This day, the page is yours, Timmy

Timmy Letourneau

Sadness that lies deep within the heart never goes away entirely. The loss will never be diminished. Time heals the wound enough to reveal a bandaged scar. Occasionally that bandage is changed; what lies underneath? A glow within the center that is the life light that you want us to see now. Let us recall that one horrible day, three years ago, but then turn the page to remember you as you would wish… With the unstoppable mischievous, freshness and joy that will always remain alive when we say your name, Timmy Letourneau.

Timothy Peter Letourneau
June 1, 1988- October 31, 2009

Sandy is a big windy mean mother rain soaking.... well, you know....

one of my first poems...

 The Bath

Submerged under the steam,
I steep until the water tastes of me
me tea
By my own hand,
using the stuff from ballerina tutus of long ago
and mountains of foamy bubbles
I slough off
that which has had most sensual contact
with the day
Why?
Like an oil slick
there I am
individual cells of me
floating on the very surface
trying to make contact
with me again
before they exit,
lifeless.....down to
mingle with cells of countless others
never ever to know one another
John Updike said it best,
"As in sleep we need to dream,
so while waking, we need to touch and talk to be touched and talked to.."
now I wait
the new me
all pink and soft and ready
just waiting for tomorrow
for you
to fill my senses
Touch me, talk to me
let me breathe you in...
I won't bathe until
you have sunk all the way
down deep
into my heart
where no water or cleanser or bubbles or scrub brush
will ever... ever... ever
wash you away.

my best friend...

Would that I, (maybe we all) could write this kind of note to ourselves. Cross out the words 'best friend' and fill in your own name. Sign your own name at the closing. How do you feel reading this note now?

 

the mother.... 

When I was in high school, I distinctly remember even back then, other kids coming to talk to me because I would listen.

In the yearbook, there's a photo of me in the early 70's mind you..hippie times, but I'm wearing a skirt, white blouse and cardigan sweater..oh, I had bell bottom jeans and flowers in my hair, too, but this must have been my 'mother' outfit, because that was my nickname.

I pegged myself as a good listener, and at work and with others, that apparently, is one of my 'gifts'. I have always been a fixer. "Oh, sure..I'll help you with that"..."Try it this way, or why not do it that way?" 

For years, volunteering was my middle name. Anything to get to get what I thought was appreciative attention and love from someone. Like Lucy in Charlie Brown, my 'office' was always open..listening and solving problems for others. When I was needed, I was liked, and I was not alone.

There's a sign at work, that hangs outside my office door.."When all else fails, ask Kate".. For too long, the part of the sign in neon lights blinking to everyone who passed by, had been the ask Kate part.

In my codependent thinking, As long as they needed me, I would have someone and not be lonely. I thought that I would feel good about myself, except of course, when I begin to resent all the asking.

Until I learned that yes, others CAN solve problems and handle them on their own. I am able to provide the opportunity for others, and light up the first half of the sign "When all else fails" I will empower those whom I have controlled for so long a time, to look to themselves for answers, and have their own positive experiences.

And they will still care about me. I don't have to be needed in order to have a relationship with my peers at work, my friends, or even my kids. The best thing I can do for me, is to allow myself to say no to always having to control others, and yes to taking care of me.

 



Lazy Sunday Afternoon

A weekend getaway was just what they needed. They had expected sunshine for walks through the woods, but paid no heed when reports called for inclement weather.

The sky was a monotonous slate grey, and the rain was dripping rhythmically off the gutters just outside. The drumming was the perfect sound to lull them into a lazy Sunday afternoon nap. He lit a fire in the fireplace, and she got the old faded patchwork quilt, a couple of velvety corduroy sofa pillows, a bottle of wine, two glasses and their favorite books. She opened her book and began to read with a hint of a smile on her face.

He picked up his book and pretended to focus, but was too distracted by a wisp of her bangs and her gentle fragrance. He must have read the same paragraph nine times over.

He put his book down, knowing that he could concentrate no longer. Opening the bottle of wine, a nice Pinot Grigio he poured two glasses, handing to her a glass of which he had to take the first sip. She always liked that little tradition and smiled, gazing into his eyes as she winked a thank you, sipped her own, then offered to read some of her book aloud to him.

"You know how I love when you read to me" he said, the corners of his lips uplifted. Suddenly, hearing tapping footsteps, they both turned their heads to the porch window, as a beautiful deer sauntered on closely beside the cottage.

Neither of them said even "Shhh" as the deer approached the window and seemed to peek in and nod an approval of their afternoon date on the floor in front of the fire. The deer all but tiptoed away to give them their privacy.

She sighed and closed her eyes in appreciation of nature's gift, then she cuddled under the quilt a little further, sipped her wine, picked up her book and began to read.

"The window seal was broken, revealing the smears and smudges that can no longer be cleaned. It somehow didn't diminish the marvelous view of..." She paused reading, as he interrupted her concentration with a warm grasp of her left foot, caressing her soft soles. She breathed in a quickened breath, but could not breathe out.

"Ohhh, you know what that does to me, she finally whispered. She closed her eyes,sipped more wine, and settled further, saying "How can I read to you if you continue?"

He chuckled and grinned and made a silly face that really got them both laughing. Their facial expressions changed as their laughter settled and their gaze became affixed on each other's eyes. She let the book slip out of her hands. The fire was warming, but the wine had flourished the flush in her cheeks. Taking a sip of wine, she came up to kiss him and let wine flow into his lips.

Her lips were as soft and warm. He reached forward and gently held her face and with a hand ran his fingers through the of her bangs that he so longed to touch. She tasted like fresh wine and he was deeply entranced as if no one else lived in this world.

Her perfume was a light lemony and soft soapy musk scent. It drew him closer to nuzzle into the softness of her hair. She kissed him under his earlobe, right there and breathed in the scent that was him
"Yes" he whispered in deep pleasure as she nibbled on his ear and licked around the edge of it, while softly breathing. Her breath was warm and enveloped his senses like sinking deep down into a bath. She began to kiss and suck gently on the curve of his neck, while intensely anticipating their lips and tongues meeting again.

He turned his head and met her in a kiss. The softest of whisper kisses began, barely touching one another's mouths, and before long his tongue gently urged the parting of her lips. Savoring the taste of him, she acquiesced and their tongues began the soft exploration they had known so many times before.

They took gentle cues from one another and playfully kissed in such beautiful rhythm; sometimes lips alternating one over the other. He loved the way she tasted and could not get enough of her sweet and luscious mouth. Her tongue was so gentle in his mouth, and he was high on love.

She stroked across his bottom lip with her thumb, and he shivered. He lifted her chin and began to kiss her throat and neck all the way down to the string of pearls she always wore. She held his head and toyed at the nape of his neck with her fingers, as she proffered her own neck to him, mewing and breathing just a little deeper.

She began unbuttoning his flannel shirt.. one, two, three buttons, then all of them unleashed. Pushing down his sleeves, she helped him remove his shirt, completely. She moved her velvet soft hands over his warm chest. She found his already growing nipples with the tender pads of her middle fingers stroking them in circles while he explored her beautiful neck with his hot lips and tongue. .

He closed his eyes and sighed, as his nipples responded to her fingers. He raised himself, so he was above her now.  Slowly, he began to unbutton her white blouse, revealing just the lace and soft powder blue color of her bra. His fingers delicately traced down and around that soft lace, and she wanted his lips to follow right there. She moved her hands and gently grasped his face with both of her hands, guiding his head downward into her fragrant body.

He let her hands guide him and sighed softly, as he traced down her delicate throat and on to the edges of her brassiere with a firmer tongue; her lovely fragrant breasts swelled with anticipation. His hands unbuttoned all but the last three buttons of her blouse, so that she was open to him. He rested his lips on the soft blue cloth, and as her nipples responded, her back arched up to meet him. She craved his lips directly on her skin, and she knew what she wanted him to do. He covered one of her still covered nipples with an open mouth and breathed a warm breath through the material.

She could wait no longer; she slipped down the straps of what was now in the way; he understood and reached back to unclasp the hooks and slid it down and tossed it. Her breasts now exposed to the autumn air felt cool, and her nipples responded instantly. Her breathing quickened even more when he began to sip and suckle at her now burgeoning nipples. From one lightest pink pebble hard nipple to the other he moved his mouth, and she felt him growing against her thigh.

Her hips raised themselves instinctively and he moved his leg to part her knees, so that he could fit between them. He continued to explore her luscious nipples and worked his lips and tongue around and under both breasts taking in her sensuous form and fragrance. He kissed his way down to where the buttons on her blouse were still joined, and as he kissed her delectable middle, he carefully unbuttoned the last three buttons and kissed and licked his his way to her perfect belly button. He now undid the button of her jeans, and just barely moved the zipper fractionally down.

The build they got from moving slowly was so exquisite, it was almost torture. Her chest was flushed, and as he kissed her further down, and dipped his tongue into her navel, she squirmed as the vibrations went to her very core. Oh, how she desired him fully, but wanted even more to make this heated pleasure last. He continued kissing his way down to where her powder blue panties, peeked out from her indigo blue jeans.

With a twist and a zip, she felt the vibration of her zipper go down briskly. He rose to his knees, gazed into her longing eyes, while leaving her panties there; he gently slid her jeans down...down...down... past her curvaceous hips, supple thighs, knees, calfs, ankles and finally past her wonderful pink toe nails, which he brushed with his light kisses on the way.

He knelt by her feet and lifted one to press his thumbs deep into the sole, as he kissed her toes, knowing full well that biting gently on them would drive her to new heights. Her hips began to move rhythmically once more and her other foot found the growing bulge at the apex of his thighs. She pressed her foot against this heated area and he pressed himself against her foot, closing his brown eyes and he groaned aloud.

Reaching down with one free hand he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, wriggling them down to his knees and slid them off one leg at the time, all the while massaging her soles and kissing her tender toes.  He left his underwear on while she continued to work his the swelling bulge with her foot. He moaned and breathed harder now, as he rubbed her calf and ankle, and kissed tenderly the inside of her knees.

She was panting now, as she clutched the quilt under her tightly in both hands. She was so close, and ready for him to be inside her; she knew by the firmness of his manhood, ohhh, he was ready for her too. She hooked her thumbs into her panties, moving them down, down and off as she begged him, "Please", parting her knees and pulling him to her.

He retraced his steps and kissed his way up the inside of her left ankle...calf...thigh and nuzzled his warm mouth ever so gently into her inner thighs. Her aroma, heat and wetness was so intoxicating to him that he almost came, as his now throbbing manhood was rubbing on her soft calf. He reached out with fingers and gently spread her cushiony lips apart and began to taste her inside ever so gently.

She moaned and lifted her hips, panting and getting so close to her climax. She was ready to explode, but she wanted to taste him first. She begged him please, once again, "I need to taste you now!" He teased with a few more licks now directly on her jewel, and then kissed back away down her thighs. His boxers were off in one swift move.  He swung around one hundred eighty degrees and aligned his manhood with her waiting mouth. She grasped him her wet, warm lips, and took him in with rhythmic precision. He was so close to exploding in her mouth.

He stopped her with a breathless, "Honey, wait, not yet", and moved up on top of her, trying to steady himself and slow down so as to enjoy fully, what he had desired all afternoon. He was long and thick and ready for her, the dew drop forming and glistening; she spread the dew around him with her thumb, then guided him into her. The fit was perfect, as he filled her up, and the music of their dance began, as they moved in perfect syncopation.

He slid in and held still momentarily. She wanted, no needed more. She began to move rhythmically against him, breathing harder and urged him to continue thrusting.

The rhythm beat increased and in unison, they climbed higher and higher. His thrusts were determined now and he leaned down to kiss her neck.

Right there. Oh that place that when his teeth touched her in a bite, sent her over the edge. She couldn't help but cry out.

"Ohhh, yesss!" Her fingers and nails gripped him almost fiercely now as she came, her muscles clenched and contracted around him, holding him fast inside her. Her orgasm was exquisite and she lifted herself into him to claim every bit of him in his own ecstasy. She whimpered and purred as her spasms continued to keep her in the misty crescendo.

When he came, he growled a low guttural sound that vibrated throughout her. She felt his pulsating throb and jerks as he spilled himself and filled her up. The sound he made her own pulsating vault heat up even more.

Drained. Spent. Audible breathing returned to a more normal quiet tone, and they listened to one another's heartbeats and the crackles of the fire. So much in love, they napped under the quilt, under rainy skies,on that lazy Sunday afternoon.

I love coffee, I love tea, la la la la.. ♪♫♪ 

Ahhh, that first cup of coffee in the morning.. The rich earthy smell of freshly ground beans, measured precisely, cold water up to there, poured into the top of the machine, water in the well already hot and dripping through the grounds to make that cup of coffee strong, but not bitter.

That elixir awakens my senses. I'm even fussy about the mug. I can't just grab anything to pour the brew into. I like an old pottery mug, maybe even has a chip or crack in it, but it has a great feel in my hand.

Just a dash of half and half if I'm lucky, but most days, it's a spoonful of creamer. Funny, I don't like coffee with milk in it, especially skim milk.

My grandfather always used the powdered creamer. It was kept in a small brown jar on the counter. After he died, that was all I wanted..that little pot of creamer. The powdered stuff is not so great, it's the memories..

I used to like to sit on the big porch at the house and listen to the world wake up. The steam would swirl and rise, my olfactory lobes attentive and waiting. I would blow across the top and sip, letting the brew settle on my taste buds.

My cup of coffee becomes my assistant when I am writing. It sits patiently nearby, and then when I need to filter a thought or an idea, one swig of the java and it all works out on paper. Ahhhh.

Several years I go I wrote down in a journal, my preferences, in case someone needed to know.

What would life be like if all of a sudden we couldn't communicate anymore. Would anyone know our likes and dislikes? How would anyone know that I hate sugar in my coffee?! Would anyone know that I love new age music, but I hate grating classical that sounds like a bad piano lesson? Think about it. What are your likes and dislikes? Would anyone know how you would want things if you couldn't talk or communicate anymore? Write them down. Put the list or the journal somewhere where a special person can find it and make your life as normal for you as possible.

Tell them how you take your coffee.

In 2004, I was introduced to John Updike's writing through my friend, Henry Hotin. He suggested that I read "Brazil", and from the first page, I was addicted to Updike's written words. The descriptions of even a cloud in the sky, left me licking my fingers at their deliciousness.

I began to devour his books, page by page.

And then...I wrote to him to express my pleasure in finding him after all those years.  

Can you imagine my delight when he sent me a postcard, typed on his Underwood typewriter, even with errors, just to me? He let me know that my letter made his day, and that he felt less like he was dropping pebbles down a bottomless well. I was enamored with Mr. Updike.
He passed away at the age of 76, but his inspiration lives on in my heart.

I think it more than coincidence that I met Jeffrey Underwood, an author of the same initials, (and the same name as JU's typewriter!)who has such magnificent talent with his own pen to paper. Our little sharings at an online support group have brought us together with our most unique blend of talent.

Now working on our third book together, we hope to have many more additions to our family of books that we refer to as our 'babies'.

This letter as much written to John Updike, as it was addressed to Jeff Underwood was penned as my life in writing began. It's time to share it with you, now.

Dear JU,

How I have loved reading your words...Now you have given the gift of life to me.

And it was said, "Let the writing begin!", and so it has begun..

The little egg, now fertilized with inspiration has been planted in the womb of my notebook. A positive result. I am pregnant with this story, and while ecstatic at the knowledge of something growing inside me once again, I am feeling the pangs of anxiety, laced with a little morning sickness of 'Can I do this?'

No turning back. I will not abandon this little story. I will carry it out and give birth to it when it is time. Do I feel the heartbeat and the flutter of motion inside me already? Maybe not yet, but I am dreaming of the day when I can share that with you, put your hand on the belly of my growing word stash and say.."There, did you feel that?! It is moving! There really is life in there! Listen, put your ear there.. Hear the heartbeat!" Oh my! I am ready to experience it all.. The growth, the cravings, the worry, the pain..feel it all. Give birth naturally.

I need to go through this myself, but I will need a birthing coach. Will you be beside me and hold my hand, encourage me to breathe, and feed me ice chips? You have the words and experience to give me much wisdom. Please. I would love for you to be part of this with me. I am apprehensive of what I don't know, but I will learn.. And I am looking forward to every moment.

Yours,

Kate

It's time for me to share it all...

There's a basket that sits next to my desk. It's right behind my collection of reading glasses. In addition to bills that I need to address, it contains notebooks, composition books, legal pads, scratch pads and sticky notes.

Pen scribbles and pencil scratchings, doodles and math problems decorate the pages.

I write it all down because there's something I want to tell someone.

I write it all down because I am afraid I might forget. I don't want to forget, but I am getting to the age where forgetting begins.

It's time for me to share it all with you.

Sample it. Take a taste. Read it. Savor what you like, and leave the rest.

And, if you would be so inclined, please share and let others have a taste, too.

Thanks for reading me.

Love, Kate