About Me
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
The Past
I Just downloaded some pictures from the past. The year was 1974, Our Blue house was a great place to be child.I forgot the warmth of my sisters as we embraced for family pictures. Their Was no indifference in each of us. The purpose was too be a family unit. Every Year we would go camping after school. My Mother and Father taught me structure and patterns. Mother would cook the same meals every week. Homemade spaghetti on Sunday. I would remember the sauce would bubble on the ceiling from the big aluminum pot. Mother would make homemade Meatballs as hearty as Rocks. The whole house would smell like garlic and Love. I would always get the clove, I think mother put it on my plate just to get a laugh. Brenda and Julie shared a room with Sue. Their would be three sisters all together, and I was the only boy. I was envious because they would not let me in their room. My sister Julie was a avid reader. The two other sisters would pick on her every night. Brenda would push her in the closet, and she would fall for it every time. Sue would ask Julie to get a glass of water and hide in her bed and scare her, she fell for it every time.
Julie my sister who just passed away last spring and I had a special relationship. I do not ever remember her in my room much. But if I was gone for a while I would find her Kleenex under my pillow. Julie would go into my room to get away from her other sisters to read. I never read her books as a child, but I would gaze at their covers. Julie has every Wizard of oz book. I would look at there Illustrations and Imagine what adventures my sister Julie was reading her way through,. I was a go outside and play kid.
Brenda and Sue were always doing different things. The House would have three different plots going on at the same time. Looking at those black and white photo's is a blessing. I started to remember the things we did as a family unit. We would eat dinner together, and Dad always came home every night. Like I said we were always in a pattern, Tuna casserole on Monday, Pot pies on Tuesday, and pork chops on Wednesday. Mother always had a cookie jar full of homemade cookies. Our friends always new Mother would feed them.
We had many pets, a cat a dog and a parakeet. Their was always something making noises in the house. When Brenda would practice her clarinet, Oscar the dog would howl. Sue my sister always was having a skit getting recorded on the tape recorder, and Julie was listening too her awful Barry Manilow Albums. The picture's show us as small children, or teens below this, mother always would make our bed, pack our lunches,and always tucked me in at night. Mother would hem clothes with them on us and poke us with the needle, it drove me nuts.
The birthdays were awesome, all of my sisters friends would come over, and mother would have them make homemade pizzas.The girls would stay up all night, and I would get kicked out of the basement. I was always the witness not the perpetrator. The basement was always the place to be.
The days of 1974 and 1975 were peaceful. The sisters were not all seperated as in college. We took vacations together as a family. It was a good time in the Blue house(The family house).
Julie my sister who just passed away last spring and I had a special relationship. I do not ever remember her in my room much. But if I was gone for a while I would find her Kleenex under my pillow. Julie would go into my room to get away from her other sisters to read. I never read her books as a child, but I would gaze at their covers. Julie has every Wizard of oz book. I would look at there Illustrations and Imagine what adventures my sister Julie was reading her way through,. I was a go outside and play kid.
Brenda and Sue were always doing different things. The House would have three different plots going on at the same time. Looking at those black and white photo's is a blessing. I started to remember the things we did as a family unit. We would eat dinner together, and Dad always came home every night. Like I said we were always in a pattern, Tuna casserole on Monday, Pot pies on Tuesday, and pork chops on Wednesday. Mother always had a cookie jar full of homemade cookies. Our friends always new Mother would feed them.
We had many pets, a cat a dog and a parakeet. Their was always something making noises in the house. When Brenda would practice her clarinet, Oscar the dog would howl. Sue my sister always was having a skit getting recorded on the tape recorder, and Julie was listening too her awful Barry Manilow Albums. The picture's show us as small children, or teens below this, mother always would make our bed, pack our lunches,and always tucked me in at night. Mother would hem clothes with them on us and poke us with the needle, it drove me nuts.
The birthdays were awesome, all of my sisters friends would come over, and mother would have them make homemade pizzas.The girls would stay up all night, and I would get kicked out of the basement. I was always the witness not the perpetrator. The basement was always the place to be.
The days of 1974 and 1975 were peaceful. The sisters were not all seperated as in college. We took vacations together as a family. It was a good time in the Blue house(The family house).
Pioneer Park Ritual
I have photos from Pioneer park. We would go thier right when school was out. The whole family would live in a tent for at least two weeks. This went on for many years. I have many fond memories of being with my sisters. Julie and Sue are in the picture below. Iam in the other one with Oscar the dog.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Ronald McDonald Reincarnated as Jesus Christ
Ronald McDonald fed five-thousand
The crowded feasted on burgers and fries.
Declaring LOUDLY on the hill
"I come from the land of milkshakes and apple pies."
"Son of Ray Crock"
The mass of people waited for miracles.
Receiving no answers.
They crowned him with a hairnet.
Nailing his big shoes and white gloved hands to the Tall Golden Arches.
As Grimace wept.
They wanted a Prophet.
But he was just a Clown
Tony Moulds- dedicated to the fast food industry
The crowded feasted on burgers and fries.
Declaring LOUDLY on the hill
"I come from the land of milkshakes and apple pies."
"Son of Ray Crock"
The mass of people waited for miracles.
Receiving no answers.
They crowned him with a hairnet.
Nailing his big shoes and white gloved hands to the Tall Golden Arches.
As Grimace wept.
They wanted a Prophet.
But he was just a Clown
Tony Moulds- dedicated to the fast food industry
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Room Full OF ADHD VICTIMS
This was written six years ago I am doing fine, and do not regret having been through anything in my life Tony
I an a person who has been diagnosed with ADHD. My wife signed me up for a seminar on that subject. I was excited about going on it. Being the curious person I paid my eighteen dollars and met with a acquaintance from church. I had just been diagnosed with the illness so the doctors prescription of Welbutrin and Paxil was causing my mind too play tricks on me. The Doctor before my nervous breakdown prescribed Ritalin, buts that's another story.
When I was taking Ritalin I could climb mountains, walk on water, not task couldn't be accomplished. I would drive down the highway to Ludington, Michigan,cranking up too Led Zeppelin. I would gaze at the trees as they told me their secrets in my mind. The problem with the pre-breakdown state was I lived for Ritalin:it was my synthetic Jesus. I could walk and talk and listen at the same time. My personal life was great, for I could paint the bathroom and clean the garage in one day. I was a racehorse going around the track in first place, ahead of my old self. For my new shell was invincible, reckless in my world complete. Then its effects would not last long, my mind would go up and down, like a ship in a spring storm.
The day I sank was an overwhelming experience. Driving my white Service van, on the job, it hit me. The old habits were coming back, forgetfulness,anxiety, and scatterbrain. The boss and the workers were frustrated with me that I could not be the person they wanted me to be.I just wanted to be my own self something with character and individuality. Tired of the shame of failure, I wept. The tears of pain and all those years of failing, and getting backed up, dusting off my pride. I could not remove this dirt though; it was scalded on my forehead.
Snapping as a small child whose dog was ran over, I pouted and sobbed. People at work witnessed my breakdown. Giving up all responsibility to authority was a relief. Driving to the therapist, I sobbed. Talking to Wesley was a relief. Explaining to him all of my fears and doubts about today's society lightened my load. For I was helping my son Andrew with homework the day before, I was seeing a reflection of my childhood. The images were in my mind grinding my spine.
I was in third grade, and all I wanted to do was look out the window. Seeing the dust float in the room, like snowflakes in a blizzard. The round glass clocks back then had a second hand. The fluorescent lights would hum and every time the clock would click a nail would be hammered in my brain. The windows resembled bars in a juvenile prison, steel and safety glass. My desk was an electric chair, I felt strapped down, helpless. The teacher would write on the board, and the chalk on slate sounded like morbid Violin music. All I could think about was recess,riding home on the bus for lunch.
The bell would ring and we would go on the Yellow bus number five. Mrs. Mylenick was a young lady then and she was my bus driver. Dropped of a bloc from my house, the dead end road was a path to Mom's Mecca. Mother would have lunch for us. Carl Oches with his big teeth would eat lunch with us. His mother worked, so mom would feed him, somethings she's good at. Angie's food was not good enough for him though, I would cringe, as Mom would open a can of Campbell's pea soup into a old copper cauldron, simmering. He would slurp down the murky pea soup, and would refuse to eat mother's oatmeal cookies; I was insulted by his behavior, for mom's cooking is the best. After eating I would walk down to the bus stop and go back to school.School was painful for me and the memories were coming back through my son Andrew.
Falling to my knees weeping in front of Wesley, I told him about High School. I had fooled them til tenth grade. The high school counselor thought I was the same bloodline of my sisters, they had a preconceived notion of me. Assuming school was easier for me they assigned Geometry and German. Those painful G's would torture my mind. The teachers tried their best, but I could not stay focused and dropped out of college prep classed. School was something I could deal with,for it was simplified. Mother told me "I did my best and that's what matters." I have no regrets about High School.
After I gained my composure, I recalled the days of college. Those days were overwhelming, I , was a short kid with acne, but cute. The first day of college was tough, and it became tougher. Working thirty-five hours a week at Mc Donalds was overwhelming. Stressed out I contracted Mono and forgot to drop my classes. Eight weeks later I received a bill and all F's on my report card.
Getting back up is a trait of mine, for I am stubborn. The call to serve was my last chance. Leaving my Mother's skirt, I was determined to be a soldier. I barely survived, twelve years later, I married Sue, and we have three children. My life is good, but something was ticking in my brain,(Failure)-(Scatterbrain)-(Idiot) authority is something I do not like. Worked crashed down on me, and I am ready to explain later. After talking with Wesly three times, I thought I was "Cured". Having a polite conversation with my Boss, I had a list of complaints about my work conditions, demanding retribution. Assuming that my demand would be met, I Anthony D Moulds, was yelled at and told that I had a problem. Being in that position before, this meant it was time to get into fight mode. How dare this normal "prick" judge me for something I can't be, a "normal Prick." Since taking medications I can write proficiently, but you can't my mind away from me. Life is strange;for all I want to do is write down thoughts and emotions, words come at me as rapid machine gun fire, and I just try to catch the bullets in my pen as superman.
I'm sitting in a room full of ADHD ADULTS, doesn't this sound like the beginning of a tasteless joke. The Shrink tells examples of her ADHD Nephew, and the simple task of taking out the garbage. What's trash anyway, I think "Standardization is trash", we all cannot be the same. The doting Spinster Aunt explains that she has to give four steps to get the task done, or it will not be accomplished. "Take the trash out of the can and tie it up,put it in the can,roll it out to the curb, past the Mailbox." Raising my branded hand I tell her " Maybe your Nephew has different priorities than you." Then she talks about the three types of ADHD,by now I am in the third grade again, I hear the water fountain humming, the footsteps in the hallway. Rudely I ask her"Why do I have to take medications for this dis-order, I have lived with it for thirty -eight years." She has her own ADHD episode of selective hearing and doesn't answer my question.
Oh yes there are four women in this class and two men, one has his supportive wife, and I am with some friend at church . This class should be called, "How others should deal with the rarity of ADHD a gift from God." The World thinks we all should be standardized, I do not think so. What is going on in the other clinically labeled humans? I could feel the emotional fusion of brains as this Psychologist babbled about her previous Clients and how she handled them. I think she's the one with a problem. Where was I?
Tony Moulds
I an a person who has been diagnosed with ADHD. My wife signed me up for a seminar on that subject. I was excited about going on it. Being the curious person I paid my eighteen dollars and met with a acquaintance from church. I had just been diagnosed with the illness so the doctors prescription of Welbutrin and Paxil was causing my mind too play tricks on me. The Doctor before my nervous breakdown prescribed Ritalin, buts that's another story.
When I was taking Ritalin I could climb mountains, walk on water, not task couldn't be accomplished. I would drive down the highway to Ludington, Michigan,cranking up too Led Zeppelin. I would gaze at the trees as they told me their secrets in my mind. The problem with the pre-breakdown state was I lived for Ritalin:it was my synthetic Jesus. I could walk and talk and listen at the same time. My personal life was great, for I could paint the bathroom and clean the garage in one day. I was a racehorse going around the track in first place, ahead of my old self. For my new shell was invincible, reckless in my world complete. Then its effects would not last long, my mind would go up and down, like a ship in a spring storm.
The day I sank was an overwhelming experience. Driving my white Service van, on the job, it hit me. The old habits were coming back, forgetfulness,anxiety, and scatterbrain. The boss and the workers were frustrated with me that I could not be the person they wanted me to be.I just wanted to be my own self something with character and individuality. Tired of the shame of failure, I wept. The tears of pain and all those years of failing, and getting backed up, dusting off my pride. I could not remove this dirt though; it was scalded on my forehead.
Snapping as a small child whose dog was ran over, I pouted and sobbed. People at work witnessed my breakdown. Giving up all responsibility to authority was a relief. Driving to the therapist, I sobbed. Talking to Wesley was a relief. Explaining to him all of my fears and doubts about today's society lightened my load. For I was helping my son Andrew with homework the day before, I was seeing a reflection of my childhood. The images were in my mind grinding my spine.
I was in third grade, and all I wanted to do was look out the window. Seeing the dust float in the room, like snowflakes in a blizzard. The round glass clocks back then had a second hand. The fluorescent lights would hum and every time the clock would click a nail would be hammered in my brain. The windows resembled bars in a juvenile prison, steel and safety glass. My desk was an electric chair, I felt strapped down, helpless. The teacher would write on the board, and the chalk on slate sounded like morbid Violin music. All I could think about was recess,riding home on the bus for lunch.
The bell would ring and we would go on the Yellow bus number five. Mrs. Mylenick was a young lady then and she was my bus driver. Dropped of a bloc from my house, the dead end road was a path to Mom's Mecca. Mother would have lunch for us. Carl Oches with his big teeth would eat lunch with us. His mother worked, so mom would feed him, somethings she's good at. Angie's food was not good enough for him though, I would cringe, as Mom would open a can of Campbell's pea soup into a old copper cauldron, simmering. He would slurp down the murky pea soup, and would refuse to eat mother's oatmeal cookies; I was insulted by his behavior, for mom's cooking is the best. After eating I would walk down to the bus stop and go back to school.School was painful for me and the memories were coming back through my son Andrew.
Falling to my knees weeping in front of Wesley, I told him about High School. I had fooled them til tenth grade. The high school counselor thought I was the same bloodline of my sisters, they had a preconceived notion of me. Assuming school was easier for me they assigned Geometry and German. Those painful G's would torture my mind. The teachers tried their best, but I could not stay focused and dropped out of college prep classed. School was something I could deal with,for it was simplified. Mother told me "I did my best and that's what matters." I have no regrets about High School.
After I gained my composure, I recalled the days of college. Those days were overwhelming, I , was a short kid with acne, but cute. The first day of college was tough, and it became tougher. Working thirty-five hours a week at Mc Donalds was overwhelming. Stressed out I contracted Mono and forgot to drop my classes. Eight weeks later I received a bill and all F's on my report card.
Getting back up is a trait of mine, for I am stubborn. The call to serve was my last chance. Leaving my Mother's skirt, I was determined to be a soldier. I barely survived, twelve years later, I married Sue, and we have three children. My life is good, but something was ticking in my brain,(Failure)-(Scatterbrain)-(Idiot) authority is something I do not like. Worked crashed down on me, and I am ready to explain later. After talking with Wesly three times, I thought I was "Cured". Having a polite conversation with my Boss, I had a list of complaints about my work conditions, demanding retribution. Assuming that my demand would be met, I Anthony D Moulds, was yelled at and told that I had a problem. Being in that position before, this meant it was time to get into fight mode. How dare this normal "prick" judge me for something I can't be, a "normal Prick." Since taking medications I can write proficiently, but you can't my mind away from me. Life is strange;for all I want to do is write down thoughts and emotions, words come at me as rapid machine gun fire, and I just try to catch the bullets in my pen as superman.
I'm sitting in a room full of ADHD ADULTS, doesn't this sound like the beginning of a tasteless joke. The Shrink tells examples of her ADHD Nephew, and the simple task of taking out the garbage. What's trash anyway, I think "Standardization is trash", we all cannot be the same. The doting Spinster Aunt explains that she has to give four steps to get the task done, or it will not be accomplished. "Take the trash out of the can and tie it up,put it in the can,roll it out to the curb, past the Mailbox." Raising my branded hand I tell her " Maybe your Nephew has different priorities than you." Then she talks about the three types of ADHD,by now I am in the third grade again, I hear the water fountain humming, the footsteps in the hallway. Rudely I ask her"Why do I have to take medications for this dis-order, I have lived with it for thirty -eight years." She has her own ADHD episode of selective hearing and doesn't answer my question.
Oh yes there are four women in this class and two men, one has his supportive wife, and I am with some friend at church . This class should be called, "How others should deal with the rarity of ADHD a gift from God." The World thinks we all should be standardized, I do not think so. What is going on in the other clinically labeled humans? I could feel the emotional fusion of brains as this Psychologist babbled about her previous Clients and how she handled them. I think she's the one with a problem. Where was I?
Tony Moulds
Monday, January 26, 2009
Working the NightShift
I have been working the night shift for 5 years. I am a clock puncher. I never used to be a third shift person, but you got too pay bills. I am liking staying up all night, and sleeping all day. The problem is every body is on another time zone. My wife is so used to me being gone at night, we can barely sleep well at night. I worked unloading the casting furnaces last night. I haven't did that for two and a half years. thiers something exciting about unloading freshly poured airfoil castings out of a blazing hot furnace. When I place them on the cooling plate they spit hot metal around like popcorn.
While I am unloading the furnaces, breathing in graphite and fumes, I can't stop thinking about the people I have known in my life past and present. The people I care about are sleeping and dreaming while I am trying not to get burned, or ram the casting into something. When you fly a Airplane I might have unloaded the parts in the engine. Everybody has a purpose and were all important, regardless of what I or you think about the task. I did not get any time to relax for if I let my guard s down, anything could of happened. People do stuff like this everyday and I do this for one day and I felt like I was falling into a adrenaline rush, that no medication or roller coaster ride could recreate. I swept all of the work areas, cleaned all of the copper plates as big as manhole covers,and was relieved. The buzzer went off and two other people went to take over the jobs Ron and I did.
The left brained world uses time as a measurement, I count the seconds and minutes since working in a shop environment. I can calculate my paycheck too the penny from being a clock puncher. I can sense one hour in my brain for I have a internal second hand rotating around my brain. I can tell you how much money I am not making from not getting offered work on Saturday and Sunday. Everything is dived by 60, 60 seconds, sixty minutes. The trick in a factory or in a clock punching environment is to divide six by tenths. Their are six tenth es in a hour, instead 0f 10/10 it is 6miutes equals a unit. Why am explaining this to you? The environment starts to permeate my logical thinking and I never turn it off.Time cannot be redone, we cannot change the past. I am continuously feeling the Time clock click in my brain.
I envy those who have not been exposed to the Industrial curse that has been thrown on the average person. Those who have not been branded with a meter in their soul, that never stops.
Tony Moulds
While I am unloading the furnaces, breathing in graphite and fumes, I can't stop thinking about the people I have known in my life past and present. The people I care about are sleeping and dreaming while I am trying not to get burned, or ram the casting into something. When you fly a Airplane I might have unloaded the parts in the engine. Everybody has a purpose and were all important, regardless of what I or you think about the task. I did not get any time to relax for if I let my guard s down, anything could of happened. People do stuff like this everyday and I do this for one day and I felt like I was falling into a adrenaline rush, that no medication or roller coaster ride could recreate. I swept all of the work areas, cleaned all of the copper plates as big as manhole covers,and was relieved. The buzzer went off and two other people went to take over the jobs Ron and I did.
The left brained world uses time as a measurement, I count the seconds and minutes since working in a shop environment. I can calculate my paycheck too the penny from being a clock puncher. I can sense one hour in my brain for I have a internal second hand rotating around my brain. I can tell you how much money I am not making from not getting offered work on Saturday and Sunday. Everything is dived by 60, 60 seconds, sixty minutes. The trick in a factory or in a clock punching environment is to divide six by tenths. Their are six tenth es in a hour, instead 0f 10/10 it is 6miutes equals a unit. Why am explaining this to you? The environment starts to permeate my logical thinking and I never turn it off.Time cannot be redone, we cannot change the past. I am continuously feeling the Time clock click in my brain.
I envy those who have not been exposed to the Industrial curse that has been thrown on the average person. Those who have not been branded with a meter in their soul, that never stops.
Tony Moulds
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Rich facebooked me
I received a visit from my first friend who moved as a child. I thought I would write about a part of my life that was all fun and Innocent.
Rich lived on Muskegon lake, with a rolling hill to the beach. I would ride my bile 1 mile to his house, when I was in elementary school. Rich had older brothers in college so the house was quiet, except for hsi siter Becky. I loved visiting Rich, he was always doing something.
In the summer we would go to the lake, and fish off his dock. He had these cool lead soldiers, I think we would shoot them with his father's Red Ryder BB gun. I never remember seeing his Father, he was Doctor. Then we would walk to Henry's corner mart and charge candy on credit. This was the last corner store in tow. Walking in Would smell meat from the Butcher shop, and dry goods, and most of all the candy. We would pick out some candy, and Rich would sign a paper receipt.
If it was too hot Jim the neighbor boy and Rich and I would play ping-pong in the basement. This was not ordinary ping-pong it was intense. Rich's brothers left all their Beatles albums home, so we would jam To White Album and other songs on Vinyl. Rich had the coolest Hamster set up. I never saw one till I visited him. He would take them out and drop them on a big foam
pad, and they would bounce. I would walk down to the pond and thier would be a huge snapping Turtle in thier. I remember Rich telling me it would Eat Ducks. We were at a time in our life when friendship was hanging out, and having fun. Then he moved, and that moment was gone. I was devastated, I had to look for a new Friend, someone who would have fun now matter what we were doing together. Thank you Rich for sending me your text.
Tony
Thursday, January 22, 2009
John Weeping
My brother in law has been through more tests than any body I know. He has witnessed her struggle with Cancer. He also has been blessed to be Julie's Beau or Dude.
He is working on a Cancer book. I cannot imagine the pain of watching your wife battle cancer. I love my wife Sue, and I can See the different type of pain that a spouse goes through. I made a sketch while I was grieving after her death. I am not a professional artist, but I felt her spirit in my hands as I worked the pastels.
Julie's death has helped me see my wife in a different sphere, I appreciate her love for me and are children. Sue was a big help in dealing with her last days, and her death. She was John's rock.
When we had to get a dress for Julie's visitation, we went to a thrift shop, for Julie would want that. Sue found the beautiful floral print dress, it covered her well. The goddess golden scarf Sue picked up at the Mall, this was all done in less than three hours.
Women are stronger than men when it comes to family a crisis,us men just watch and are dumbfounded by their resilience too pain, and emotional burdens.
enough I must sleep.
He is working on a Cancer book. I cannot imagine the pain of watching your wife battle cancer. I love my wife Sue, and I can See the different type of pain that a spouse goes through. I made a sketch while I was grieving after her death. I am not a professional artist, but I felt her spirit in my hands as I worked the pastels.
Julie's death has helped me see my wife in a different sphere, I appreciate her love for me and are children. Sue was a big help in dealing with her last days, and her death. She was John's rock.
When we had to get a dress for Julie's visitation, we went to a thrift shop, for Julie would want that. Sue found the beautiful floral print dress, it covered her well. The goddess golden scarf Sue picked up at the Mall, this was all done in less than three hours.
Women are stronger than men when it comes to family a crisis,us men just watch and are dumbfounded by their resilience too pain, and emotional burdens.
enough I must sleep.
Julie Rybicki burial
The day was cold and raining, I can remember it very well. We all huddled under the canopy,crying and sad. Melinda asked if she could put her track and field pin from North Muskegon High School with Julie, and did. Rick my brother in law sang a song about a bird in a cage. We all told stories, and said goodbye. All the Dudes were their, the John's from, college, and me her brother. John Rybicki and their son Martel were their, and we wanted time to stop.
I made a sketch out of grief,and even Ra Ra could recognize it. The relatives and friends threw dirt in her grave. I imagined Julie was looking from above, without cancer, free from the world.The rain was her painless tears of Joy, I hope too see her again.
I know we must be strong and love as she loved, for she was a never ending blessing. She always treated me as less of a person,except when I read her Diary. I was viewed as a mortal, unblemished.Julie always told me how beautiful I was, that is why I feel must pass some of her Love in these words and pictures.
I made a sketch out of grief,and even Ra Ra could recognize it. The relatives and friends threw dirt in her grave. I imagined Julie was looking from above, without cancer, free from the world.The rain was her painless tears of Joy, I hope too see her again.
I know we must be strong and love as she loved, for she was a never ending blessing. She always treated me as less of a person,except when I read her Diary. I was viewed as a mortal, unblemished.Julie always told me how beautiful I was, that is why I feel must pass some of her Love in these words and pictures.
Julie's time table is gone, her body was worn out and tired, and she is still around though. I see parts of her in the friends and relatives she has given books-hugs-chocolate-and most of all her heart.
Tony her favorite brother
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Be patient
This is my first Blog, I am going to go through my Mom and Dads Photos, scanning them from the beginning. Their Fiftieth anniversary is coming up. I will Download the Old photo's of Julie and friends from the past so all can enjoy the memory of Julie. The future posts will be of a happier time.
I have included more of the funeral stuff,but I think that's important. Her last days on earth, should be as important as her first, regardless of the rain of sadness that surrounded us as we witnessed her fight with cancer.
I have included more of the funeral stuff,but I think that's important. Her last days on earth, should be as important as her first, regardless of the rain of sadness that surrounded us as we witnessed her fight with cancer.
Roadside Mothers
My sister Julie loved the Virgin Mary, and when she was in her treatments, she was always visible. When Julie passed away, she had her funeral planned out. The most interesting part was the full blown Rosary. As I was watching the Rosary,I had a vision of Mary hovering over her casket. I sketched it that night. The poem roadside mothers was dedicated to mother, I know she prays for all of us children.
ROADSIDE MOTHERS
Halfway buried in warm sod.
Bathing in Bluegrass and Marigolds.
Reaching forward, with Concrete hands.
Visions of Angie embalmed in faded porcelain.
Painted baby Blue, empcompassed in cast Iron.
Tossing out visions of miracles.
Driving by Mary Daily.
She talks to me in cryptic code.
Mother with my Mary, praying in unison.
Their graceful backs facing the Tub.
Their faces dominating my psyche.
Blessing drivers and pedestrians.
Cloaked arms, casting no judgement.
Wight extensions of God.
Tony Moulds
ROADSIDE MOTHERS
Halfway buried in warm sod.
Bathing in Bluegrass and Marigolds.
Reaching forward, with Concrete hands.
Visions of Angie embalmed in faded porcelain.
Painted baby Blue, empcompassed in cast Iron.
Tossing out visions of miracles.
Driving by Mary Daily.
She talks to me in cryptic code.
Mother with my Mary, praying in unison.
Their graceful backs facing the Tub.
Their faces dominating my psyche.
Blessing drivers and pedestrians.
Cloaked arms, casting no judgement.
Wight extensions of God.
Tony Moulds
