Metaphors of Time


Photo from The Web

Storyteller~Written in third person style

(Writing in third person is writing from the third person point of view and uses pronouns like he, she, it, or they. It differs from the first person, which uses pronouns such as I and me, and from the second person, which uses pronouns such as you and yours.


Why is SHE over thinking, misplacing things? Most everyday dealing with those Reality Shifters that move the strangest items around on her  Her thoughts and movements faster than they should be. She needs to Slow down. It’s pretty bad when you find what you were looking for only to put it some place and forget again where you put it.

Since the New Year she has noticed many things happening at warp speed. Her mind can’t seem to catch up.
Little things seem proportionally big and big things seem small. Some days she literally feels as if she is on a hamster wheel going round and round. Things get misplaced, in the way, fall, break, make a mess that otherwise would not be.  Her sleep is erratic, and filled with spiders and scorpions, ex lovers, strange unfamiliar men.

She feels out of sorts like when some one misses something and has not a clue what is so elusive.

Than again it Could be the Valium she is prescribed to take TWICE everyday but doesn’t usually take.

Her daughter is telling her friend all about her travels.
Half the places she did not ever know about…

“Do I know you?”


“In your dreams”

She had THE  Tangier Escape all misaligned.

But as she says:

“that is what I remember.’’”

She was Not even three yet. Storyteller was barely 23. Even after all the years past she can not believe the adventure embarked upon. Traveling through Europe with a husband, backpack and baby on her back.


Who is too say what and how far back we can remember?

She heard persons say when you are near death you go all the way back to the womb.  Father said he had gotten to his early teens. He had six months too do so. He made it to seven months.

If they did NOT pass what did they remember?

Storyteller’s Mother on the other hand was whole heartily dedicated too an occult like religious.

She said:

“I had lost so much blood from my leg surgeries. They did NOT give me blood as I demanded. They cut out two huge fatty bulges from my thighs. They did both at the same time. I was in recovery for over a year because the wounds had to heal from the inside out.”

She said:

“Impeding Death was so dark, no light”.

Storyteller inquired. and she said:

” She couldn’t even begin to describe it and wanted too forget.”

The storyteller always wondered with her beliefs why she had those views. After her husband passed, she was living on her own in a different residence and local.
She said there were lots of spiders on her ceiling at night. They would come down and than suddenly disappear.

From my other Blog


OK, the valium has storyteller’s eyes going South.

Dream Sweet

Smell Marvy on a Budget


© C. m ART z   2015

My mama used to put tiny packets of dried flowers in her linen closet. It always smelled so marvelous or as she so fondly would say “Marvy”. It’s a precious memory of the special lady she was. She would collect honeysuckle, lavender, rose petals on our walks together. That’s where I learned the art of dried flowers essence. We also would dry press them between book pages or put them under glass in a frame.

Life’s Rollercoaster


© C. m ART z  2015

The love we received from our parents, if among the fortunate ones; is a love like we will never have the joy of feeling ever again in our lives. We love our children, if so blessed, an imperfect significant other in our life but parents…there is no replacing that Love.

Thinking back to my earlier years I never was interested in what feelings, hopes, dreams my parents may have had. It was a time when things such as those were not shared. At times I would see hurt in my mother’s eyes, a tear falling down her cheek. She never spoke of these things.

Children today are not so different I suppose. Busy with there own hopes, plans and dreams.

In hindsight be curious. Ask questions, dive into your parents hearts. There are innumerable reasons WHY you are who you today.  Many of your attributes and idiosyncrasies  have originated with your parents and their parents history.

Don’t wait till the time comes when your phone doesn’t ring and you miss hearing “How’s my number two daughter today?” on the other end.

I can not count the times in my life since both my parents passed that I desired to pick up the phone and ask them something. Inquiring of her and my father’s health is another situation that I should have been more inquisitive about. The memories of designing  address labels for my mom that she so loved. Bagging up the days catch to send off to them all wrapped individually as they requested. I can still see my dad’s face devouring a freshly caught lobster tail, dipped in mounds of melted butter.

My mama wrote many things down. Recipes, her prose, her drawings. Irreplaceable.

Most are lost too me.

I was never interested.

Something I wrote after she passed in 2004

Realizations~Thinking~and Reflecting

Realizing the answers of our family and ancestors

are out of reach now~

The very essence of knowledge and wisdom

ashes spread over open spaces

Questions held inside

Knowing there will be no forthcoming answers

Thankful for memories and mementos

However we perceive the memory or incident

Different replays

Hidden recipes, poems, prose, love letters, personal journals written in scribbled hand

Voices on Memorex

for prosperity as dad would say

Photographs that hold a thousand stories

told from the eye of the viewer

These are what I have now

Collections in my mind

The rest

Forever hidden

Written   July 3 2004

© C. m ART z  2015

‘Time is what we want most, but what we use worst” – William Penn