72 hours

1.A fundraiser for my brother in law who has kidney cancer, he is 46 years old.

2. Flooding in my loft space, it is from the people up stairs. They are either swimming or waterskiing in a kitchen? They are extreme sports.

3. I am not in a medieval cellar, only in a postmodern sub basement, living on love: yeah right!

He tells what I want to hear:
“Baby! I want you to be a success. Baby! I want to be by your side. Honey I will call.
Honey, or Honey. “ I would rather be stung by a socialist worker bee.
Then swallow anymore Honey’s. Get our minds out of the postmodern cellar, before the
Queen gets you, yeah baby! Off with his head.

5. My class I am teaching is going really well until my lcd lamp burnt out, now it will take
a few days to get a new one.

6. I am sitting here in evl coding/programming my piece, I wonder if I am all here today.? Did you never feel as if you’re a palm leaf with your veins exposed to the world. I ask myself why? I guess only God/Goddess knows that answer. I pray and kneel and curtsy to spring rain tunes as I bike down Green street in the early morning.

7. I spoke to my father today, he is his eighties, struggling to get the stories out. His mind stops for a while. Then he goes into high gear. He remembered fishing on the Chicago Avenue concrete pier with Tony Gordy, who was married to his sister Rose. My Aunt Rose died early from a heart condition at around 37 or so. I remember, she was so beautiful, tiny fragile like a piece of angel hair pasta with wings waiting to go to heaven.

My dad told me he and Tony, her husband would fish for perch. They would use a troller
line and put a little bell on it. As he and my Uncle Tony walked up and down the pier with line the bell would ring if a perch nibbled on the bait. He remembered the bell ringing,
His voice was so clear and is mind was so clear right then, it was as if my dad was
young. again. It must have been the post depression Chicago perch.

We have to move my parents down to chi town from a small Wisconsin town. You see, my parents moved up there over 30 years ago, and now we have to move them back to the city. I am so happy to have my parents back.

All the angry is boiled out this eldest daughter, I have come to terms with my own fate. It is heaven & hell on earth together. My parents will be married 60 years on the Solstice, they are magic to my ears.

They were the youngest of their large families. Both have my parents had twin brothers and sisters. My parents met right after the war. My dad candled eggs (a great job for a post war infantry man), and my mom was in an all girl band with her twin sister, Shirley.
My mom and dad met at the Oak Park Arms one night when my mother and her sister where playing.

I remember when my mother sold her alto sax in a garage sale. I swore I would make my art until I dropped after I experienced that. My mother basically give up her music (sold out?, to take care of me?), and so did her sister. All her brothers and sisters played an instrument.

My dad wanted to be a painterly type of visual artist and my mother was a swing musician. So what happens to their artistic urges because of social class (money, status?). My mother worked in a factory making envelopes. She used to bring work home; she made envelopes at home so she could baby-sit us. I remember helping to stack them in boxes. I was a neat little row stuffed in between the envelopes.

My dad worked as a bread delivery guy for a while, but he wound up a carpenter under the slavery training of a certain Uncle. When he was in the army over seas fighting in Africa or Sicily or Italy, he would send home pictures he would draw on his letters. I saw them. It times of stress I make creative work, to ease my soul, my father did too while he was fighting World War 2.

I guess for me what is sad as my parents age. They didn’t pick up the brush and the sax and play together in some creative way!

God I long for a creative partner, I guess that’s what I want. I am projecting my desires on my parents or in some way fate is using me, teasing me, driving me. With my muses, my parents.

I could never figure out WHY my Uncle Certain could afford all those new Caddy’s?
Well now I know…

Dammmmmmmmmmmm isn’t the cycle of life special?

Bye for now:

Josephine Lipuma all rights reserved. 2004


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