The Skin I’m In

Me and mother In my forties
Mother and I


Me at present time
Merlin and I

The Skin I’m In




This is a post I did some months back.  I thought it might be interesting to those of you who have not seen it before or even to those of you who have seen it.  Anyway, here it is again, hope you like it.

The age of reason starts at seven and suddenly, we are eleven.  Our skin at these ages resemble the pages of a well-loved book.

Time passes, our skin forms few wrinkles as the pages of the book begin to form dimples.

The older we get, the skin shows the net, of the years, as the book’s skin  starts to begin, to look older you see.

Now we are much older, we become bolder and we look with dismay at the skin we display; then we cover it with creams and makeup it seems.

To our jaded eye, nothing can hide the passage of time, no matter the clime.

In the end we give up, because try as we may; “It really makes no difference,”  I say.

Today’s Theme:  Skin

The form is:  Prose Poetry

The device is:  Internal Rhyme



I have decided to do a photo gallery on a bi-weekly basis.  Depending on how well it is received, I will continue this as a regular theme. It will be a gallery of photos that I have taken, starting with some photos I have already and some that I will be taking as the weeks go on.  I will be interested in what my readers think of the idea.

Abstract Acrylic on canvas
Acrylic on canvas
"Lady with parasol" Acrylic on canvas
“Lady with umbrella”
Acrylic on canvas
The Artist's Studio Acrylic on canvas
The Artist’s Studio
Acrylic on canvas


To begin here  are a few  paintings I have done over the years.  I will be showing more  of my paintings from time to time and also photos I have taken in the past, up to recently.  Hope you enjoy.

Got the idea from today’s prompt on Blogging 101.

A Sudden Downpour

Main St. (during a parade)
Main St. (during a parade)


I was out walking along Main Street, as I try to do most days, usually for the exercise and sometimes to buy a few things I need.  Main Street  has quite a few stores within the several  blocks I walk.   Several banks, and a Post Office are in the area also which it makes it convenient.  Of course a coffee shop or two just happen to be located on Main Street also,which I have been known to frequent on more than one occasion.

As I was walking along deciding where to go next,  suddenly  a  flash of lightning followed by a great noise of thunder struck, making me jump!    I decided to duck into the library as it was the closest building at hand.  More than a few people had the same idea it seemed as the library was crowded.  Of course I did not have an umbrella with me at the time, so I decided to stay for a while.  I found an empty chair at one of the long tables  and draped my jacket over the back.  The library was one of my favorite places so I decided I would pick out a few books and peruse them while I waited for the storm to abate.

I hadn’t planned on getting any more books because I had several  at home waiting to be read.  It did not take me long to find books by a few authors I enjoy and before long I was deep into the first book I had picked up.  When I really get into a book I sometimes lose all track of time.  So I did not realize how late it was until the lights flickered and a voice announced that the library would be closing soon.  Sure enough it was closing time and a line formed at the take out counter.

As I stood in line, I debated whether I should get any more books at this time.  I decided to take the book and check it out since it was so very interesting to me.  When I left the library with my book in tow, it was still drizzling but the book was nestled in a plastic bag I brought with me; so I decided to go into the coffee shop which was right next to the library.  Maybe the rain would completely stop before I left.

I did manage to finish my latte and also a biscotti before I left the coffee shop  and sure enough the rain had stopped! After my experience first with the storm, then the library and lastly a delicious latte with a pastry, I could not have planned such a pleasant day if I tried!




Sister Winifred
Sister Winifred


While posting and commenting recently with a blogger I follow, she mentioned that her mother’s name was Marion.  Not too many of us out there spelling it with an “o” instead of an “a.”  Those who spell it with an “o” are usually men.  One in particular, John Wayne, whose name was Marion!  He was one of my favorite actors even when I was a youngster.  So I was reminded of how I came to be named Marion.  There was a story connected to the baptism,  mother tells the story like this.

My family grew up Catholic and my sisters and I also went to Catholic school, graduating from there.  So of course we were baptized in the Catholic Church.  A few weeks after I was born, mother planned a Christening for me, which she did for each one of us kids.  A Christening was a party with food, drinks, the works and all the relatives attending, or at least the ones that mother was speaking to at the time.  The baby was usually taken to the church by the Godparents, both Godfather and Godmother, with the mother also going if she was up to it and as an afterthought, the father.

Well,  mother had a two-year old at home and she was not completely recovered from the childbirth.  So only the Godparents and father went to the church with the baby to be baptized.  The party would be held later in the day, lasting sometimes into the wee hours, depending how long the keg lasted.  Mother and baby would be asleep long before the party ended. As little group arrived at the church, the Godmother, who was one of my mother’s sisters, yelled out;

“I don’t remember what her name is to be,”  she shouted.

“What?”  gasped the Godfather and  father in unison.

“Do you know?” she yelled at father.

“No,” he yelled back.  “I am only  the father, how should I know?  She was supposed to be a boy anyway.”

So the Godparents and father went into a huddle to try to figure out what to do as the priest waited nervously at the church door.

Most people in those days did not have phones and we were numbered among them.  So calling mother was out.  The baby started fussing and everyone was getting agitated.

Out of nowhere the Godmother came up with an idea.  She said, “Well I like Marion Davies, how about we call her Marion?  I don’t think Kate will mind.  What do you both think?”  The two men agreed.  Anything to get the show on the road.

Kate was my mother and as it turns out she did mind but by the time she found out, it was too late.  Marion Davies was a famous movie star of the day and also a mistress to Wm. Randolph Hearst, the newspaper publisher and big shot of that time.  So the little group went into the church and proceeded to get the baptism over with.  So “Marion” it was!

When we arrived home and broke the news to mother, she told everyone that I was to be named Rita, which was my father’s sister’s name.  She also told father in no uncertain terms that she was not happy about the mix up.  However, as far as I was concerned, I certainly did not like the name Rita, much preferring Marion and can’t imagine having any other name.


Writing for Someone in Particular

Mother with my sister
Mother with my sister

This is about an “Ideal” Reader for today’s prompt.    It is a video of Engelbert Humperdinck singing “Please Release Me” which was one of my mother’s favorites both him and the song.  Enjoy!


While I don’t think I write for anyone in particular at least not that I am aware.  I know I don’t consciously think about it when I am writing but I suppose I want my mother to like and enjoy whatever I am writing.  She was an avid reader herself, becoming more so in her old age.  She was living with my sister when she was in her eighties and she started having health problems.

My sister did not have any children and she and her husband had a large home with plenty of room and time to take mother to her doctor’s appointments and out to lunch, which they both dearly loved.  The lunch part, not the doctors.

As my mother aged, she read more than ever, so my sister said it was easier going to the library, than buying all those books.  Mother also kept up with the politics of the day and could speak on almost any subject.  She had opinions on just about everything also, but she would only share them if someone was interested.

So I like to think that she would like my writing and be happy that I am sharing some of our family’s stories with the world at large.  My father would not be happy with a lot of my writing which included himself and was definitely not flattering.

Mother was a great storyteller herself and when she was in the mood and had an audience, she could hold people in rapt attention.  When I was in high school, my girlfriends would come to visit just to hear mother’s stories.

So I hope she’s enjoying my writing now and is happy that I am carrying on a tradition that she started.



The Day I Smashed The Window! Continuing…..

At my Grandmother's funeral.

The blood from my wrist was running down my arm but father didn’t seem to notice.  His face was red and he was yelling so loud; I had never seen him like this before.  But I was so scared,  all I could think about was getting away from his grip.  So when I finally broke free, I ran for the stairs.  I made it upstairs to the bedroom with father in hot pursuit.

I didn’t know if mother was home or not.  I tried to get under the blanket on the bed thinking it would protect me.  I had taken my coat off on the way up the stairs.  He yanked the blanket off me and I only had a cotton dress and thin panties on, my legs were bare.  I saw him trying to get his belt off and I knew I was in for it!

He started hitting me on the butt and the legs with his belt and I started crying and yelling how I did not mean to break the window.  But he wasn’t listening; he was too enraged.  This continued for a while and I don’t know who was louder me begging for mercy or him cursing me.  All of a sudden mother appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.  She started yelling at father.

“Stop, you are going to kill her!  She shouted!

“Do you know what she did?”  He yelled back!

“I don’t care, you need to stop; she is bleeding!”  Mother yelled as she grabbed his arm to stop him from hitting me again.

Father pulled his arm away from her but she jumped in front of him and pushed him back away from me.  Mother was no lightweight and she was putting all her force against him to push him away and he staggered back.  Father was not that big of a man but he was strong.  He was always exercising and lifting weights.  He seemed to lose his rage as he fell back against the wall.

Mother then sat me up and looked at where the blood was coming from on my wrist.  She gasped and told him to go and get our neighbor, Mrs. D.  He seemed in a stupor, so she yelled at him again to go as they needed to get the blood stopped and Mrs. D. was our source in any emergency.  She always knew what to do and she always had bandages and tape and whatever else was needed in an emergency.

Mrs. D. had three boys in school, who were constantly getting into trouble,  so she had to be ready for any emergency.  We depended on her to be there for us and she never let us down.  It seemed that I was the one in our family who was usually in trouble and I counted on her to help me on many occasions.

So it was no surprise when she came and assessed the situation, cleaned up my wound after taking a piece of glass out of my wrist  and bandaged it.  I was feeling much better after that.  No one thought of calling the doctor, because we could not afford one usually. So I have a few scars to show for the scrapes I was in as a child.

Father managed to get his coat on and leave the house not wanting to hang around in case anyone wanted to question him.  We found out later he had gone to his mother’s house, where he was always made to feel better about himself no matter what.

Although, I must say from that time on, he never hit me again.  That wasn’t necessarily true of my mother, even though she saved me more times than I can count as I did get into trouble a lot it seems.

The pane of glass in the front door was fixed with a piece or cardboard from a box we had and stayed that way for quite a while.  Father remained away for a long time but then that was what he did.  Oh, I still have a scar on that wrist to remind me of that day.

The End



Me and Merlin
Me and Merlin

Well I am back at Blogging 101 once again!  I have taken this course several times and even though I thought I was signing up for the Longreads Course this time, here I am.  I must admit I have always gotten something valuable out of any and all the courses I have taken with Word Press.  So I will do my best to learn and contribute something while I am here.  Luck and success to all my fellow bloggers!

So glad to be back at Blogging 101

As once again I take up my pen

I hope you like my writing and poems

As I put out the effort once more

To follow the prompts as best I can

And read others blogs and comment on them.


Marion and Kay


It was a bright snowy day as I trudged home from school that cold winter afternoon.  My older sister, who was usually with me as we walked to and from school, most if not all school days, was missing.  Today she had to stay later to practice for the upcoming play that she was starring in.   She was playing the part of Gabriel, the angel who announces to Mary that she was to be the Mother of God.  She had some singing in latin, which required not only a knowledge of latin but it helped if you had a pleasant singing voice.  We of course were attending Catholic school, so our plays mostly had a religious theme.  Of course two years of latin was required also in high school.  And the mass was in Latin at that time.  She qualified on all points, plus she was very pretty with long blond hair.  She made the perfect angel.

I approached the house which my mother called, “the shack,” ever since we had moved here from the nice house we had previously.  And it was a shack! The roof leaked, the wind whistled through the cracks in the house and the toilet was practically outside.  There was a lean to attached to the house and a roof and door that closed, so it wasn’t too bad.   It was cold though and the toilet seat would freeze over in winter.  I was starting to get chills from the wind which had picked up and my feet were soaked.   As I approached the house I was looking forward to sitting by the stove and warming myself.

I did not remember whether father was going to be home today or not.  He was supposed to be out looking for a job, which meant that mother would be home and I was happy about that.  I did not want to hear them quarreling again and mother usually had a snack for us after school, cookies and cocoa or tea always warmed me and made me feel good.

Mostly, I went around to the kitchen door and took my boots, if I had any, off and shook any snow off before coming into the house.  But I was so cold and miserable I decided to go in through the front door.  I tried the door and it didn’t budge, so I tried it again.  No luck.  Then I decided to knock because I knew someone was home, I could hear the radio.  I banged on the glass in the window.  There were six separate panes of glass in the top of the door, the bottom half was wood. No one was coming to the door.

I did have a temper and after knocking several times I was getting angry in addition to being cold and having wet feet, so I banged harder than I should have.  Just then, on the third bang, the glass shattered!  Some of the glass chips cut into my wrist and I started to bleed.  Now I could hear footsteps coming to the door and also yelling and cursing!  My wrist was bleeding pretty good at this point from the broken glass shards and I could feel myself being pulled inside!

“What the hell?”  Father was screaming as he dragged me inside.  The sound of his raised voice and his grip on my arms was starting to hurt.  The blood was getting all over my coat as I managed to get away from him.  I quickly ran upstairs and sat on the bed.  But he followed me upstairs and I knew I was in for it.


To Be Continued.