Welcome to the writing life Notes on life, writing, and other things.

On the day I was born spring was just a good idea. Not a tree had thought further then to catch a snowflake upon a branch. Mother Nature heaved tears upon a grateful earth that such a creature as me was being born. No, no that is not right. The sky was a slate gray of swollen cumulus clouds. No, that is not right either. I really do not know what the weather was the day I was born. I was too busy contemplating my penis. Yes, I was a girl but convinced the pulsating thing I had grown so fond of in vitro was indeed, my penis. How was I to know it would be the last time I would be so intimately involved with it and my kneecaps. Hanging out in the dark sucking your thumb and pondering the next tum in the womb does not prepare you for life. I was three or was it four when I stood naked waiting for my bath and realized it was gone. Gone!!! I asked my mother where it was and she said, why, it dried up and fell off. Fell off? My trusty companion for nine months, my playmate, the thing I was counting on to wield power in a man infested environment had dried up and fallen off? I tell you nothing prepares you for a shock like that.

Nor does it prepare you for 12 years of Catholic school and the joys of the twisted sisterhood of the religious righteous. My life from grades 1-12 was spent running from the taunts of bullies while hanging on to my socks that were always around my ankles and keeping my pointed speckled glasses from falling into the mud before I did. I was eighteen when I developed hips and could keep my pantyhose around my waist.

On the day I was born God peered into the waiting womb of my mother and shook his head to see this girl baby contemplating her penis. I think he knew right then and there I was trouble. Years later I would grow up to be a wild woman, a wild angel, and crazy about my pet TV, my computer and a boy named George, but that is another story.

I was born with a cleft in my chin. I was told that meant God had put his fingerprint on me. So this is what I think happened, God looked in utero, saw what was going on, and decided action was needed.

He lifted my head back peered into those baby blues and said; Look you goofball! What do you think you are doing? Stop mucking around and get the hell out there. With that, he pushed his finger into my chin and sent me holding on to my penis for dear life down that long tunnel to the light at the other end, his final words ringing in my ears. "You go, girl. Go and fly!!"

From the anthology: Things with Wings, 2001 The Wild Angels

Writing for Life: Creating a Story of Your Own

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Welcome to the writing life
Notes on life, writing, and other things.

What women in love do, Haiku version

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