Tag Archives: follower friday

FOLLOWER Friday: An Invitation to Write

   This story was written by Sheri Robinson

Ever since I can remember, a journal has been a major necessity in my life.  A collection of raggedy, spiral bound notebooks had to be on tap at all times.  Like toothpaste, toilet paper, and deodorant, it was something I could NEVER do without.  Over the years, the notebooks were upgraded to beautiful hard-bound journals of blank canvas – lined or not – that promised to receive – without judging or interrupting  – my every thought, prayer, emotion, dream, anxiety, fear, and yes, my actual tears.  They were filled to the brim . . . brimming over with “Me.”  They were frayed to the point of duct-tape and rubber band repairs.  They were cherished friends that I could always reach out to, any time of day or night.  And as the years rolled by, my journal “friends “ transcended from therapists to counselors to mentors to surveyors of dreams and platforms for voice and thought.

Though the pressures of motherhood  and career became more complicated, my eyesight not as sharp as years before, and my handwriting more time consuming and less legible,  my ever-present, ever changing thoughts, experiences, hopes, and dreams still continued to expand and fill my mind, dive-bombing in and out like birds attacking mosquito larvae in still pools of water. 
It became absolutely necessary to empty my head… before I changed another diaper, cooked dinner, finished that report, started another diet…before real life crowded into those sacred storehouses of “me,” and pushed them aside.  Eventually,  my journals transformed into “lists” scattered and hastily written on  random scraps of paper – old envelopes, the back of receipts, the inside of empty Double Mint gum wrappers – anything I could find within the contents of my purse. 
(As fellow multi-taskers can attest, there is nothing worse than the feeling that you were supposed to do…are supposed to do… something…really important…but you can’t remember exactly what it is because… you forgot to write it down; you simply stored it somewhere in your already-crammed memory files of to-do’s, tomorrows, and yesterdays.  It haunts you for minutes/hours/days until an unsolicited trigger – a smell, a sound, a random thought – jolts you into full remembrance of what that something is…or was.  The impact of that realization is like falling asleep on a bus, and the feeling of gratitude that comes when you wake up just before the driver arrives at your stop…or the sinking frustration of waking up after the driver has passed your stop…three miles ago.  I’ve had both the fortunate – and unfortunate – experience of both.) 
Soon, I found a neater solution: my journals became the virtual (but printable) pages of Microsoft Word, onto which I would pour both my thoughts and lists.  Keyboards replaced pens and pencils, and a thought that took 20 minutes to write down now only took a few tap-tap-taps…and viola!
Then Life changed…Again.  Fast forward to today.  At the present, the mental demands of a career do not compete for my full attention, and my multi-tasking has gone from cerebral.  (reports/meetings/filings) to physical (sewing/cleaning/unofficially designated carpool mom.)  As far as motherhood goes, one baby bird out the nest, one left to fly.  And all my lists…what lists?! 
I’m writing, again…armed with a host of new experiences and wisdom to fill at least a dozen journals. 
And, Babes, have I got some things to share with you!  Stay tuned!
photo by Rennett Stowe

FOLLOWER Friday: The Cousins

A story by Toni Duldulao

I give up!  The BOBB is my cousin and she has managed to get her sister, son, and friends to write something.  She didn’t ask me but I felt that someone has to represent this side of the family.  After all, I AM FAMILY!  She and Malati are my cousins.  Of course being the first born of our generation I always considered myself the older and wiser leg of “The Cousins”  but in reality I am just older…in fact three years older than the BOBB.

Family relationships can be a funny thing.  As children, we grew up during a time when families got together at Nana’s house for Sunday dinner.  While our parents…the brother, sisters, and spouses talked about whatever they talked about…my cousins and I would spend the day playing, running around the yard, and chasing each other up and down the stairs.  Unbeknown to us we were setting in stone a relationship that has been a lifelong one.

On those Sundays, we could be who we were.  There were no pretensions.  There wasn’t a teacher or an adult telling us how to behave in a certain way.  Of course, our parents did raise us to be respectful to adults and of one another.  They didn’t have to tell us it was just expected and if we forgot, they would remind us.

Now when we do see each other there are the friendly family type greetings.  After a few minutes of “catching up” maybe followed by some quiet awkwardness, inevitably someone will say, “Do you remember when…?”  We would laugh bringing up other memorable incidents of our childhood Sundays and laugh our way back to those days.

Back then little did I know how precious those Sundays would become to me.  As adults, we rarely see each other because we live in various parts of the state.  In reality about the only time we do get together now is when some family member passes away.  Yet when we do see one another all it takes is tapping into that little Sunday memory of decades ago, then time and distance melt away and we become just “The Cousins” once again.

photo by Rich Moffitt


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FOLLOWER Friday: Intoxicated By Her There (Poem & YouTube by Daryl Allison)

Intoxicated By Her There
Written by Daryl Allison

There she was
She had always been there
Shadow behind the screen
Before I could see her there
Teeming at the seams
Woman of my dreams
Soft skin
Dark eyes
Perfection, disguised
Urge grips
Was she a dream?
She was there
I didn’t care
There she stood
In low light
A highlight
Silhouette caressed
Backlit glow
Just right
Candle smoke swam through the night
Stilled the air
With ease stopped
Just behind the sight line there
A pretentious man feigned love there
Slight of hand
Betraying eyes
Fumbled lies, revealing stare
His affair
Once before
His woman
Twice ago
She’d care
Thrice wounded wing had fallen bare
A fainted feather
Adrift she blew
Alone together she’d float on through
Torn she knew
She’d fall forever until someone new
Someone true to catch her there
Two lovebirds perched there
Tweeting their little nothings there
Nothing that the world would care
No truth
Nor dare
No need, nor care
Just there

A working girl lingered there
Selling love
Wanting love
Wishing love
Would find her there
But love finds no home for the lonely looking the other way
Love can have it that way
Love is funny that way
My love
She stood there
Not lonely
Not working
Not wandering
She knew to come home
There she stood
How I dreamed
…how I loved
…how I longed
For her to come home
She looked this way
I looked away
Played it cool
Played it smooth
Velvety smooth
The band played smooth
All eyes up front for this one
Vacant bodies swayed the crowd as one
Married upon the rhythm
Carried away in rhythm
I closed my eyes with them
Let the music open me
Make of me what my eyes could not see
Cresting echoes, pulsing drum
Sultry voice the sax become
Haunted, soulful, spirit succumb
Fluttered among the flamingo strum
Applause after this one
I landed
Back from a dream
Back to this dream
This one
The one I called home
There she was
She looked this way
I could not look away
Dared not look astray
Her gaze locked my way
Desire of my dreams walked this way
Light steps
Slight smile
Floated there, a while
Heart skips
She walked that way
Her style

She walked this way
Where I sat alone
Siren of my dreams returning home
Red hair
Red nails
Black dress, black heels
Red lips
She walked my way
Where I sat alone
Where my breath would not come home

There she was
No longer alone
Without a glance
Pretending not to care
Teasing as she stood there
There she was
Denying my pleas to come home
I waited
For that chance I had waited
I had wanted to wait for her
Now I waited
Wanting her
Begged her
Come home

There she was
The one
There she was
I played it smooth
With a side of couth
A shot of debonair
She looked this way
A coy smile to say
She approved
She walked my way
My eyes shied closed
Subtle scent of chocolate arose
She touched my lips
Pressed my lips
Opened my lips
Took my breath away
My breath was not home anyway
Her taste touched my tongue
She was smooth
Velvety smooth
I paused for a moment
Her taste
That moment
Velvety smooth
Intoxicated by her there
She was there
I was home
Eyes slid open
She wasn’t there
A dream?
I didn’t care
Intoxicated by her there
I was home

Copyright © 2011 Daryl Allison. All Rights ReservedSpecial Thanks:
Rebecca Siedschlag – Feedback, inspiration, keeping me pushing further