In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replies, “why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later. “Nonsense,” says the other. “There is no life after delivery. What would that life be?” “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths.” The other says “This is absurd! Walking is impossible. And eat with our mouths? Ridiculous. The umbilical cord supplies nutrition. Life after delivery is to be excluded. The umbilical cord is too short.” “I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here.” the other replies, “No one has ever come back from there. Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery it is nothing but darkness and anxiety and it takes us nowhere.” “Well, I don’t know,” says the other, “but certainly we will see mother and she will take care of us.” “Mother??” You believe in mother? Where is she now? “She is all around us. It is in her that we live. Without her there would not be this world.” “I don’t see her, so it’s only logical that she doesn’t exist.” To which the other replied, “sometimes when you’re in silence you can hear her, you can perceive her.” I believe there is a reality after delivery and we are here to prepare ourselves for that reality.
In preparation for my mother’s 89th birthday, I was going through her old pictures and files and came across the most amazing series of letters which I have dubbed “the War of the Hoses.” My mother was a WAC in WWII and served very proudly. In 1946 she and some of the girls discovered that nylons, which were very hard to find in the USA, were much more affordable in Mexico! So being based in Texas, they crossed the border. And so the saga begins…
I just loved this story because it so speaks to the women of WWII as well as the innocence of this earlier time. Not going to Mexico to smuggle meth, just pantyhose. What’s a girl to do, after all?? Next year, Mom turns 90, God willing.
Click the link below to read the War of the Roses letters
War of the Hoses (Lewenz)2
A young woman who was visiting with her neighbor saw that she was in stirring the soup she was making with a large wooden knife. She walked back to her house and then returned to the neighbor with a beautifully crafted soup spoon and presented this to her friend.
“Oh i could not take this,” said the friend, “it is too nice.”
“Take it,” answered the other, “in my house it is only a spoon. In your house it is a cherished gift.”
Summer Afternoon Lying against the sand endlessly active eyes peer out from my water-filled, resting head. “All men are created equal,” he’d said. “All people are created equally,” I’d corrected him aware that the slight was unnecessary. Through the grass and burning, sun-baked body the short, chubby legs of an inquisitive two year old appear a wet Irish Setter attracts her Chinese eyes. “It’s human nature to be dissatisfied,” he’d said. “People always seek to satisfy greater sets of needs,” he’d said. “Think of the Maslovian hierarchy,” he’d said. Turning eyes down an oversized, purple derriere smiles to me adjusting a stone-filled sandal. My head rolls to the other side of the beach. Plump black stems fold into a contrastingly white baggy diaper and laughs as funny Daddy’s glasses slide down her pebble nose. “No. Social inequalities require dissatisfaction,” I’d said. “The hungry don’t know about Maslow,” I’d said. Thin yellow thighs relieve the child of the inquisitive nose of the Setter. A strong wind blows over the beach and everybody shudders.
I’d like a milk chocolate Lawyer Bar please and I want a peppermint Doctor Stick please And an Accountant Cluster for Stevie please “And what would you like, Timmy?” I would like a Businessman Bar without almonds please And an actress’s day Dream Mint for Jenny please and a two scoop Vanilla A Frame with four children and a dog please And a taffy condominium for Peter with a chocolate covered wife and mint golf clubs for the weekend please And Joey wants a Chocolate Sunday with more nuts than Daddy’s please And could you make mine three scoops ‘cause the Jones’ already have two please “And what do you want to be when you grow up, Susan?” When I grow up I would like to be me please without almonds.
The Little Old Lady stands in the street waiting as they repossess her shoe her welfare’s been cut her power’s been shut and she’s lost her children too. Mr. Jack Spratt has learned to eat fat ‘cause there’s nothing else on his plate his wife’s not so lean she’s strong and she’s mean when he returns from the bar too late. And Little Jack Horner stands in the corner his eyes are black and blue his mother was mad now he’s waiting for Dad who’ll make his arms and legs that way too. The Sneeches with stars march through the stores and the bars demanding and equal share and those Sneeches without from Washington shout and the military quiet the affair. While Jack’s up the hill giving his all to Jill he leaves her with 2 months to decide But she didn’t know her school couldn’t show and now there’s a seed growing inside. It’s 20th century make believe everyone plays – no one believes and the Butcher has saved the moon. But when this story is told and all the children are old and the make believe has ceased They’ll sit at the table and dream if they’re able while Mother Goose is the Thanksgiving feast.
In the early evening of this small, mid-western town all faces hurry homeward all eyes turned toward the ground. There are no sounds of laughter or cheerful voices to neighbors greet only silent, fearful glances and the sounds of busy feet. The silence goes unbroken as do the unspoken laws; the travelers never touching nor stopping without cause. It’s a sea of loneliness heading for each private bay where isolation will protect them ‘till they need emerge – for another day.
Pinky DeLong sat on the wrong stoop as he beckoned the day. He celebrated his sun, as she had begun to conquer the moon again. He yawned as she dawned and she beamed as he leaned on the brick post at the fore of his bed. While he languished in her glory, she passed the third story and rested at the top of the bank. Then his eyes met the wagon, the eight-eyed dragon whose pious reverence was only for him. So with a smile on his face and his morning wad in place he expectorated the morning at them. Then scratching as he pleased he rose to his knees and gathered his bed to his back. He walked rather bent, yet smiled as he went enjoying the thrill of another day. His body filled with mirth as he delighted in the birth and his victory over the frozen world. For the joy that life lacked, his love would bring back when he woke to her morning kiss. He felt her warm at his side and deep down inside off walked Pinky DeLong.
A room full of shadows, lost to naked walls. Silent, lonely dancers--filling faceless, empty stalls. Endless nothingness -- "Forever Free" or the captives of tomorrow, by the whims of destiny. The wheel turns freely, if carried only by the tide, and the passengers stand watching, when all the crew have died. It is a precarious world, with curtains drawn; forever dark and nescient – knowledgeless of dawn.