Category Archives: Personal

For Me, The Night, A Thunderstorm Distant, Gentle Rain Present, Open Window in my Open Stairwell

12/22/13 Sunday morning. The sun rests.

As my refrigerator turns off in the kitchen behind me, the sweet thunder fades too, as though they were singing in chorus. Now, in the time it took for me to write the previous sentence, I can still hear the storm somewhere, but it sounds like a memory. I can hear light, steady rainfall  bouncing in puddles because the window in the center of my house is open three inches.

The window really is in the center, the center of the north wall of my square house.  Its sill is nine feet over the main level floor. It’s in the midway landing of the stairwell. My recliner sits at the foot of the stairwell, with just enough room not to be obstructive. I have a small house which fits like a glove.

While writing the paragraph above, I could also hear the small oscillating fan up in my bedroom. Now the refrigerator behind me is back on, as well as the water heater in the curtained closet next to my chair. I can’t hear the fan, the rain sounds like a faint trickle. The thunder spoke up a little louder for a few minutes to help me remember God, but now the storm seems — for my ears to imagine it — sleeping like my cat and my dog in my quiet life, where my soul presides … after all.

Facing my eastern windows, I see the houses across the road. The grey morning is exceptionally beautiful, and I recognize that I am happy by my having thought the grey morning beautiful.I can’t see far above the roof line of my neighbors houses because my windows look through my covered porch.

Now all is quiet, but the oscillating fan upstairs. Occasionally the storm makes muffled sounds, as though talking in sleep. I’ve heard a couple of birds since the light began–just now a crow.

I’m yawning. I don’t want to go to sleep. My body didn’t rest well, but I want to stay up and go to church. I got up with the storm this morning around 4, because I had felt the air pressure change and heard a couple of very distant sonic booms. Once I opened the window, I knew there was nothing to fear, but then I wanted to stay up.

I don’t know how to end this little story. I hear geese.

It’s already 7:20. No decision is still a decision, right? Yet, I think for me to decide to stay up is probably the same as “no decision”. I wonder if this case should give me insight into the nature of some of my choices. In this case, I’m going to fight sleep, try to forge ahead as though my destiny is tied in to mastering the challenges of unnatural states of “becoming”.

It’s so rare to have a beautiful experience of pre-dawn aloneness. I don’t want to let it go.

I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to decide while fingers are poised to type. God loves me. I’m going to take it easy on myself, and see what happens next. Good day everyone.


It is a Good Winter Solstice For Me

I’m slightly embarrassed. You probably didn’t see, but I accidentally made two posts here that were supposed to be private. I have no idea how it happened, but oh well. I’ve deleted them


I feel good about the Solstice, it’s significance to me personally, that is. At the same time, I wonder about people who are places where the weather is really bad, yet hope (as always) that I am spared bad weather, especially just now. I have a dear one who lives in Tennessee. She is very much in my constant prayer today because I’ve read that storms are blowing through there.


For me, at least, today is as it should be on solstice, a time to recognize and pay tribute to the changes this makes in people’s lives, whether we’re aware of it or not. I remember being made aware of solstice at the appropriate times off and on when I was growing in the home of my parents. The time of year was brightened somewhat by anticipating Christmas. 

Christmas traditions, by now, are familiar to people all over the world. My Church stressed the spiritual values of Christmas, which really came in handy for child of one of the poorer families in the community. While not anticipating much to show for having had a Christmas tree, I learned not to covet what other children might have, and to focus on what Jesus taught about loving one another. 

Back to Solstice–I remember having the blues in the days leading up to Solstice, but I was distracted by the Christmas season. Looking back through the memory of my mental state, I know the imposing darkness.soothed my inner gloom at a time when gloominess was strictly forbidden.

Christmas always was a beautiful day. Always, without fail. No matter what the weather conditions were. I do believe the Holy Spirit visited our little road on that day.

I say this because my childhood home was not itself the source of my good cheer. I always carried the tinge of disappointment throughout the day, as all my dilemmas of Christmas Magic versus existential angst proved unanswerable yet again.

My parents couldn’t get along. Mom (God bless her) always tried to dispose of the evidence as quickly as possible. I think she feared I would keep hunting through the torn gift wrap having lost my mind in the disillusionment. My father would battle her impulse to clean up; he was wise to know that Christmas must not disappear without a trace early Christmas morning no matter how modest the gifts had been. (This paragraph is a delicately painted, nostalgic understatement of the high-stress tensions in my lower middle class household  which were potentially rife on any day, barely maintained even on Christmas.)

The greatest joy of my Christmas was to get to see what the other children on the street had received. I especially enjoyed the quiet kindness of their parents as I was welcomed into their homes. I realize now that they had my childhood friends on very strict control during these visits.

My mom wouldn’t let the neighborhood children in our house, so I would them what I had received, try to look satisfied and change the subject. Only once or twice did a neighbor child question the truthfulness of my accounting. I think that was the reason I explained to Tina about Santa Claus. Her mom was really disappointed. I’m sure more so even than Tina was. Claudia (the mom) scolded me. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Tina was two years younger than I, which surely means I was still very young. 

But, I digress. Today is not Christmas. I brought up Christmas in order to relate it back to the reason that I am loving the Solstice so much today which is that it justifies my mood, both the grim tone of my past few days and my optimism today. The darkness has been closing in, but I can rest assured it won’t get any worse. By Christmas day, my world will be brighter.

Happy Holidays Everyone!!! My blog is almost a year old. You who read it are real to me, and I feel bad for neglecting your blogs as well as my own. 


Contemplating Christmas

Contemplating Christmas

It isn’t hard for me to imagine not having a Christmas Holiday even though I was raised in the tradition, and carried it on through my children. Yet, I’m quite sure this tradition is part of me. I learned this when I found myself in need of a Christmas tree in the late spring. That was over a year ago. This is the tree’s present condition. It might need dusting. Happy Holidays everyone!

October 11, 2013

I’ve been without internet.

This time since I last posted has been so emotionally and spiritually significant to me that I’m actually more concerned that I can’t do it justice in writing, than I am timid to write about it (which is my usual disposition).

As I try to write,  my chest feels heavy, I so wish to stay true to the theme of my blog, and my life events having stayed so concentrated along that very theme, I hesitate to introduce the stories until I know I can present them in a way that expresses what serious matters they represent to my life.

At this moment, this very timeless instant, I think I may feel what some may feel when say they are “called’ to ministry.  But I don’t want you, my precious, priceless readers to make too much of that particular statement. I think since this instant occurred while I was writing my blog, it’s probably mostly my heart adjusting to being at the keyboard again–and not some divine intervention.

Nevertheless, the inner me is undergoing serious transformations which began a couple months ago.

There is one thing I need to tell you outright. I have no idea what it means other than it’s important, and very important things must come of it. A little over a month ago, someone who should have been a beloved and famous star on this earth killed himself.

I also look forward to posting a few notes and photos (of my life events) in the next few days. I think this blog may become a bigger part of my own transformation. I hope it does. If it does, it will be a reflection of growing courage, love, and confidence within me.

4th of July 2013

Day 4

I didn’t experience the excess and grandeur of this holiday as a child in the sixties and seventies on my cul-de-sac where neighbor’s activities were known to all. I don’t think any of our working-class adults wanted to encourage incendiaries particularly. Perhaps a family or two would be gone on vacation at that time. Maybe they have sky glittering memories of sweaty feasts I never would have imagined.

But, now, New Years was indeed the time for fireworks–not too many, mind you.  At the stroke of midnight, the father of the household next door would hurl the lovely colors into the chilly air, calling “Happy New Year” for about five minutes. It was delightful.

I live in muggy Alabama. I consider the proliferation of fireworks I’ve seen over the years a scourge of diminished sensibilities. That smog is not beautiful. It makes some people sick. Looking back, I have fond memories of not feeling compelled to “enjoy” that on a hot summer night.

Two Poems I’m Proud Of and I Wrote

Dear Followers/diary,

I was back together with my boyfriend for a while.  Things were rocky, but I loved him very much. For almost two months, we didn’t see each other, but I still believed our love was true. I can’t bear to give details, and I apologize if this is boring. This past week, I felt my hope for a future with him was becoming much more happy and proving true– until this afternoon, when I discovered he had a profile on, and was online the very moment I found it.

Now what I feel more than anything else, is that I probably do not like the person he actually is. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about this emotion. It feels very complicated. He is extremely charming. I think he is the first man I’ve ever known to whom I might willingly entirely submit. I don’t think I could do “tough love” with him if his vices ever called for it–for he is simply too adorable.

So, I’m thinking I should be grateful to God if this relationship can end this way.

Oh, by the way, I didn’t discover his single’s account while hunting for singles myself. I just happened over to his facebook profile for the first time in a while and saw that he had “liked” Matchdotcom. So I bit. I did a bogus profile for the privilege of doing a free search. (I thought y’all might be curious about that.)

Now that I’ve told you all more or less what’s been going on in my meager soul all these weeks, I want to share something with you, two things actually. These are two poems I wrote for him, one yesterday and one the day before. I do believe that you people will be able to appreciate my efforts much more than he ever would. As always, please any strangers out there, please don’t steal my work. I am actually proud of it. In a way, it’s all I have to show for my own life.

The first poem had not been titled yet, but I like titles. So here’s the poem and the first publication of its title below:

Come, My Darling. Let me Gently Explain,

(by Vicki Jones)

Love floats like heart-shaped swans

Wandering across dappled years

Enclosed by limitless pleasured reflections

Eyes to eyes, with eyes closed

It is why the pond glows at sunset

Others can learn from its silhouette

The true form of love has two sides

Two, my darling, only two.

He really liked that one. He looked at my eyes when he asked me if I “really” wrote it. Anyway, and here’s the other one… originally titled “To My Soulmate”, but, now simply “Soul Mate” as follows:

Soul Mate

(By: Vicki Jones)


called me Your Playmate.

I pooched out my cheeks
and puffed like a hussy wolf–
or a too proud Playboy Bunny.
after a miserable
long-time of time-out,
I died and came back
crawling the world as a bug,
with a tantalizing,  bitter shell.
teasing tickling
chas-ing and hid-ing
undying essence…
cheating, incorrigible truth…
…wriggled through
that coarse barrier
which surrounds what is me
and imbedded
in my egg of immortality.
grows strong
as it feeds
on Material Me.
I  giggle
and call you my playmate.
____________________________________________________That’s all of the poem I just want to mention that I made a couple of minor changes as I was transcribing it just now. …. Ah paranoia, will you never desert me.
I love you, My WordPress Friends.

Pls Look for a new page under “Please like me or don’t hurt me”

Hey: I’m newly single. Get away guys. I ain’t interested. Just objectively reporting is all. I’ve added a new page to mark this milestone in my life. Hope you’ll take a look. I’ve gotta get away from this computer now before it gets me down.

A little bit about my friend (since I can’t sleep)

He lost his life four months ago.

They took him prisoner three months ago.

A forgiving fate brought him to me 24 days ago.

A mental lapse twisted that fate four days ago (if my traumatized memory serves).


Personal battles.

I can’t write more because I’m consumed with worry for him.

This Jon and Vangelis song is pretty. First a link to the lyrics. Then a link to the song.

Day 13 of Month 3. 10:33 AM

This should be a grrr entry. I think my last one should probably have been as well, but I can’t remember.

At any rate,

My house-guest is gone. Not dead. Not gone home. Gone of his own volition–while not able to claim, with legal certainty, the power to do so. I think that for him, what happened could be compared to having a legal tractor roll on top of him, but– with a surge of adrenalin–he was able to lift it off himself.

Or maybe, he dreamed it.

I hope reality materializes for him. I hope he has as much determination to put to that purpose as he did adrenalin.

To change the subject–this is a grrr post because my bill-writing phobia is upon me. I’m late, I’m late.

Please don’t take this too personally or too lightly, but I love you all!!

Good Morning because of you–not my crappy mood.

I’ve been driving other people’s cars, inadvertently drinking out of their left-behind take-out cups and well, now methinks I’m coming down with the viral meningitis.  Take from that what you will.

Maybe everything will work out.

I wish I knew Frank Zappa’s catalog.

Wonder if I should wonder about my responsibility to my readers.

Acute illness is the worst kind. It seizes you, and it has the power to kill relatively immediately (versus the chronic kind). I hardly ever get the acute variety–could be I’ve grown immune to the germs in my environment;  I rarely leave it.

I’m going to believe I’ll throw this off and get on with my day.

Please pray for me some more!!! Am I a prayer hound?

I want to find something personal to share with y’all…because you all are special to me.

I’m going to post this up, and go look on this hard drive.  I have a particular thing in mind, but I don’t think I should decide to post such a thing under the possible influence of meningitis.  My computer has been acting funny. That’s why I’m going to publish this while I know I can.