Me: Hey, honey, are you finished up delivering today?


Adam: Yep, my last delivery was at the camp where they filmed “Halloween.”


Me: “Halloween”?


Adam: Yeah, you know, the one with Freddy Krueger.


Me: No, that’s “Nightmare on Elm Street.” “Halloween” is the one with Michael Myers. You mean where they filmed “Friday the 13th” with Jason.


Adam: I knew it was one of those

(photo source:  thethinkingtank)

 

 A Birthday Present

 By:  Sylvia Plath

What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?

I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
When I am quiet at my cooking I feel it looking, I feel it thinking

'Is this the one I am too appear for,
Is this the elect one, the one with black eye-pits and a scar?

Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus,
Adhering to rules, to rules, to rules.

Is this the one for the annunciation?
My god, what a laugh!'

But it shimmers, it does not stop, and I think it wants me.
I would not mind if it were bones, or a pearl button.

I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.

I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,

The diaphanous satins of a January window
White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!

It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.
Can you not see I do not mind what it is.

Can you not give it to me?
Do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small.

Do not be mean, I am ready for enormity.
Let us sit down to it, one on either side, admiring the gleam,

The glaze, the mirrory variety of it.
Let us eat our last supper at it, like a hospital plate.

I know why you will not give it to me,
You are terrified

The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
Bossed, brazen, an antique shield,

A marvel to your great-grandchildren.
Do not be afraid, it is not so.

I will only take it and go aside quietly.
You will not even hear me opening it, no paper crackle,

No falling ribbons, no scream at the end.
I do not think you credit me with this discretion.

If you only knew how the veils were killing my days.
To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
Armies of them. They are carbon monoxide.

Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million

Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine-----

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
Must you stamp each piece purple,

Must you kill what you can?
There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.

It stands at my window, big as the sky.
It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center

Where split lives congeal and stiffen to history.
Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger.

Let it not come by word of mouth, I should be sixty
By the time the whole of it was delivered, and to numb to use it.

Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
If it were death

I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
I would know you were serious.

There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
And the knife not carve, but enter

Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
And the universe slide from my side.

The Chosen

To carve or not to carve.....

Autumn Blooms

It's here again--the vibrant reds, golds, and oranges.  How I love this time of year.  I find as I get older that time passes much too quickly.  I really need to stop and cherish these moments: the vibrant yellow sunrise caressing my skin with its warmth for a brief moment, while the soft, gentle breeze greets me as I retrieve my print copy of The New York Times.  There is nothing like doing the crossword puzzle, with a red pen, by the enormous picture window in the kitchen.

The flowers are still blooming despite the falling temperatures each night.  Nothing can be better than seeing trees turning into such rich colors and flowers determined to grace the world with their delicate beauty, all the while enjoying down-comforter-cold-nights.

One of the many NJ fields still in bloom in October

These small moments, can be so profound on the soul.  It is easy to overlook the small miracles that still exists in this crazy world.  I am glad I'm guilty of that more than I would like to admit. 

It's nice to know that I can still be surprised.  Thank God for that.

"The impulse to put everything down immediately is a weakness—a neurotic fear of losing something. You should know by now that the memory is an immense steel reservoir—nothing escapes it. Write immediately, yes! But as an artist." ~Henry Miller

“The writer’s only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all to get the book written."

~William Faulkner, 1956

Spring...

why are you talking so long to come?

"A thousand words will not leave so deep an impression as one deed." Henrik Ibsen

As I get older, I realize truer words were never spoken. 

"If you're going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty."

~Marilyn Monroe

Shades of Death: A Road Not Dead?

Photo Source:  Wikipedia

New Jersey is a haunted state.  Public buildings, houses, even roads have been trampled upon or lived in for over 200 years and most are still standing or in use.  Unexplained phenomena and ghost activities have been investigated and documented by a variety of groups:  ghost hunters, amateurs, publications such as “Weird NJ” magazine and television shows like MTV’s “Fear” and Syfy’s “Ghost Hunters.”

Living in New Jersey, I embrace these fascinating stories and legends.  I want to see if there is any truth to it first hand.  It would be impossible to visit every location, so I focus on a local road known to be haunted.  I am not a ghost hunter, thrill seeker, or crazy for that matter.  Skepticism is a natural tendency in my makeup, but I am open-minded and believe there are things in life that sometimes cannot be explained.

A half a mile away from my home runs Shades of Death Road in the village of Great Meadows.  The road’s long, macabre history stretches back to the mid-18th century. Surround by rural farmlands, picturesque vistas of the Kittatiny Valley and the Pequest River, its pristine landscape veils the dark reputation of the road as it prominently sits in the center of it all.

Because the road is well documented in ghost activity, with strange occurrences the norm, visitors are common to the area.  To curb the flow of unwanted visitors, or even thieves, residents often smear oil or mud on the sign to obscure the name of the road to turn on hoping to deter them.  Many of these road signs have disappeared over the years.

There are no historical documents or records explaining the origin of the road’s grim name.  Without this information all theories are guesses.  Some theories focus on the lower end of the road where highway men and bandits would hide in the shade waiting for victims to steal their valuables, then murder them as they passed by.  Another theory states that the highway men would engage in fights to the death, among themselves, over women.  Some say the locals took revenge on the highway men by capturing and lynching them in the same area as their victims, and the angry spirits of the victims continue to mourn their untimely death.  Others say it was more of a natural reason: the malaria outbreak of 1850, that claimed many lives due to lack of medical treatment in such a remote location.  These theories only add to the mystery.

“Shades,” as the locals call it, is a rural two-lane road running seven miles long.  Old farmhouses dot both sides of the road and are separated by clusters of trees so thick that light disappears even in bright sunshine.  Residents cope with the road’s dark past by simply ignoring it.  “It’s just a road, I try not to read too much in the weirdness and all, I think it’s more in the minds of people that don’t live here, than anything,”  Phillip Bright says, with a hint of annoyance when I ask about living on Shades.  “I’ve lived on it all my life and nothing out of the ordinary has happened to me.”

Luckily for Phillip, that is the case.  The road’s extreme curves and lack of guard rails have caused a number of fatal car accidents, most recently ten years ago when three teenagers crashed into a tree and all died.  People believe the high number of deaths create the perfect environment for ghost sightings and paranormal activity. 

A number of people mention feeling a heavy sensation in the air once they go down the road. “Some people feel such dread that they turn right around and never go back, that happened to me,” Evie Castle-White, my neighbor and Great Meadows native confirms, shivering slightly at the memory.  “If you really want to see something interesting, check out Ghost Lake, especially at night,” adds husband, Ben.  “My buddies and I used to fish there, but it’s kinda weird down around the lake.” 

Legend has it that if you go to Ghost Lake at night, darkness shrouds the road, except at the lake, where the sky above is still bright as twilight .  An old abandoned cabin stands along banks where people report seeing apparitions at night during a full moon. People say the apparitions are the ghosts of campers murdered at the lake years ago, which was never solved.

I decide to see the lake for myself one evening in April when the full moon is high in the sky. I surmise that the apparitions are most likely a figment of overactive imaginations, maybe caused by the fog rolling off the lake.  The road is eerie and quiet with the sounds of crickets.  There are no street lamps and the night sky is black as tar as a gray cloud covers the moon temporarily.  Little dots of light can be seen from windows of the few residents that are still awake and knowing they are there comforts me.

As I round the bend, Ghost Lake appears suddenly in the darkness.  Looking up, I am shocked to see that the sky over the lake is bright.  The oddity of this should not surprise me, having been told by many that this occurs, but seeing it for myself is quite another thing.  There is nothing around the lake that could attribute to the brightness.

Feeling slightly scared, I force myself to stay and find the old cabin.  The dark roof is barely visible through the trees as it looms over the water.  Luckily for my nerves, apparitions, of any sort, do not appear.  Relief is short lived as the crickets go quiet and a heavy feeling takes hold of me.  The air becomes chilly as I start the car and leave, forcing myself to look back in the rear view mirror, turning slowly on Shades.  I swear I see something moving, but decide it's my imagination.  But just in case, I will give up looking for ghosts, at least for the time being.