8 AM, January 18, 2011.
Mocha was barking to be let back in and I finally arose from bed yet it wasn’t my house I was in. The hallway was painted blue directly across from my bedroom door, blue like the sea as children would color it. I saw two different doggies in the house in separate bedrooms, they were not mine. Then I saw movement in the closet, a wiggle under something and you emerged from underneath blankets or silk sheets and you were beautiful as if costumed for a play, a harlequin of glittering golden powdered seashells angled diagonally across your chin, up to the tip of your cheekbone, returning to your neck with a loosely strung ivory chiffon ribboned bow like a frilly boa necklace against your cotton shirt: a gift. Your body felt thin and lithe as if seventeen-years-old. I pulled you into the light pouring from the window, the sunlight streaming on you, validating your presence, and we held each other, cradled in arms, I kissed your lips and we stood and stood and stood and I kept asking you, staring at you, to make sure it was you with the sunlight against your face highlighting the shell glitter sparking even as your eyes focused over my shoulder, non committal.
From those ashes scattered in Key West into my arms, a radiant youthful you bathed in sunlight on a new dawning day.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
January 3, 2011. Happy Birthday Carole, we're still going strong, together.
Creative non-fiction, circa mid-1990's, a work in progress my sister and I began, but could not finish together. Please note, apparently meta links to IMC and HCA change the formatting and I can't figure it out. Still relevant today, in Florida, the beat goes on.
Excerpt from Three Attention Deficit Sisters and the Mafia
by Hope Marcus and Carole Marcus
“I don’t know yet, but it’s more than gobbledygook. Think manna from the farm into my arms. Passports, receipts from Panamanian companies, DynCorp, Florida medical clinics — HMO’s, some guy’s Florida driver’s license, still valid.”
I picked up a piece of paper, held it on the edge. “Absolutely nasty, pitch them. They even smell moldy.”
“Leslie, look at them, open your eyes!”
“Look at what? There’s nothing to see! You and your trash treasures.”
Carolee’s hands went to work, rearranging the pieces, making a jigsaw puzzle with parts missing. Torn squares, rectangles, jagged edges, a few legible words and a smattering of numbers. Two airline tickets, Miami to Mexico, Mexico to Miami, Aeromexico, sections of them, enough to tell. An ID card from an HMO. Photos angled from the side, the front, plus a passport. Another social security card. Different numbers, the same name — doubles in Spanish.
My sister turned to me, her eyes wide orbs. I didn’t know what to make of things.
“Holy moley, can’t you see? For the past twenty-one years I’ve been staring across the table at Lou, reading his newspapers, the Miami Herald delivered to our door. Medicare fraud, think IMC and all those clinics, even the newest, HCA. Just you wait. And tickets to Mexico, next stop Columbia, to buy what? Hello Leslie, wake up. These names are headliners!”
Front pages? I nearly drowned on a diet soda, ran to the kitchen sink, choking. Carolee trailed after me.
“You’re so off base, if you think for one lousy minute I’m falling for this, you don’t expect me to believe … .” My sister threw me one of her primal stares, like a guided missile homing in, smart bombs aiming straight for me, her eyes converging into one enormous penetrable, oy ve mia, hallelujah sister.
“You’ve got balls, cojones.” I said.
She pulled her shoulders back, stuck out her chest and strutted out of the kitchen, back to the couch spread with her finds. “I’ve got boobs, potency, and these," she said, pointing to the papers. "Chutzpah, cojones, and these!"
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
October 19
Carole, we awoke together his morning at 6 AM, as if a clock mattered. You were helping me straighten the tablecloth, a cranberry-rust color. All the leaves to Nana’s table were in, a long rectangle as if getting ready for a party, our family, who else? You sat under the repro Matisse painting, in that spot of the room, and had a dark short sleeve top on, probably with shorts along with that beatific smile of yours. I’d pitched some bagel pieces along with an old bag of bread rolls from the fridge and was setting fresh ones, a dozen or two I’d just bought, hard crust rolls sprinkled with poppy seeds. It was so joyous ordinary and at first I was happy then thought, of course you'd come today — it is your yahrzeit — 8 years since you died, and I cried and cried. It is stupendous that you came today, if only the tears would stop.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Carole Connection
Rosh Hashana Weds. September 8, 2010
Written upon awakening.
The workman drilled holes through walls, smack dab in the middle of them, not the bottom or top as might be expected, holes for a cable wire although I didn't know what they'd connect to, the roof from a hole in the middle of the wall? the men supposedly working in my home because a new ordinance said I had to raise the roof for a new building code. They were noisy but nice and they kept showing me their business cards with phone numbers to call the boss, Nautilus, to take up the issue of their being in my house, making a ruckus, drilling through the walls, the center of the gypsum boards. In the dream my house more like your former one on 64 Street, In my dream, the phone line was always busy. During one of my attempts to reach Nautilus, I heard a conversation with a another guy, crossed wires, he leaving a message, not vile or angry but saying he was trying to reach the owner too … I handed to phone to one of the workers at my house … then Nautilus called me, saying everything was all right, he’d take care of things, not to worry. Nautilus from the sea, telling me he’d take care of things, reassuring, Nautilus from the sea the same sea we’d scattered your ashes into, Nautilus, a species surviving relatively unchanged for millions of years.
After a while you called, but there was so much noise, two little girls running around me, and the counter where the phone was, two daughters of the workers, who were using loud tools. I wanted your phone number, told you I’d had been trying to reach you for days, telling you I’d up been cooking until 3. You started to give it to me but I couldn’t read my own writing, and the paper I was writing on, the one in front of me, was loaded with doodads, and the pen was near dry, barely inked. I said hold on, when I came back you fudged with the phone number, gave me a few false starts, one beginning with a 500, like the 800 free calls … then said you couldn’t make it over, asking who would pick up Daniel, Agustin? You didn’t want to see Agustin, no way — I said Josh would get him, and you said OK, you’d come since Josh would pick up Danny in his car and bring him to my house.
You were frightened, hesitant, didn’t want to be seen.
Our older sister had been over earlier and I demanded that she leave even as she had looked innocuous, like her 30 year old self. Mom’s presence was a distant hint in the yonder.
Mostly I’d wanted you and your phone number you finally gave it to me, it began with a 271—had a 6 in it, maybe your former number that I no longer remember? Then you said you’d come…you were still mulling it over, I could tell, still thinking but so close to yes even as the background between us on the phone was obtrusive and distracting.
Then in real time I awoke to the sounds of lawn mowing outside and I was in tears, and in real time, Madeline called minutes later, unusual for her to phone that time of the morning. She was the ONLY person I could talk to just then, in real life, synchronicity, our friend Madeleine the real time connector who’d truly understand … and I told her about Nautilus from the sea, telling me he’d take care of things, the same sea home to your scattered ashes, that freeing sea.
Written upon awakening.
The workman drilled holes through walls, smack dab in the middle of them, not the bottom or top as might be expected, holes for a cable wire although I didn't know what they'd connect to, the roof from a hole in the middle of the wall? the men supposedly working in my home because a new ordinance said I had to raise the roof for a new building code. They were noisy but nice and they kept showing me their business cards with phone numbers to call the boss, Nautilus, to take up the issue of their being in my house, making a ruckus, drilling through the walls, the center of the gypsum boards. In the dream my house more like your former one on 64 Street, In my dream, the phone line was always busy. During one of my attempts to reach Nautilus, I heard a conversation with a another guy, crossed wires, he leaving a message, not vile or angry but saying he was trying to reach the owner too … I handed to phone to one of the workers at my house … then Nautilus called me, saying everything was all right, he’d take care of things, not to worry. Nautilus from the sea, telling me he’d take care of things, reassuring, Nautilus from the sea the same sea we’d scattered your ashes into, Nautilus, a species surviving relatively unchanged for millions of years.
After a while you called, but there was so much noise, two little girls running around me, and the counter where the phone was, two daughters of the workers, who were using loud tools. I wanted your phone number, told you I’d had been trying to reach you for days, telling you I’d up been cooking until 3. You started to give it to me but I couldn’t read my own writing, and the paper I was writing on, the one in front of me, was loaded with doodads, and the pen was near dry, barely inked. I said hold on, when I came back you fudged with the phone number, gave me a few false starts, one beginning with a 500, like the 800 free calls … then said you couldn’t make it over, asking who would pick up Daniel, Agustin? You didn’t want to see Agustin, no way — I said Josh would get him, and you said OK, you’d come since Josh would pick up Danny in his car and bring him to my house.
You were frightened, hesitant, didn’t want to be seen.
Our older sister had been over earlier and I demanded that she leave even as she had looked innocuous, like her 30 year old self. Mom’s presence was a distant hint in the yonder.
Mostly I’d wanted you and your phone number you finally gave it to me, it began with a 271—had a 6 in it, maybe your former number that I no longer remember? Then you said you’d come…you were still mulling it over, I could tell, still thinking but so close to yes even as the background between us on the phone was obtrusive and distracting.
Then in real time I awoke to the sounds of lawn mowing outside and I was in tears, and in real time, Madeline called minutes later, unusual for her to phone that time of the morning. She was the ONLY person I could talk to just then, in real life, synchronicity, our friend Madeleine the real time connector who’d truly understand … and I told her about Nautilus from the sea, telling me he’d take care of things, the same sea home to your scattered ashes, that freeing sea.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Happy Birthday, Craggie
Hello Carole and Craig!
Craiggie, I am trying to post the 'youtube' account set up for you but am having trouble. Hope to add:
Happy Birthday dear friend, and to your daughter who shares the day, I have the poem your father wrote, penned on a box after my sister died. A toast to you, Craiggie, and to those here, and here not.
Craiggie, I am trying to post the 'youtube' account set up for you but am having trouble. Hope to add:
Happy Birthday dear friend, and to your daughter who shares the day, I have the poem your father wrote, penned on a box after my sister died. A toast to you, Craiggie, and to those here, and here not.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Carole in Red
Carole I dreamed about you again last night, an 8-year-old sitter was watching your boys, just for minutes, while you looked for another but that wasn’t the significance of the eight. It was eight years ago that you left Miami and moved to Key West - and in another few months you’d be dead. In my dream you were wearing a red shirtwaist dress with yellow and blue circles, not quite polka dots, I remember the design, red with a few small yellow and blue circles, like bubbles, maybe the sky and sun with a red background for bleeding because you didn’t want to leave your young adult boys, they just starting college, you thinking families should be weaned by consent rather than poverty. Yet you found love with Craig, so maybe the red was for love. A few months after moving to Key West you’d die, officially of a heart attack, but I knew otherwise, we all did, especially Craig, whose love and warmth cradled you even as our father sharpened his knife.
Today is Curt's birthday and our 20 anniversary, both together, how practical of us. How sad to be without you.
Today is Curt's birthday and our 20 anniversary, both together, how practical of us. How sad to be without you.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Carole, Keep Channeling!
Hey Carole,
Keep coming at me .... we still have work to do.
“It was a dream,” Carolee emphasized. “But the dream was important. Because in another lifetime our sisterhood was cut short. And now we are sisters again. And there is something we must do. Something wasn’t finished, remains incomplete.”
Carolee related that dream years ago, and I remember it as if yesterday when the air between us vibrated with life. I cannot remember when she first mentioned the dream, only that it emerged into our world with the same certainty as the years we shared. Although I could not recall our dying together, I never doubted the experience, simply accepting that Carolee had retained our past. We both knew, too, that Carolee’s vision wasn’t a dream. She was the keeper of our history, a past that would again become our future. We will be sisters forever, and in the intermittent space between us, I now carry our story forward.
more later.
Love, Hope
Keep coming at me .... we still have work to do.
“It was a dream,” Carolee emphasized. “But the dream was important. Because in another lifetime our sisterhood was cut short. And now we are sisters again. And there is something we must do. Something wasn’t finished, remains incomplete.”
Carolee related that dream years ago, and I remember it as if yesterday when the air between us vibrated with life. I cannot remember when she first mentioned the dream, only that it emerged into our world with the same certainty as the years we shared. Although I could not recall our dying together, I never doubted the experience, simply accepting that Carolee had retained our past. We both knew, too, that Carolee’s vision wasn’t a dream. She was the keeper of our history, a past that would again become our future. We will be sisters forever, and in the intermittent space between us, I now carry our story forward.
more later.
Love, Hope
Monday, March 29, 2010
With You
Hi Carole, your boys will be here soon, Passover and my birthday ... am so missing you. Have an upcoming meeting with a literary agent about our book ... you'd be proud.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Bermuda Shorts
You were wearing them, tailored Bermuda shorts, beige, with a pleat down the front and a wide leather belt, your hair shoulder length, maybe with a hair band. We together, in a hallway with pictures, maybe mother was there, too .... but you and I for sure, so natural, talking, walking.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
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