Archive for the evil inherent in nature Category

“If he is dead why try to txt he wuldnt reply he is dead”

Posted in evil inherent in nature, life, Tim with tags on August 30, 2014 by clancyjane

Tim doesn’t text anymore. He’s around, but he doesn’t text. Tonight his sister, Laura, texted both of us by responding to a thread the three of us were included on from some months past. Someone else has his number, though. We were both a little shell shocked by the result. Tim’s number, and Tim’s smiling face in the photo beside the words- which were definitely not Timlike.



Practicing: a years old repost for T, ‘coz I got nothin’ else

Posted in evil inherent in nature, life, moms on November 15, 2010 by clancyjane

I am underwater and her words reach me in waves:

Doctor unavailable.  Appointment rescheduled.  Circumstances beyond our control.

I remember drills designed to give my muscles memory

about when to look left and turn right and fake a defender

away from my jumpshot

repeating those same sets of movements

again and again until on game day

the feel of a forward’s breath over my left shoulder

told my arms and hips and head all they needed to know

to do what’s next.

I remembered those drills this morning

in the days before Dr. Dawn

with the phone in my hand and the out-of-town DoctorOfficeLady

telling me why my Mom has to wait again.

I force myself to listen to her vapid explanation as I watch my Mom

lower her head as

she labors to lift her hand

and I practice asking nicely

for reconsideration while other words with

Ms and Fs and the hardest K sounds catch silently in my throat

along with the sentences

I know where you are

and I’ll be coming around to show you

how a daughter feels

when her Mom is in pain

and the doctor unavailable again

and her appointment rescheduled again

and I’m really very sorry for the beating but, honest,

it’s beyond my control.


Well said. Enough to make a mother awfully proud. 

Posted by miriam on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:12 PM
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This is really powerful, Rosy. 

I like your use of DoctorOfficeLady.  The title that confers power over so many.

Posted by Sheila on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:31 PM
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Amy Cunningham

i have a feeling you were a kick ass basketball player too 

Posted by Amy Cunningham on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 3:45 PM
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yes, she was

Posted by miriam on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:57 PM
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Power and powerlessness at the same time.  Vapid explanations while mom struggles, trying to be nice while the feelings strangle you.  I’ve dealt with an aging mother (now deceased)  and the medical/home care establishments, thanks for putting into words how it feels. 

Posted by Ruby on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 4:01 PM
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Cranky Ricky

but then again, simple is soo boring. 

fyjfy — gove us some BORING!

Posted by Cranky Ricky on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 4:55 PM
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i checked the blog page and there was Practicing,
like a present.
Pleasant surprise! 

i like the description of sounds.
i saw the baby in the womb making ready.  Or maybe i am way off.
Either way, it’s difficult desiring to help, to change things, but feeling powerless to do so.

Posted by c on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 5:20 PM
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This is a multi-layered piece of work–there’s humor in the line about “Ms and Fs and Cs and Ss and hard K sounds” getting caught in your throat (and not just because do we know of a soft K sound?), but there’s also poignancy in your mother struggling to lift her hand, and no doctor available.  My mother had three months of quadriplegia following a bad operation, so I know the frustration of not being able to help the one who gave you life.  I keep going back and re-reading this, and it keeps getting better. 

Posted by jonnypravda on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 7:29 PM
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Big Bill

Damn, Rosy, you jammed on her. 


Posted by Big Bill on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 7:33 PM
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on target 

Posted by Neil on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 8:10 PM
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There is something jarring about being first immersed in water,
then lifting one’s head above it; only to be jerked back in–no matter
how familiar one is with negotiating rough waters.
Word-waves are powerful things. Yours are proof! 

Posted by Progressivo on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 9:49 PM
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i love how you put this together, it’s hard to parent your parent, but i’m sure you do it with as much heart as you write with 

Posted by rrrwomyn on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 10:50 PM
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This could almost read as a diary entry.  It reminds me a little of Sylvia Plath. The strong harsh words work well in this composition. Interesting juxtaposition of past, and present subject matter. 

Posted by Michelle on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:07 PM
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I forgot to add, I really like this sentence… 

I am under water and her words reach me in waves
A good opening line.

Posted by Michelle on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 11:11 PM
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The Back Porch Philosopher

i say grab a baseball bat and go for it! 

this is really well written and i am so sorry it had to be.

Posted by The Back Porch Philosopher on Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 9:28 AM
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This is a great representation of this very familiar experience. The description of the sounds rising in your throat is spot on. 

Posted by Philip on Friday, February 02, 2007 at 10:19 AM
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You dont know Jack

The ending kicks ass…and you
probably speak for many.  This
reminds me of some of my own
experiences several years ago.

Posted by You dont know Jack on Sunday, February 04, 2007 at 2:23 AM
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It is hard to see those who are our whole life reduced to tasks and time slots. 

Posted by Mojoman on Monday, February 05, 2007 at 5:47 PM
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My Dear Rosy….your writing has been sorely missed and I was glad to find this piece waiting here. I am in complete agreement with your expression of struggle. I hope to find more of your work soon. As Always…..Most Excellent! 

Posted by Slade on Thursday, February 08, 2007 at 7:13 AM
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Demise Of A Deer In A Town With No Dead Wagon

Posted in death, evil inherent in nature, life with tags on July 25, 2010 by clancyjane


Day One
she’s resting comfortably in the fescue along highway eleven

Day Two
her eyes are stalled in perpetual blink: she doesn’t see so good

Day Three
birds fly new patterns in a western georgia sky

Day Four
they rest atop and on the fenceposts near

Day Five
she’s inside out
(and so am i).


A repost.  Julia reminded me.

Theme Fridays: Cigarette

Posted in coffee, evil inherent in nature, Theme Fridays with tags , , , on June 4, 2010 by clancyjane

Dr. Dawn called with More Bad News and July froze us over.  We took ourselves outside and sat under a cold sun drinking coffee– Mom in sickness, I in health.

Soon the sisters would arrive, mine and hers, and there would be more of us to prop ourselves against when the rest of the bad news broke, but right then it was just us with our coffees and a winter’s chill in summer.

We sat outside talking, warming in each other’s company, and watching the birds at the feeder.  They were loud and lively in their pecking, and didn’t yet know she wouldn’t be around to feed them in a week or two.

After a time, she said, “Well, kid, if I’m on the way out, I don’t see why we couldn’t go get a breaded tenderloin.”

I didn’t see why, either.

We drove up to the East End.  I wheeled her up to the communal table and took a seat across from her.  Mom’d been following a strict arthritis regimen for the past year or so, and breaded tenderloins were not on the menu.  I don’t know when she’d had one last.   We placed our order and got our sandwiches, but the pain meds had kicked in and Mom couldn’t eat a single bite.  We left there with nothing in our bellies but Dr. Dawn’s news, which sat heavy and hard in our centers.

I helped her into the car and she asked what I thought about her having a cigarette, seeing as how things were.  She’d given them up after the stroke three months before, the stroke from which she had fully recovered, and that made More Bad News particularly hard to swallow.

I thought it sounded fine.

We drove to Casey’s for the smokes.  She said get the cheap ones, kid, and I said huh uh.  I asked if she could smoke any brand she wanted what it would be, and she reckoned she’d have the Pall Malls.  I wondered if she’d had a Pall Mall or a Winston in the 30 years since we’d lived on the hill– back in the days when working people could afford to smoke their brands, and no one bought generic.

I got the cigs and a couple of coffees.  She put the pack in her purse and we drove back home and took our places outside with the birds again.   I opened up the smokes and set them, along with a lighter, beside the coffee next to her chair.  She took a drink and replaced the cup.  She took out a cigarette, picked up the lighter, and fell asleep with the unlit Pall Mall in one hand and the Bic in the other.

She would waken in awhile to light the cigarette and finish her coffee, and we would sit and watch the birds awhile longer.   Her last tenderloin had already been eaten, but I didn’t know that then as I sat beside her sleeping self and watched the rise and fall of a chest whose rises and falls were numbered now.

Christine and Annie take on Cigarette.

Hammit To Dell (he said when he’d been drinking)

Posted in dads, death, evil inherent in nature, life with tags , , on February 8, 2010 by clancyjane










When Matt Is Dead

Posted in evil inherent in nature with tags on June 3, 2009 by clancyjane

The phone will ring at Matt’s mother’s house and the lady will ask are you Matt’s mother and she’ll say yes because she is.  The lady will ask is This your address and Matt’s mother will say What’s This About but the lady won’t tell her though.

The lady uses words that are hollow and heavy and weigh down the heads of the ears that hear them.  These are those words:  We Are Sending Officers To Your Home Is Someone There With You.

Matt’s mother will call Matt and Matt will not answer but his voice will say he’ll call her back.  Matt’s mother will call Matt’s brother and when he answers she’ll know The Who but not for sure The What Or How for another two hours while the officers chopper in.

The meantime leaves a long time to wait and to dial Matt’s number again for the message he’ll call her back which is less and less likely as the night wears on and the officers fly with news too heavy for the ground to hold.

The officers land and hand off the news to Matt’s mother and father who sift through scenarios, each one ending with Matthew fine.   The dad drives down to tell the man the boy they have is not his, and he readies the words I Don’t Know Him but He’s Ours comes out instead.

Later Matt’s mother will phone with news your ears won’t hear.  She’ll say it once and then again.  Repeating these words, as you’ll soon find out, is a slash through the chest wall, so please make note to hear it right the first time.  Along with Matt’s news the request: Will You Call And Tell The Others.  Yes, you say, you will and do, and Matt is dead to Patricia, then Mary.  Matt is dead to George, then Cathy and Tommy.  Matt is dead to your dad and your mother who is dying.

When Matt is dead, then Matt is dead too many times to bear.

Frankie: Gone Fishin’

Posted in death, evil inherent in nature, gratuities, life, moms with tags on March 6, 2009 by clancyjane



Frankie, 80, of Redacted, MO died early Saturday morning, February 21st, 2009, in the company of his daughters, Mary Frank and Clancy Jane, shortly after telling Jane he wanted to gather some night crawlers and take her fishing.  

He was born July 25, 1928 the only son of George Albert and Myrtle Alice (Redacted) Redacted, who preceded him in death. On January 3, 1955, he married Our Good Lady in Redacted, MO, and he grieved her death, which occurred July 30, 2008, until his own.  To the union of Frankie and Our Good Lady, six children were born, and they are as follows:  Cathy, Ida Allis, Tommy, Mary Frank, Clancy Jane, and George.

Frankie engaged in a variety of jobs and businesses throughout his life. In his early years, he and his family were an important part of Redacted trading, via Redacted and Son Grocery and Hardware. In addition to this he built ammunition boxes, county bridges, and strong children.

Frankie spent most of his life in Redacted and Redacted. He lived his last months at the LaPlata Nursing Home, where he was cared for compassionately by the staff and longtime family friends Amy Byrn, Joan Chegwidden and Mizty Crowdis.
Frankie was proud to serve his country in the Korean War as a Forward Observer and part of the 7th Infantry Division, among others. When his services ended he wrote his mother a four page letter, one word to a page, which read: I AM COMING HOME.
Visitation was held on Tuesday, February 24, 2009 with funeral service following at Redacted Family Funeral Home. Internment with a military service was held at the Redacted Cemetery.

Frankie’s children were his pallbearers, and honorary pallbearers were: Junior Redacted, Larry Redacted, Redacted Coddington, Butch Redacted, John Redacted, Nate Redacted, Bub Michael and Redacted Brown.