I feel sorry for the mother who, on July 22, killed her 4 children and committed suicide. I don’t think she was a monster mom like some people call her. She must have been very unhappy and saw no way out. It is not to excuse her, simply to understand her a little. Maybe she thought that if she killed herself her children would go into an orphanage and she didn’t want that to happen. Maybe she had huge problems that she believed had no solution.
Archive for July, 2010
There was a German shepherd with a cop on the #6 train at the 51st. and Lexington subway stop last night. I got in quickly before the doors closed.
The train was packed and we were all sardines without olive oil. The dog rubbed against my leg and I smiled. Rubio used to do that sometimes. I had one just like him, I said but no one paid attention. The dog and the cop got off at 42nd Street, Grand Central. Chau, Rubio. We’ll always be together no matter what.
I have dreamed of the priest I once loved long ago. My dreams have been recurrent. I have had them for the past 20 years or so. In none of these dreams is he wearing that white clerical collar around his neck. The collar used to drive me nuts, but the way I felt when I was near him told me that he was no priest to me. He was a man, plain and simple.
I have heard about the letter that several Italian women have written to the Pope recently asking him to do away with Celibacy. Years ago, I myself wrote a letter similar to theirs to John Paul the Second. When I received no reply (I really didn’t expect any), I decided to write my novel Different Flags.
Black Skirt In the winter or fall, she wore a wool black skirt a little more than knee-length. Sometimes the shirt was a long-sleeved lilac colored one that had belonged to my uncle. The stockings were brown and opaque. Her shoes were well-worn moccasins, also black. I see her now, with a beige long sleeved sweater hanging from her right arm, just in case it got too cold.
She looked up at the apt. with the great big balcony. 49th Street and Second Avenue. She knew the street well. What I wouldn’t give, she thought, to have a place like that and to go up, take a shower and watch TV while I prepare myself something to eat. It was a hot early evening. There is no key, she said shrugging her shoulders. There is nothing. Just nothing to look forward to. . There is nothing. Just nothing to look forward to.
The Summer of my Infected Teeth:
This is a time where I am acting like a chicken with its head cut off. I am running from one dentist to another. A free consultation is all I can pay for. My teeth—2 of my teeth—are infected. One of the infections is a Big one. At my wits end.
In the past few days one of the kittens living in the parking lot on Havermeyer, off Metropolitan in Williamsburgh, has died. Other cats have mysteriously lost their lives. Finding them a safe home (or a safe place) is no easy task. There are cats in the parking lot that need medical attention urgently. One of the cats has some fur missing.
The black bird stood in the middle of the subway floor on 50th and Lexington. I looked down—one of his legs was a very thin stick. Something—probably another bird in a fight for food—had chopped off his foot.
Ever since I have relocated back to this country in December 2007, all I have been hearing has been mortgage fraud, foreclosure, predatory lending and high unemployment rates. It is very sad and it makes my situation so similar to that of other Americans that crying is not enough. Unfortunately, it does not solve anything. Now I find myself in urgent need of 2 root canals and there is no medical insurance and no money to pay for them. Eugenia Renskoff
She didn’t want to leave. She had to feel safe and protected maybe for a little while. A short time earlier she had had a free consultation dental appointment in Borough Park and now she needed comfort. What am I going to do? This costs money and I don’t have it. She walked the streets of the business district. No, there cannot be any comfort. Just the search for what will make this end, make this go away.