My Soul Is A Kite – A Poem

Photo taken as part of the dark sky photography trip this past weekend

As I work to compile my past work into poetry collections that may or may not be shared, I have decided to break a couple out. You can expect these to be shared over the next few weeks. Written in 2008 (and edited before posting), here is “My Soul Is A Kite”:

My Soul Is A Kite

it crawled up on me
like snow falling on satin
this unshakable feeling
that I must go

the wind blows
and my soul is a kite
billowed and caught
by this invisible clout

though here I am loved
if I stay I will die
as any flower withers
beneath too much sun

so release all the twine
and let me fly away
I will wave eagerly
as the zephyr laps
and I will join the waves
that crash into the sky

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, please share it with a friend and/or like and comment below. I appreciate every person that reads this – without you these words would carry no meaning beyond my own mind.

How Not To Feel Alone On Your 31st Birthday In 2020

Happy Birthday To Me!

Today I turn 31 in the year 2020. The world is chaotic (to say the least). But there is so much for which to be thankful. We have an opportunity in this dark time: we can use this as a pathway to finding our similarities and common ground. We can use this as an opportunity to show compassion toward our fellow human beings. Don’t believe me? I have a challenge for every person reading this.

The Google Autocomplete Challenge

Alright! So, Google Autocomplete works by predicting what phrases have the highest probability of completing your query based on the most common searches by others within your same time zone, general demographics, and country. Most of the time this is reduced to the information that can be associated with your IP address. Remember, your IP address contains a lot of information about your location.

If you’re ever feeling alone, think about the population of the country where you live. I currently live in the United States – a country with a population of 328.2 Million people. Approximately 27% of Americans report using Google as their primary search engine. That means approximately 88.614 Million Americans use Google as their primary search engine.

That means that whatever the statistically most likely predicted completion of a search phrase is results from millions of people searching that phrase.

This means you are not alone. With every crazy question you have for the internet, you are not alone. For these first fifteen, I’m going to be very general. Then, once this concept has been demonstrated, let’s go on a journey. Some of these are funny, some are depressing, some are revealing.

1. “Is it…”

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2. “What to…”

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3. “Does the…”

(If you want to know, yes, the coronavirus test hurts)

4. “Are there…”

5. “Do I…”

6. “Why is…”

7. “Who was…”

Glad to see Americans are learning history?

8. “Did I…”

9. “Where are…”

10. “Am I…”

11. “How to make…”

12. “When will…”

13. “Does the United States…”

No, the United States does not use the metric system outside of scientific laboratories.

14. “How many…”

As you can see a lack of the metric system leads to a lot of confusion.

15. “How often…”

That’s a doozy.

Okay! So 15 questions in and you’ve noticed that Americans are just as confused about our units of measure as the rest of the world and things do seem to be interesting. Plus, if you’ve been sedentary and are questioning while your bowel habits have changed, you’re not alone. Drink more water, eat more fiber, and start going for more walks. You’ll feel better.

These next questions are for those of us that recognize that search histories get a little weird when you’re writing. So, let’s start looking at some of the autocompleted questions related to writing research I’ve seen lately. These get a bit dark and others are truly revealing.

1. “What do serial killers…”

2. “Why do serial killers…”

3. “Why do wives…”

4. “Why do husbands…”

5. “Why do partners…”

6. “Do cows…”

7. “How to fake…”

The search results here made my eye twitch.

8. “How to destroy…”

9. “Why doesn’t…”

10. “Humans are…”

I warned all of you that was going to get dark.

There’s one final search I am going to show you – it leads to one of my favorite poems I had forgotten about and hadn’t read in over 10 years.

“Hope is…”

What is that first search result? See below.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers (314) – Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

I hope you can hear Hope’s song, and even if you can’t right now, know that you are not alone in searching for it amongst the noise.

What were your autocomplete results like when you searched similar beginning terms? Were they the same as mine? If you have suggestions of other terms for me to search please leave them in a comment 🙂

I am so thankful for your company on this bizarre journey through search engine autocompletes on my birthday. If you enjoyed this post, please share it, like, or comment. Without you, this post would be stored quietly on a server somewhere. Have a wonderful weekend ahead 🙂 With Love – Lo.

In Memoriam: For Lillian On Her Birthday (July 9, 1925 – December 31, 2016)

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Prayer card from Lillian’s memorial service

This year I had planned to be in Savannah, Georgia at Bonaventure Cemetery spending today with you and Grandpa, preferably with my parents or one of my siblings.

You convinced me to keep writing when I wanted to give up.

You told me I could succeed.

You would have been 95 today. We celebrated our birthdays together: yours today and mine tomorrow.

At the time I thought it was weird that I didn’t have normal birthday parties. Instead, we had a big family dinner together on July 9th and then we’d do something together on July 10th. Sometimes whatever we did involved whatever children my family could scrounge together.

It wasn’t until adulthood that I realized this was a birthday party, just not the kind of birthday party most American kids have.

What I hadn’t realized was that every year you celebrated me being your birthday gift.

I was your surprise baby. Your impossible baby.


Impossible Baby

The story goes Mama was sick
Mama didn’t know I wasn’t the flu
A five month flu
Impossible flu

Two kids to chase
Two kids to follow

Too Sick, Too Tired
Mama didn’t know I wasn’t the flu

Doctor came in the room
Test Results Read
“Impossible”
She said

Ultrasound
Boy’s Name
Father and Grandfather
Dreams Come True
Finally
The fourth with their name

Grandmother’s Birthday
Too Early
Don’t Be Born
Baby — But
Mama can’t stop me
Born Just After Midnight
July Tenth
Belated Birthday Gift

But
That’s Not A Boy

No One Agrees:
Laraleigh – Laura
No,
Lo


Being born premature in 1989, my mother did not want to take baby pictures of me in an incubator where she could not hold me. She did not want to have pictures reminding her of what I looked like hooked up to a heart monitor and a ventilator with various IV bags flowing into me. She did not want to remember the hours and hours where she wandered around a hospital screaming because the nurses lost track of where they put me and forgot to tell her anything about my condition.

Seriously, you kids born premature after 1990 had way higher survival rates. One of the reasons my mom didn’t take baby pictures was because she was advised not to in case I didn’t live. That’s the sort of stuff women were told would be psychologically better for them in the 1980s. I swear my mother is one of the strongest women on this planet.

Because of this, I didn’t see a baby picture of me until I was 30 years old – this past February/March while visiting my parents. In the picture, I am almost 6 months old and my grandparents are holding me after my christening service at St. Matthews Church.

Christening

I didn’t see the photograph
Until age 30
Grandmother and Grandfather hold me
[The red brick of St. Matthew’s Church]
Smiling-
Laughing so hard
Their faces blur

The only baby picture

Mama didn’t want to remember:
Wires, tubes, monitors, screens

I don’t remember them either.


In my early twenties, I asked my grandmother for a picture of her and my grandfather for my birthday. I’m terrible at asking for anything, especially if it is something the logical part of my brain has deemed superfluous. What I didn’t expect was this.

It’s a picture of my grandmother and grandfather at Armstrong College in Savannah, Georgia. At the time, my grandfather, having just returned from World War II, was finishing up a Bachelors of Science in Meteorology. My grandmother taught chemistry. They fell in love with teaching, scientific progress, and each other.

They were the types of people that had trouble sitting still.

My grandmother was academically fascinated by her heritage. She honored her connection to the Douglas clan, but I would not call her proud. Often, she focused more on the deep connection it provided her to faith. Her expressions of spirituality changed so much even over the 27 and half years I knew her that it’s hard to say what she believed. What I can say is that she believed in showing endless love, patience, and understanding. We selected her favorite prayers and passages to include on the prayer cards.

Prayer cards from the memorial service for Lillian

What I want every person reading this to know is that though I have only spoken of a few moments, 91.5 years is a long time on this planet. Lillian danced through those years with a love of music, chemistry, objectivity, compassion, education, and love.

The last two gifts she gave me were her engagement ring and her last words.

My grandmother wanted to experience everything there was to experience on this planet. She liked to say, “Heaven Is Here On Earth.” She did not live an easy life – in fact, quite the opposite. Her life was by far full of emotional hardship.


The Last Memory

Restless loblolly pines
We sit
Dry docked green aluminum jon boat
He laughs with goofy faces
Old spice arms envelope me
Binocular eyes

“That’s the Hale Bopp Comet”
His voice is shimmering moonlight on bay water
His presence is my father’s smile

He still wears that 1970s brown and tan puffer jacket
A flare orange dog whistle on a braided leather cord
I taste fried fish tails
Bay water drains off the hull

My fathers hold me together
The child meant to be the fourth with their names
For that moment I belong

Together they point to stardust
Teach me constellations
How to find my way home
If I am ever lost at sea


My grandfather died in 1997 in the doctor’s office while getting dressed after a physical. He wasn’t feeling well and in between classes he managed to get seen. He didn’t make it to his afternoon lecture. In October, he would have been 100 years old.

She never remarried, but she was not broken. She mourned the loss of her best friend and celebrated his memory every chance she got. My grandfather loved fill-in-the-blank style Hallmark cards and writing her love poems. What I didn’t realize until I was a teenager was that she kept all of them and read his words every time she missed him.

Now, I find myself doing the same thing, even with her final words. My birthday buddy can never be replaced. I will celebrate her 150th birthday in 2075 just as I celebrate her 95th.

Terminal Lucidity

They said she’d never play piano again
Hematoma
Right side
CAT scan looks bad

We came to visit at the wrong moment
Right moment
The nurses couldn’t find the cell phone number
They wouldn’t let us in the room

We’d spoken to her that morning
We said we’d see her soon

You were out on the boat
Knee high in male bonding
Falling in love the only way
Our family knows how

We finally got you on the phone
But you never hung up

At 91 and a half
You and I argued
You insisted she was clear

We moved her to hospice
We prayed she’d tell us that we were wrong

Later that night
I sat alone with my other mother
She squeezed my hand
“I’m not ready”

She never spoke again.


As I conclude this memorial, I thank you for taking the time to be here with me. I recognize that it is not easy to be with someone in mourning. I recognize that it is increasingly unusual in America for people to grow up in a multi-generational child rearing situations where they and their siblings form these close bonds. Because of this, real family, the family that sticks by you and unconditionally loves you, will be my first priority in life for as long as I live. That’s what we were taught by our grandparents and our parents. I hope that this is a legacy my siblings and I can carry on.

With that, I close this with love to all members of my family.

“A good name is to be chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold” – Family Motto / Proverbs 22:1

Lo Is Domestic AF: Cast Iron And Carrots

Lazy Cooked Carrots

How lazy, you ask? Well, you can buy 2 lbs (907 grams) of baby carrots from the store in a bag. The rest is about 15 minutes worth of work standing in front of a stove. That’s it. It’s okay though, this is one of Jacob’s favorites.

Grab that bag of baby carrots. Throw it in a cast iron pan with 2 tablespoons (or more) of coconut oil or olive oil, salt, pepper, and fresh chopped parsley. I like adding garlic scapes to taste in the oil first and getting those cooking while the oil is heating to medium or medium high heat.

While the oil is heating, pat your baby carrots dry and combine a half teaspoon of sea salt, a quarter teaspoon of ground black pepper, and a quarter tablespoon of fresh chopped parsley in a separate bowl – you’ll be adding these later. Remember: you don’t want the outsides of your carrots wet. Why? Water hitting hot oil splatters and splattering hot oil hurts. A lot.

Your oil is hot, now what? Add the baby carrots. All of them. Stir and coat them completely with the oil, then let them sit for a couple minutes, then rotate the bottom to the top. Repeat this for about ten minutes. Then, add your seasoning mixture and stir in completely making sure all of the carrots are coated evenly. Repeat letting the carrots sit for a few minutes, then rotating the bottom to the top. You should notice that the exterior of the carrots starts to blister and turn a brown/black while the carrots begin to soften. Once the carrots are completely tender, they’re ready to serve!

Leftovers are great chopped for soups and stews or pureed for sauces. The options are pretty endless. Bottom line: there are no excuses for carrots to go bad.

Hard mode: If you don’t want to be lazy, you could buy carrots and not a bag of baby carrots, then chop them or coin them. You can make a root vegetable medley and cook it the same way (I highly recommend turnips). If you do buy carrots, make sure to get the carrots that have the carrot greens on them. At the very end, remove the cooked carrots and add a little more oil and salt to the pan, then fry up the chopped carrot greens. I might be a little weird for this, but I love the taste of carrot greens and they’re one of the most exciting parts of any carrot harvest for me, even if I’m the only one eating them.

If you liked this post, please be sure to share, like, and/or comment below. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this brief write up of a quick and easy way to cook carrots.

I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!