Whenever my dad would go on far away trips,
he would always send us postcards.
He always kept in touch!
Since he moved over to the other side in November,
he keeps in touch from there too.
Today my little guy Luke made me watch this you tube video,,,
very resistant I was .....
funny how dad picked his messenger today.
I love you dad.
Showing posts with label John Bottoms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Bottoms. Show all posts
Monday, May 2, 2016
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
nosuchthingasdead.....
dad i see you as owls
as birds
as wings growing thru my spine
so many birds this spring
so allowed
so a loud
no veils
ur not dead
im not blind
i see you all the time
no such thing as dead
dead to time
thats all
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
John Bottoms
I look at my Dad in these Pictures.
I knew my Dad, I mean yeh! he was my Dad.
Of course I knew him. As a child , I knew him.
Perhaps I have always looked at my Dad thru my
child'e eye?!
He was the one that came home late that night,
when I cut my nose wide open.
Mom was drawing a bath for me and my brother and the lofts
were being built in our new Westbeth Apartment.D802.
Ellen Stewart from La MaMa hooked Dad up with.
You had to be an artist in order to get in there.
I had taken a nice block of wood , wanted to float it in the
bath, It was going to make the perfect boat!
I was testing it out in the sink as the bath water was collecting,
I went to rest my elbow on the side of the sink
and as I slipped , I must have sliced the part of my nose
where the upper lip and nostril meet.
Blood everywhere. Mom placed me over the toilet,
as I watched the beautiful droplets of blood hit the water and explode
into a collage of an expanding cloud, my mom rushed my brother to the neighbors.
Grabbed me up, and ran me all the way to Saint Vincent;s Hospital.
I remember her waiting for the light to turn at Seventh Avenue.
And she was telling me to stay calm.
They tied me down an placed a sheet with one small circle for my eye and
one circle for my nose, As I could see this enormous needle come at my face.
I freaked out.
It was horrible.
I got stitches.
The best part of that night was when my Dad came home and
just sat with me in his lap, quietly, in the shadows from the lights that illuminated the hallways
across the way into our apartment.
Quietly sitting there in his arms, I felt safe.
I wondered about the suite & tie
and the briefcase ~ Must have been important where he was this night.
Because he NEVER wore a suit let alone carried a briefcase.
He asked me all about what had happened. He listened too,
he listened.
These early memories of my Father being around, are bittersweet~
shortly thereafter he packed his bags and left us.
But see he didn't "leave" us..... he left our apartment
but he was ever so present.
Today , I do the math. I figured , every other weekend from friday to sunday
with acouple extra days for christmas plus the months of August.
So 12 months in a year.
Four weekends in a month..... four days to visit in each month
4x12=48days plus acouple xtra days for xmas is like 50 days
plus the thirty days
so that makes like 80 days.... out of 365 days..... huh.
DID I KNOW MY DAD?
Funny how doubt can play a Lead roll in a child that felt abandonment.
I KNEW MY DAD>!
My brother and I had his attention in a sacred way.
He was our father, one whom bathed himself in us.
Perhaps the "limited" visitation
gave him reverence for us in a way
a stay at home father might take "TIME" for granted.!?
It wasn;t an over absorbed : helicopter type of situation
either. We got on his nerves something fierce.
His quiet reading~ ACtoR ways were boring to two
vivacious village kids. The black and white TV
only got channels 5,11 and 13.
Which meant Baseball or Animals, Muppets & Sesame Street.
The time we threw pebbles from the roof of dads loft
down at the dudes working, parking cars ....
AH hello.... a Parking Lot and flying pebbles ~
$500.00 later it never occurred to us we might break a window?!!! REALLY.
But for Dad , forgiveness came quick. There was no time to waste.
Our time was quality time.
Battery Park City became our living room in the summertime. Dad could
find peace in his readings. As Chris an I learned how to climb the tiny
cherry Trees or play Hide & Seek Tag around the fort there.
Then there was Village Skate or Waverly Skate....
Dad would just chill ALL daY long while me an chris would
skate our little hearts out.
That put us into super chill mode, Dad was smart.
He would feed our soul with things to do and then take us
to delicious places to eat , like the Thai joint on Bayard st.
Cheap and delicious. He would always order the Full fish,
head an all.
We would settle in to watch Hitchcock or National Geo.
He would have us learning Chess or
School us on all the pressure points in our feet....
and then the next day ~ it was our turn to show him where
they were. He had the most beautiful toes an feet.
I virtually learned the neighborhood because we would walk
everywhere.
It was rough keeping up with those those super longlegs of his.
My friends would always say my Dad was the tallest Dad they
ever saw.
Six foot 3". That;s right and super Skinny.
Dad was working at the Public Theatre. Those enormous Banners flowing
in the air as we would approach the side entrance in. The Landmark for me
was that crazy Super giant Black cube that resided in the
middle of the road.....
Or the orange red brick of the 49thStreet Train Station ..where we would always hit
the Howard Johnson's prior to a performance or after a rehearsal.
Chris and I would hang out in the tiny little box seats off to the side
of the stage. He with his MatchBox Cars and Me with my Barbies.
The box seats with red velvet curtains was our little playpen.
I wonder sometimes how Dad got away with bringing us with him to
his broadway rehearsals. I think it was Joel Zwick that came back there once
and told us to keep it down. I was mortified. It;s a way to learn how to be mindful.
This I learned well growing up around the theatre. I respect all the ups and downs
that my father;s journey brought to my journey.
We were trusted to sit tight, in the audience,
so young.... awaiting the dimming of the lights. It took everything in me not to
tell everyone seated around me ~ how mY DAD WAS PERFORMING>
I knew every song, every line....
I spent my life....well........ eighty some odd days of it A year~
observing, listening, and learning how my father morphed into a new
person for each and every play he ever did before he moved to Minneapolis.
And at that point I was older and following my own path ~ as most college students
do.
Dad ,just living his life, was a pure installation.
I knew my Dad, I mean yeh! he was my Dad.
Of course I knew him. As a child , I knew him.
Perhaps I have always looked at my Dad thru my
child'e eye?!
He was the one that came home late that night,
when I cut my nose wide open.
Mom was drawing a bath for me and my brother and the lofts
were being built in our new Westbeth Apartment.D802.
Ellen Stewart from La MaMa hooked Dad up with.
You had to be an artist in order to get in there.
I had taken a nice block of wood , wanted to float it in the
bath, It was going to make the perfect boat!
I was testing it out in the sink as the bath water was collecting,
I went to rest my elbow on the side of the sink
and as I slipped , I must have sliced the part of my nose
where the upper lip and nostril meet.
Blood everywhere. Mom placed me over the toilet,
as I watched the beautiful droplets of blood hit the water and explode
into a collage of an expanding cloud, my mom rushed my brother to the neighbors.
Grabbed me up, and ran me all the way to Saint Vincent;s Hospital.
I remember her waiting for the light to turn at Seventh Avenue.
And she was telling me to stay calm.
They tied me down an placed a sheet with one small circle for my eye and
one circle for my nose, As I could see this enormous needle come at my face.
I freaked out.
It was horrible.
I got stitches.
The best part of that night was when my Dad came home and
just sat with me in his lap, quietly, in the shadows from the lights that illuminated the hallways
across the way into our apartment.
Quietly sitting there in his arms, I felt safe.
I wondered about the suite & tie
and the briefcase ~ Must have been important where he was this night.
Because he NEVER wore a suit let alone carried a briefcase.
He asked me all about what had happened. He listened too,
he listened.
These early memories of my Father being around, are bittersweet~
shortly thereafter he packed his bags and left us.
But see he didn't "leave" us..... he left our apartment
but he was ever so present.
Today , I do the math. I figured , every other weekend from friday to sunday
with acouple extra days for christmas plus the months of August.
So 12 months in a year.
Four weekends in a month..... four days to visit in each month
4x12=48days plus acouple xtra days for xmas is like 50 days
plus the thirty days
so that makes like 80 days.... out of 365 days..... huh.
DID I KNOW MY DAD?
Funny how doubt can play a Lead roll in a child that felt abandonment.
I KNEW MY DAD>!
My brother and I had his attention in a sacred way.
He was our father, one whom bathed himself in us.
Perhaps the "limited" visitation
gave him reverence for us in a way
a stay at home father might take "TIME" for granted.!?
It wasn;t an over absorbed : helicopter type of situation
either. We got on his nerves something fierce.
His quiet reading~ ACtoR ways were boring to two
vivacious village kids. The black and white TV
only got channels 5,11 and 13.
Which meant Baseball or Animals, Muppets & Sesame Street.
The time we threw pebbles from the roof of dads loft
down at the dudes working, parking cars ....
AH hello.... a Parking Lot and flying pebbles ~
$500.00 later it never occurred to us we might break a window?!!! REALLY.
But for Dad , forgiveness came quick. There was no time to waste.
Our time was quality time.
Battery Park City became our living room in the summertime. Dad could
find peace in his readings. As Chris an I learned how to climb the tiny
cherry Trees or play Hide & Seek Tag around the fort there.
Then there was Village Skate or Waverly Skate....
Dad would just chill ALL daY long while me an chris would
skate our little hearts out.
That put us into super chill mode, Dad was smart.
He would feed our soul with things to do and then take us
to delicious places to eat , like the Thai joint on Bayard st.
Cheap and delicious. He would always order the Full fish,
head an all.
We would settle in to watch Hitchcock or National Geo.
He would have us learning Chess or
School us on all the pressure points in our feet....
and then the next day ~ it was our turn to show him where
they were. He had the most beautiful toes an feet.
I virtually learned the neighborhood because we would walk
everywhere.
It was rough keeping up with those those super longlegs of his.
My friends would always say my Dad was the tallest Dad they
ever saw.
Six foot 3". That;s right and super Skinny.
Dad was working at the Public Theatre. Those enormous Banners flowing
in the air as we would approach the side entrance in. The Landmark for me
was that crazy Super giant Black cube that resided in the
middle of the road.....
Or the orange red brick of the 49thStreet Train Station ..where we would always hit
the Howard Johnson's prior to a performance or after a rehearsal.
Chris and I would hang out in the tiny little box seats off to the side
of the stage. He with his MatchBox Cars and Me with my Barbies.
The box seats with red velvet curtains was our little playpen.
I wonder sometimes how Dad got away with bringing us with him to
his broadway rehearsals. I think it was Joel Zwick that came back there once
and told us to keep it down. I was mortified. It;s a way to learn how to be mindful.
This I learned well growing up around the theatre. I respect all the ups and downs
that my father;s journey brought to my journey.
We were trusted to sit tight, in the audience,
so young.... awaiting the dimming of the lights. It took everything in me not to
tell everyone seated around me ~ how mY DAD WAS PERFORMING>
I knew every song, every line....
I spent my life....well........ eighty some odd days of it A year~
observing, listening, and learning how my father morphed into a new
person for each and every play he ever did before he moved to Minneapolis.
And at that point I was older and following my own path ~ as most college students
do.
Dad ,just living his life, was a pure installation.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
A reason for giving Thanks.....
I give thanks to the day my Dad and Mom
made me.
I remember the day my Dad left my Mom.
It was devastating, but he was always there
for me. He taught me to love , and to forgive,
he was the most compassionate man.
He listened to me and sat with me.
He taught me how to play Chess
and Frisbee. He spent time with me.
He took my freezing little hands inside of his
and blew his warmth upon them while
we waited in line for Radio City Music Hall
to open their doors.
And although the separation of his daily
presence was hard, our time was all about quality.
Not quantity.
Alot of things are confusing when we're young.
I give thanks for the confusion and the chaos
I endured in my early childhood
because I believe it made me
who I am today.
If my Dad hadn;t left us , I wouldn;t have had the
awesome experiences that his journey
brought upon my life.
His spirit is in me,
every nook and cranny ,
every particle of his is in me.
My stories are his stories from angles and angels
only prescribed for us.
This year , November 22 , 2015, at 6:44 pm~ Our Dad decided it was time to go.
To go where the clouds hug the top of the mountains.
I am greatful to my father for holding on the way he did.
Me , my brother and my little sister & little brother and
mother , all climbed
into his bed as he transitioned into a whole new place.
One of the last times I spoke to my Dad
he asked me to see this movie.
Starry Starry Night
I think he knew he was going home soon.
Nothing can ever prepare one for the finality
of physical absence that happens when
someone passes on.
I know he;s just in the other room, but I can;t
wait to feel his hugs again.
Darling Little Daddy
made me.
I remember the day my Dad left my Mom.
It was devastating, but he was always there
for me. He taught me to love , and to forgive,
he was the most compassionate man.
He listened to me and sat with me.
He taught me how to play Chess
and Frisbee. He spent time with me.
He took my freezing little hands inside of his
and blew his warmth upon them while
we waited in line for Radio City Music Hall
to open their doors.
And although the separation of his daily
presence was hard, our time was all about quality.
Not quantity.
Alot of things are confusing when we're young.
I give thanks for the confusion and the chaos
I endured in my early childhood
because I believe it made me
who I am today.
If my Dad hadn;t left us , I wouldn;t have had the
awesome experiences that his journey
brought upon my life.
His spirit is in me,
every nook and cranny ,
every particle of his is in me.
My stories are his stories from angles and angels
only prescribed for us.
This year , November 22 , 2015, at 6:44 pm~ Our Dad decided it was time to go.
To go where the clouds hug the top of the mountains.
I am greatful to my father for holding on the way he did.
Me , my brother and my little sister & little brother and
mother , all climbed
into his bed as he transitioned into a whole new place.
One of the last times I spoke to my Dad
he asked me to see this movie.
Starry Starry Night
I think he knew he was going home soon.
Nothing can ever prepare one for the finality
of physical absence that happens when
someone passes on.
I know he;s just in the other room, but I can;t
wait to feel his hugs again.
Darling Little Daddy
Sunday, May 9, 2010
It's Mother's Day, everyday really though.......
I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.
~Eleanor Roosevelt
Being that Mother's Day has landed upon my Son's 10th birthday, today,
I feel overjoyed!
I am so not about these Hallmark celebrations. I mean, Mother;s day is
everyday to me.WELL!¿YEAH, SURE WHYNOT!
I like the fact that I can celebrate my son's life.
Now there's a reason to celebrate!
The Jehovahs
have something with the whole NOn-celebratory way of life.
( IN a way.)
Perhaps having had 4 kids -age ranging from 20 yr;s young
to 5 years old has me jaded¿
Maybe not, if anything , it has made me aware
of the consumerism in me and the disease of more the has potential in alot of us.
I have found that less is more. Unadhering , now there's a task.
Too much stuff leaves us displaced
and unappreciative of the things we already posses.
We become Much like frenzied sharks!
Perhaps "they" should move the holidays around, the way a
leap year works.
I do believe I would have more appreciation towards something
that didn;t seem to roll around far too often.
Birthdays are fine year to year.
A nice homemade meal
followed by
a yummy cake as per the birthday boys spec./s and whoever can
make it , makes it.
Actually, we can celebrate any day!!!
Like the Ice Cream truck that rings.....the first few times... it's novel
and scrounging for quarters frantically seems almost fun.
Until, the novelty wears thin , as does washing a pair of sticky hands
& chins to match.
It;s just the same , when listening to a Cd over and over again....you come to expect the
next song. The Radio can be refreshing as it delivers the unknown:
Although, you may know the song....lyrics and all,
it;s thaT you didn;t know it was coming!
It's ,totally, The lack of expectation.
The curiosity for the unknown.
It's refreshing to have a change of pace.
The expectation seems to ruin everything.
Like the whole gift giving thing,
my kids came to me~
They said,
"Mom, I didn't get you anything this year.But I got you this card!"
NICE!!!
I'm thinking....that;s cool. If you see something for someone and it yells their name
by all means....it's meant to be. But, why settle for something, "OH I FOUND YOU THIS
HORRIBLE SHIRT>>>AND ,you better not, DON:T RETURN IT>>BY ALL MEANS.......
~~THEY"LL KNOW YOU HATED IT~~
SO A WASTED 30DOLLARS SITS DEEP INSIDE THE DRAWER>>>
A gift card would be a better idea but then
how IMPERSONAL.?!
How about we just spend the time together and bake a nice
homemade cake.?!!
Forget the card, forget the gift.
Isn;t the gift IN the 'TIME' spent together¿!!
This Day ,10 years ago,
I woke up fearful that the Dr.'s
would have to induce labor and at 4;30pm ~
God
saw to it , Naturally~ my water broke
By 728pm, I gave birth to Zeb.
No painkillers, all natural.
NOw that's an unexpected pAIN...YOU'LL
NEVER "KNOW"...UNless You have done it......((He was my second all natural birth
experience.))
Believe me the "knowing" somehow dissipates over time.
The inability to remember the pain alone
serves as a friendly sort of birth control.
Perhaps all mother's would walk with only one child.
I read somewhere that if a woman dare enter the Mans
world of Jewish Mysticism they would have to bare atleast 4 children
and be the ,minimum, age of 42 before She could begin her studies.
Somehow the multitasking,patience, (which I lack graciously)
and courage
it takes to shape young children into young adults
magically awakens a sort of longevity
in your personal & spiritual life.
If anything, on this Mother's day,I reflect in light....
my children are God's Divine Light,
sacred vessels in my life.
Delivering me life long lessons.
My Children have awakened a curiosity
within me. That life is what you make it.
My Father used to say to me,
"When your bored , it means your boring."
As little mirrors, they reflect my many faults and character defects.
They reflect my light and my dark.
Children are so free giving me love freely
in all the many colors we share as humans,
Allowing me to live and learn
always forgiving me and loving me anyway.
Showing me the way, through pains
of an acquired and attached elderly ego....that
only develops over time here in this material plane.
There are no guarantees that College will
land you thAT EXTRA SPECIAL JOB! or
That Married life will bring fulfillment
on every level,,,,
or that
Sunday MASS for the rest of your life will
have you living in Heaven for Eternity.....
that when you are born,
then you will grow, & then grow up, & then grow old
and then die ~that you will go live in heaven for
eternity........no guarantees,,,NOPE.
I'm having a hard enough time growing up
not particularly growing old, seems
good "OLD TIME" needs no helping me there.....
However, my curiosity keeps me young
my children keep me younger!
My fascination with the mere
24hours before me
keeps my thirst for living
in the moments alive.....
that either I choose to make the moments mine
or choose to let them go with the wind!
The chance of letting go,
perhaps Leaves the door of that given experience closed
4 ever.......
that essentially
ACKNOWLEDGING regret
will age me quicker then
walking through my fears of life's
circumstance ~
finding out
"it" was meant to be
((( whatever "it" was that was there waiting for me after all)))
Knowing that where I stand , looking out the window,
there must be a door somewhere too.
The curiosity of the unknown lures me along in this life of mine,
giving me much reverence for my children and living life on life;s terms.
If I stay home all the time and do nothing but shovel shit against the tide
day in an day out
I will never know who I am
or who I want to be when I grow up....
Nor will I learn life lessons....
As Annie Oakley Said, "Housework is work directly opposed to the possibility of human self-actualization.
~Ann Oakley~
HAPPY MOTHER"S DAY MOM!
I LOVE YOU.
THANK YOU FOR LIFE and showing me how
Perseverance and forgiveness
are so linked to the youth you Emanate.
and of course a thank you to my dad
whom without his part
Mom couldn;t have birthed me an my brother.
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