shifts.
Like shapes in the clouds-
faces that change depending on perspective, attitude, and vision.
I sense a division.
Shapeshifters scare me,
mood shifters tear at me.
In the end do I even care?
Cause jerks come and go, but the sky’s always there.
Mood shiftin cloudy people are blips on my radar.
You give us shade, but mostly you rain on our parade.
Cause thats what we do-
We parade through the alleys of life
bringin beauty, joy, sun and laughter-
grooves and tunes and happy ever afters.
So screw you scrooge and your bad attitude.
We’re in the rainbow parade-
we slide off your face and bring beauty to our race,
and create bubbles of laughter wherever we go!
We be the bubble people.
You see yourself in us-
you see your true colors.
Our clarity makes your masquerade tear at the seams.
And then we go pop- like grace personified we leave no trace.
Just a feelin, a memory, an inklin of another way-
and be true to the grace we all once knew.
I knew you were there all along
I felt you warm me
like sun upon my skin
I saw you clearly
coalesce and sparkle like morning dew
It wasn’t until you entered my heart and mind
And showed me a world beyond senses
That I came to know love
Twin flame alchemy
It’s never been like this before
I kissed your wrinkled eyes and felt your vision
I kissed your mind and saw our dreams
I kissed your heart and felt
We Are One.
You are me and I am you
Two sides of the same golden coin
Two facets of streaming geometry
Converging once again
The same current from the vast Ocean
Through unique perspectives
At the confluence of souls
My friend asked me what I was going to be for Halloween the other day… and to her disappointment I told her I was probably going to sit this year out. Her face crinkled up in horror- “but Halloween is like the best holiday of the year! You can’t not dress up!” And as my inner child leapt I thought “Well, I guess I could throw something together”… and surprisingly at that moment I was overwhelmed by nostalgia because with the exception of recent years, that’s how my family used to celebrate Halloween. We’d throw something together at the last minute, dig through the closets until we found last year’s costume stuffed in some old dusty suitcase, then run off to the grocery store hoping to score a couple of the remaining pumpkins and get back just in time to drape some faux cob webs across our front porch. It isn’t that I was deprived on Halloween, I think my parents did the best they could in a new country where- people celebrate just about everything.
The truth is my mother and father each came with their own set of Indian traditions and holidays that we would celebrate. And then of course as Americans we felt the need to participate in national holidays and traditions, and since my parents weren’t particularly religious, most festivities didn’t really take a whole lot of prep time. On Christmas we’d decorate a plastic tree and exchange gifts, on Easter we’d hide eggs and on Diwali- the Indian festival of Lights, I think we exchanged cards and a candle. The Indian festival of Raksha Bandan was always my favorite by far because in exchange for tying a pretty little string around my brother’s wrist… he’d give me 20 bucks! Of course, I never really understood the meaning behind most of these traditions until later. In any case, in a worthy effort to partake in as much as possible, it was evident my parents were just wearing themselves thin. And it was during Halloween that my family’s half fast enthusiasm was most transparent.
I can remember one year in particular when my brother and I retaliated and attempted to raise the bar. Until then, I had been a witch every year without exception and my little brother had finally outgrown his peter pan costume. My mother was out of town, so with hesitation my brother and I gave my Father the duty of picking up some new costumes. (For a design engineer, I have to admit my father’s approach to arts and crafts was anything but innovative.)
On the eve of Halloween my Dad brought home our new costume and accessories. I say costume because I didn’t actually get a new costume, instead I got a set of teeth. I looked at my Dad with confusion as he attempted to explain…”I thought you could be a blood sucker this year… Count Dracula or something.” In my self absorbed misery I didn’t stick around to see what revolutionary costume my Dad picked out for my brother. Instead I ran up to my room and began dressing in a frenzy. As I applied my makeup I made plans for next year’s Halloween when I would create the most unique costume the residents on Lake Park Drive had ever seen.
After I left my bedroom I passed by my little brothers room and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of him in his new costume. I stopped dead in my tracks. I still remember seeing my brother’s horrified face as he looked up at me. He was wearing what looked like a big rectangular foam sac- with his scrawny legs peeping out the bottom …and on the front of the sac was a moon.
That night we only hit about a dozen houses- my brother got depressed showing up at house after house being asked the same question…’and what on earth are you tonight?’ With a look of shame and humiliation my brother hoarsely responded- I’m a pillow…I’m just a pillow.
After that Halloween, my brother and I vowed to take matters into our own hands. I think my parents breathed a quiet breath of relief when we began spearheading our family functions. And we did- the next year I got my drivers license and together we spared no expense in redeeming ourselves.
Your words burn and flow
like exxon on the Nile.
Your manic poetry I get-
and your tests run true.
But I’m no sailor
and never signed up for rough seas.
I put up an iron fence,
but your words slipped through.
So i had no choice but to leave you.
Good luck sailin the rough seas of your mind-
O manic sailor with words like fire!
I prefer a zodiac
full of hot air and laughter;
good company to share.
It beats dreams of grandeur
and nights of mare!
At this year’s Thanksgiving meal, the vegan turkey was so delicious my non-vegetarian friends said the loaf put the real bird to shame. It seems after decades of experimentation- failed soy turkeys, dry crumbly stuffings, and gravy’s gone bad…that vegan Thanksgiving gourmet can finally hold it’s own.
For a vegan in the 90′s, you never knew what to expect on Turkey day. Thanksgiving, ’98 will be remembered as the day my kid brother Sanjay first forayed into the culinary arts. My mother who has always struggled with saying no, graciously accepted my 15 year old brother’s offer: to step up as head chef for the night. I was taken aback and mildly concerned. Up till that point my brother’s cooking experience consisted of microwaved meals and toast. How was he going to manage a tofurkey? Needless to say, he didn’t. The poor kid’s saving grace that year was a mother’s love and instant powdered mashed potatoes.
That Thursday was still a step up from the year before when my mother came up with the Chai Harvest theme. You may be wondering what a Chai harvest entails…well, only an Indian mother far from home could cook up something so utterly unique. Essentially you add chai spices and Desi elements to every dish. For example a menu item might read: Mushroom gravy and ghee with hints of cardamom and cloves. Whether you are a fan of Indian cuisine or not, it’s guaranteed to make your stomach turn.
Experiments didn’t begin and end with my family by any means. I remember my ganja growing college pals planned a Thanksgiving dinner that trumps most turkey day disasters. Jordy a.k.a. Croch cooked for one of Detroit’s high end restaurants. Jordy also grew some of the best high end weed in all of Michigan. So it was no surprise when he suggested we take the pot brownie to the next level come Thanksgiving. The plan was simple: cook everything in pot butter. And if it couldn’t be cooked- then throw some pot butter in anyway. Every one of our dearest friends, about fifteen in all, were waiting in anticipation for the big night. At the last minute, I had to bail since my Dad wanted to spend an intimate Thanksgiving family dinner at Denny’s. As you might have guessed, my Dad hadn’t quite embraced the tofurkey. In any case, everyone was apparently stoked. There was a salad with *kind crystally olive oil dressing, kind corn, kind pumpkin pie, kind…well, you get the idea. From what I understand, all started well and ended horribly. I know my best friend fell into a hole on the second floor, something akin to Tom Hank falling through the floor in the Money Pit. Heather ended up in her own vomit next to the toilet, and the dogs… well, it turns out with everyone passed out, Willis and Granger went for the bird like it was nobody’s business.
The next day the two dogs were taken to the hospital. The vet told it like it was…somebody had indeed drugged the dogs. It took the dogs a couple days before their hearts were back up to speed and it wasn’t so different for my human friends. I called my buddies on Friday night, then Saturday night, but I didn’t hear back from anyone until late Sunday. My best friend finally returned my call in a drug induced stupor. After two days she had finally gathered the strength to pick up the phone and hit speed dial. She likened the experience to hell on earth and imagined she felt like her horse did after being shot up with ketamine.
We laugh about it now, but I can’t help but wonder- If this was in the 90′s…what kind of drug induced shenanigans are kids coming up with these days?