behind every face is a mask. here is mine.

i was eleven when people were

so kind,

complimenting my intelligence and

claiming that math and english came so easily to me.

i was twelve when people began

stealing my well-written essays,

while whispering lies

about how i was helping them

be better.

i was thirteen when people decided to

hate the fact that

i was smart.

spreading rumors, being my friend

for answers,

became common.

i was fourteen when people called me

perfect.

not as praise,

but to mock me,

to raise jokes about the

girl who “never even tries.”

and now i am fifteen.

i am not perfect.

there is a mask of

high marks

and

a disciplined daughter.

but behind that,

you’ll see the

self-hate and tears

and long nights of paranoia

and minutes that feel like

hours

of anxiety,

all pouring out into

that test

that i

earned

an A on.

How awful is it to be sitting here among friends as well as strangers in this house of mourning, so many I know are wise in the ways of the heart, but there are a few that have the heart of fools and if I didn’t know any better, I would say their mirth is barely concealed over this somber moment.

Perhaps they are thinking when the will is read they will get something, but I know better since I am the attorney who will read the contents. Only two people will inherit the wealth and property, and even then, a portion of that wealth is bound for charity.

The heart of many fools reside here today, but only two with the heart of the wise, will walk away, not just richer in wealth, but wiser for being loved by one man who chose to love the few, and slightly acknowledge the many.

When this day is done, the mourning will still continue for the fools who thought they had something coming.

Now that, is a true sense of mirth even I can chuckle over.

________

As I felt the use of the epigraph was far too long for a title, I intermingled this epigraph from The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton – "The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth."

Winding up 

the mechanism

of a heart

twist twist

till it stops 

...till starts

He always wanted

a Dali... 

to turn

lazy susan like

to ice the cake

and take it out, melt it

and make it over...

finally address 

the horologe

by the fire...

He always wanted

a Dali...

to remember

himself by

#inthespiritof #crumbs #challenge

Oh, it crumbles. The cookie follows the Dao, just like everyone else. My greed, to get that perfectly soaked mouthful, will lead to forgetting rashly this vital rule.

When i was at elementary, soneone would always pick me up from school and deposit me in my grandparent's home. I would spend the late afternoon watching cartoons and being spoiled . my grandfather would call me either a "nasher" or a "fresser" both Yiddish words to perfectly decribe my insatiable appetite for sweets. The sweets, mainly cookies, were kept on a high cupboard, just above an ugly wooden tv and stereo cabinet. Obviously from an early age, i wanted more than i got, and did my besr to get some. But my grandfather would normally catch me before my crime was committed.

One day, he was snoozing on the couch, and i had long since finished the cookies that i was given. So i quietly opened the tv cabinet and climbed over the thin wooden shelves. They held my weight, as i moved upwards, stepping on the glass casing of their record player. (They had a lot of love for classical). The casing didn't break either.

I was excited. I had never climbed so far. I reached up and opened the cupboard doors. And took out the cookie jar. I took out 7-8 cookies, stuffing all my pockets, and climbed back down. My grandfather didnt see a thing.

Back to the cartoon. Back to my glass of milk. Oh..that glass.

I dipped the coockies, one by one, by they all fell apart, drowning in the liquid.

After i sunk so many cookies, i decided to free the imnersed coockies. I took a spoon and tried to ladel the soggy bottom to my mouth. But just as i was greedy about how much to dip the cookie, i was too greedy about the spoon. I tried to raise as much as i could. To dredge the swamp in High mounds that could somehow make up for the fact that i didn't have any actual cookies eaten.

So I'm holding this huge mound of soggy, brown, stolen, melted cookie, and tried to stuff my self, when i notice my grandfather looking at me, quietly. I was caught!

In panic, i dropped all the cookie-paste all over myself. ..

My grandfather was not amused...

That's when they stopped keeping candy there. It took me a long while to be able to get at the new stash...

***

Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.

~ Charles Dudley Warner

(and his friend Mark Twain, who took the quote and ran with it.)

***

Weather, you’re either too hot or too cold.

This temperature extreme is getting old.

Maybe most people wouldn’t be so glum

if you would just settle on a happy medium.

Oh, wait. I forgot. We control the weather.

Let’s roll up our sleeves and save the world together!