Saudade

Saudade missing ~ echoes of your footsteps gone ~ bees humming in heart. #haiku

carolineauthor

Saudade a Portuguese and Galician word for longing for someone or some past event that I was fond of which is now lost. It has closure. The object of missing may never return. The love that remains, and the love that stays after someone is gone. In love relationships we nurture and the other may leave out of balance. Our children we care for must go to find their destiny. When a dear one passes away the feeling as if they were calling us in the hour before we wake. 

Hold fragile shells for me.

Caroline Gerardo

copyright August 6 2016

Peony

Peonies Poem

Sweet peas open over hillsides of the dump.

A closed landfill, named for a historic battle 

where Natives buried unaccounted.

Methane feeds flowers, glory sunset, 

launching torches of perfume.

Peonies are my 'besties;  

I've rose patents

certificate Master Gardener, 

but children won't listen

when I strum Richie Blackmore.

Peonies don't care for heavy metal.

Farmer's Almanac spouts herbaceous  

require certain cool nature.

My parents were screamers.

Never hit mine. 

My knee required stitches, 

after two weeks 

dentist said, 

"OOH, too late for pediatrician,

sewing was needed."

Wounds heal with care - not time.  

Treasures prefer relaxing Epsom baths.

Ghosts jump from 

blue plastic tarps brittle, pillows

and bobs needing recycling.

I worked, planned, cried, 

worked planned

did I do enough 

by myself?

Peonies 

Please

tell 

them

your

secrets.

Caroline Gerardo copyright 3/28/2016 Peony Poem

Natural Organic Easter Eggs

Organic Easter Egg Dyes from

turmeric, nasturtium, lavender, borage, 

celery leaves and fever-few

all edible flowers and plant material

Cut flowers from garden.

Put a teaspoon of vinegar into each color bowl

I used a mortar and pestle but you could just cut up and smash

Add flowers into vinegar and tablespoon warm water

Paint or soak boiled eggs with the colors and have fun

Okay some of my Easter eggs are great but the lavender ones look grey, and paprika turns out ugly

My children are college age but they still like a little holiday fun

Christmas letter

Dear
Must not have your correct address.
Last I wrote it returned to sender.

Taking the wallpaper down.
Endangered Lady Gouldians danced
on roses in kitchen and family room.
You hated on the toile.
Men saw it as grandmotherly.
Realtor says remove all toys.
Cried not when fingers bled,
at snow white walls superior
to silly frills that create happy.

It won't be my home anymore.
Owners mow heirloom climbers.
Petals look unruly, roll out sod.
Take photos when it's sold.

We have a tiny tree
fuller than a Charlie Brown's,
popcorn strung, cranberries
and cuties with cloves in patterns.
Quite opposite my giant jeweled
Christmas tree of gold.






In the garden hangs a popcorn ball
with peanut butter and thistle seeds.
Care for the song birds.
French braid never gets old.

Christmas wish to your happiness.
I miss you all.




My children grow stronger.
Teaching them to fly.
Academy of independence.
Keep your sense of direction.
Stay the course for joy.

With Love,
Caroline Gerardo 2015 Christmas Poem

Empty Nest

Grief in the plan.

Children's solo guardian: expect change.

But doesn't fit, jeans sizes small. 

Throw out expensive pair or work on body?

Dropped off my son to college four weeks ago.

I didn't cry.

Kept brave.

Days slip stolen by menopause and hackers.

Found lotto tickets never checked.

Liquor store guy says, "old- if you won they won't pay."

Book of Isaiah 65?

Don't offer food and wine to the gods...
bribery spoils luck

Fortunate to adore my children.

Guiltless give them everything.

Pack up worry ~ it weeds no garden.

Revisions on the next book finished.

Begin the next story.

Please Stop by, 

share abundance of zebra striped tomatoes.

I'll give you a bag. 

Pick the herbs you need.
Sage, basil and thyme in gemstone colors.

Just don't call me an empty nester.

Caroline Gerardo
poem October 2015

Nest in the woods

Sending your children off to fly on their own

The rail road path ahead in life

I have a photo of my two on this whale when they were toddlers. Here they are now 2015 in Santa Cruz California

Hike to the waterfall north of Big Sur

On the way  home from dropping off at college hike
Caroline Gerardo Empty Nest Poem
copyright 2015

http://www.marcopoloartsmag.com/#Lost-Angeles
My poem Lost Angeles in Marco Polo Arts Magazine

Lost Angeles

Adam speaks now.

In sentences, not only pointing, expressing hunger or the need to potty. The moment happened in between answering emails, and smelling meatloaf. A divination performed without a rod.

“Is it still edible, or goes to the dogs, or will it bring bad omens?”

A kite found.

I am no expert at flying, you have the pilot license, my wings clipped. A parakeet hops on the granite countertops tossed aside. My lost angel wings from Halloween sold in the garage sale.

“I determine to glide the thin hawk.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom ’les go to Crestwood Hills Park. You run fast.” He brings the string wadded up, “No stroller, I’m a big boy.” It’s a simple kite, not a tetrahedral box of infinite variant. I cut messengers arcs of origami pieces of lavender paper. Neat slits in the centers thread holes. The string slides through to the prayer button.

“ ’les put a note to Dad on them.”

A respectable height.

We count slug bugs. Adam waves at the man with cardboard sign: Maps to Stars homes. The smell of summer dirt mixes on Adams hands and pocket rocks in the washing machine. Los Angeles County court system does not adjudicate to the best interests of children.

“I am blessed with hours never to be replaced by ghosts or movies.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom, mmm peanut butter. My kite’s great.” He pats the thin frame before my dash. Down the hill, I sail pulled by the framework towards heaven. Catching wind chants my parachute propelling on L.A. Westside air. My breath blows night blooming jasmine, “Jupiter and Venus dance together in the sky.”

We lift off.

Mapping the Novel for November

The Road Ahead, Caroline Gerardo copyright October 2011

Embarking upon an adventure, my team is ready, the cupboards and garage refrigerator are full who else is doing Nanowritmo? I have my plans, my note cards of research, the composition book full, the white story board – well it is waiting for all the information to unfold. I would label myself a very organized “pantser” as I do not know the ending until I am done. I allow the story to direct me in the first draft.


Here is my plan: 65000 words by November 24th. I will have not a full first draft but a rough without an ending, or perhaps three ending ideas. That is over three thousand words a day, a pace I have managed daily but I include blog posts as warm ups, poetry and shorts in my count. I will only work on the novel. I have a couple titles in my head, and this too is subject to shift.

My children have agreed to take on the feeding of the pets (in Laguna Niguel we have two dogs, two turtles, an elderly flop eared bunny and yes the hummingbird feeders need attention). They agreed to split up a couple of my chores so I can get up at five and start my quiet hours of writing at the kitchen table. It is in the morning I get the most productive writing done. I don’t have the luxury of a silent space to work in. Yes I have a room of my own, (several) but being a single mom with no relief I can’t lock myself away. My team has come upon the settlement that we don’t watch television, mom writes with her gnarly baseball hat and they read or complete homework. We play games and are intensely competitive to work for goals. Nannowritmo is just as serious as when my son and I had the month long chin up challenge. I build up to eleven, and I felt really strong about it until I suffered tendonitis, but that’s another story.

So who else is doing Nano and what challenges do you find ahead? What will you do if the laptop fails or there is a power outage for days? Let us share our triumphs and cheer each other on to the finish. How will you balance your home life, your day job and will you remember to pay the cell phone bill? I will be limiting my online reading, less blogging, but I will chat about progress and check on you by twitter.

@ cgbarbeau is my handle



Caroline Gerardo © copyright 2011

Do Not Blow Kisses At The Bus Stop Mom

This is Napoleon enjoying the baseball game, it gets cold at night in the canyon. Thinking about a discussion I enjoyed about our children (for both of us our youngest becoming independant).
There comes a time when children tell you, "Mom don't be blowing kisses when you drop me off."
For my oldest, she wanted me to be a block away from anything that indicated babyness when she turned nine. My youngest has now reached the stage at fourteen where he no longer holds my hand. Fortunately he is still loving at home.
The friend's son told her last year, " Mom don't be using your funny voice to say Hi XXX (son's name) in public."
At what point do I stop advising my children to wear a sweatshirt or carry an umbrella because it is raining?

   I relate it to the characters in my writing. I am working on this novel, now renamed Lucky. The leading man, well he is a boy for most of the story, is a very disturbed guy. I have put him through the rings of fire and poked him until he now has all kinds of personality twitches. At what point do I let him go and say, I'm done?

   I still want to go back and re-edit works which are published. So many little quirks I missed. It is as if a writer is Doctor Frankenstien who is never satisfied with his work.

   This photograph I took last night of Napoleon. He is a pug, cheering our team, the Beavers ( yes really they chose the Oregon Beavers name horrible as that may sound to yell "Go Beavers"... I side track there). So is it O. K. to keep being a Mom to everyone around me?

   My son had three night games this week. It has been hectic keeping up with writing to my goal therefore this weekend I have piles of Thomas Moore Care of the Soul chores - gardening, laundry, taxes, errands... where will I find the time?