Ivey's Journal

A crooked oak on Samhain night, Reflects the pale moon’s glow, Releases brittle leaves to flight Of pirouettes and flow. A transitory bridge is formed Between the realms of life. The veil of Summerland is torn, First pierced by autumn’s knife. In rustling brush come hidden folk. Unseen are passing souls. On gentle winds our loved ones float And meet us on the knolls. We reunite with missing kin. Though it be brief, it’s fair. For we shall meet and love, again. Our lives, once more, to share. Copyright ©2005 Vivian G. Harriman

Morning Dew on a Grape Leaf 

The next morning, Mom, Uncle Merlin, Aunt Bea and I arrived at the funeral home, where we were met by the director. He approached us and handed me the belt my father had been wearing with the familiar “long-horn” buckle he had always worn. The reality of Dad’s death hit me like a brick wall, and tears streamed from my eyes. A droplet fell from my nose, hitting the pavement between my feet, and I thanked the director. We were guided into a small chamber, where my father was lying on a table with a sheet pulled up to his chest. Mom stretched out one of her delicate hands, placed it on his forehead and whispered, “Oh, honey.” “Vera,” Uncle Merlin surmised, “it just looks like he’s asleep, doesn’t it?” As Mom’s fingertips gently stroked my father’s brow, I sensed a soundless conversation between the two: “Honey, I came here to tell you goodbye. I wish we were alone, that every word could be said out loud. We have been through so much together. There were so many things we never acknowledge...

In the back seat of their car, I asked whether Dad had taken any pain pills before his death. His brother, Uncle Merlin, did not like to see my father suffering with back pain and often gave him prescription narcotics. My greatest fear was that my uncle might have accidentally overdosed Dad. Another member of the family expressed the same concerned, while my aunt repeated, “We just don’t know.” Then, I was admonished with: “Don’t mention a thing about this to your mother. That’s all she needs right now.” I meekly retorted, “I wasn’t going to,” wondering how inconsiderate these folks must think I am. Aunt Eva’s husband counseled, “Don’t mention this to any of the hospital staff, either. They’re trying to decide whether or not to perform an autopsy.” “Holy shit!” my mind postulated. “Daddy’s gone. My relationship with Mom is distant, at best, and I’m probably the last person she would like to have comforting her. Now, there’s a possibility that Uncle Merlin might be cha...

I’ll never forget the sound of that doorbell. Usually there is a knock at the side door, where the folks that know me will come to visit. This time, it was a ringing from the front entrance. My guess was that it was probably another religious zealot sent to “save me” or a solicitor. Much to my surprise, my maternal aunt and a cousin, Jennifer, were standing there with worried faces. I was baffled by their troubled expressions and wondered why they hadn’t used the side door. “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour; but, the line was busy. Your mother needs you,” Aunt Eva explained. Bewildered, I questioned, “Why? What’s the matter?” My two relatives got a bit more specific. “Your father is very sick, and your mother needs you right now.” After inviting them in, I inquired further. “Exactly what happened to Dad? Is he all right?” “We’re not exactly sure what happened to him; but he’s real sick.” They continued, “He’s in the hospital, and your mom is waiting for y...

"Happy Holidays!"

You knew me in a past life. You remembered - and loved. Caught up in this life's amnesia, I remained oblivious, Confused by the unjustified devotion. You recognized me out of the masses. You remembered - and loved. Unable to see past social stumbling blocks, I pushed the stranger away; But, you wouldn't depart. Seeing the being that once cherished you, You eased into my existence. Foreshadows of familiarity trickled in. Discovering the lost soulmate, You became a part of my life, And I began to recall. You knew me in a past life. You remembered - and loved. Now, I remember - and love! Copyright ©2004 Vivian G. Harriman

The aftereffects were not pleasant, either. At night, there were throbbing headaches, neck pain, upper back and shoulder aches. The discomfort could sometimes be so extreme that sleep was nearly impossible, and I would silently weep in bed. I remember coming home from school on the day my dog was hit, after a day of devastation, after having been shaken several times for not being able to control my crying, believing that my parents had already been told of my “disruptive behavior”. Mrs. Townsend had guaranteed me, on several occasions, that she kept close contact with my folks and that they were informed of everything I did. So many times, I had been threatened with, “Do you want me to have to call your parents, again?” Mom and Dad would surely take the word of a teacher over the word of a child. That day, before stepping off the bus, my emotions shut down. My immature psyche was no longer able to handle the chronic overload of frustration, anguish, injustice and wrath. I...

I sit up in bed, my mind starts racing and the anger begins. Why wasn’t someone there for that little girl to help her deal with the trauma and horrible loss? Why couldn’t there have been a decent burial for my friend, instead of seeing his tiny body dragged by the tail with a smear of blood to the side of the road and thrown in the weeds? Why did that little girl have to get on the school bus that day? Why did she have to endure another day of physical and emotional abuse, at the hands of a teacher, at a time like that? I’ll never forget that bitter schoolmaster hag, Mrs. Townsend. It may have been due to my severely petite size or due to my lack of any basic education; but for some reason, that gray-haired elderly woman hated me. She had made me the focus of her contemptuous rage and had no intention of allowing me to learn anything. My folks were told that they had a problem child, that I was “slow” and that perhaps, they should place me with the retarded and mentally di...

I stand frozen in shock. There is an excruciating knot in my throat. The driver of the white Ford, a man of color in a plain T-shirt and work pants, opens the car door and steps out. Regretfully, he looks at me. “Little girl,” he questions, “is that your puppy?” My chin trembles uncontrollably. Tears trickle down my checks. My throat is so constricted that I’m unable to speak. I am only able to nod my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit him.” The man explains, “It was an accident.” Somehow, I manage to choke out in a trembling voice, “I know.” The vibrations of my sobbing pull me back into physical existence and out of the phantom world of nightmares. My eyes open; although, my breathing is still a bit erratic. Sweat covers my forehead, upper lip and the back of my neck. Reality and relief wash over me. “Thank God. It’s just another damned dream!” In psychological terms, it’s a flashback - a moment when part of my tortured past comes back to haunt me.

Childhood memories drift me back into the land of nod. Soon, I am looking through the bluish eyes of a five-year-old girl, whose ash blonde hair is so fine it swirls in the slightest draft. Glancing upward, there is an enormous old Victorian home in disrepair, at least three stories high. The paint is peeling and damn, it’s huge! Looking down, across the wide lace-trimmed collar of a plaid dress, books are cradled in my young arms and a rambunctious brown puppy is darting about my black shoes. It is “Raunchy”, my beloved friend and first encounter with unconditional love. My buddy is there, waiting just for me with his quivering tail and flagging tongue. He never seems to tire of my company. I harshly scold the tiny mutt for attempting to follow me to the bus stop; but Raunchy’s devotion compels him to pursue my presence by tracking me under cover of weeds and bushes. I walk down the dreaded gravel and dirt road up to the highway, where the noise and stench of a vast yellow bus w...

There is a peace that comes in the summer darkness. It is best felt when sitting outside, studying the vast heavens and allowing the mild breeze to gently stroke the face and hair. It is a quiet reprieve from the sultry days of the June-July solstice, when heat and sweat seem to have no limit. The torrid sun surrenders to the more temperate stars, creating a momentary repose from the unbearable warmth. The aftereffects of the day’s yard work had caught up with me. My skin felt taut and flushed with sunburn. The palms and fingers of my hands were stiff. It felt as though my shoulders had a bit of rust in them, and a rather dull ache radiated through the low back. It was time to call it a day and get ready for bed. The ice in my glass of lemonade chimed as I lumbered out of the lawn chair and headed into the house. A couple of ibuprofen, followed by a tranquil shower, eased the pain in my bones enough to allow me some shut-eye. The glow of a small bedside lamp guided my body to the mattr...

To those of you, who recognize my picture and feel anger or pain, please forgive me. To those that have been hurt by the cruelty of my youth, the callousness of my arrogance or by my thoughtlessness, I am sorry. Many times, I have reflected on the past and wished for ways to “take it all back”. Life is too precious to be inflicting unnecessary pain, especially when it’s not my life to spoil! If you know me and I have offended you, give me a chance to do the right thing. Please, leave a message in “comments” and give me a chance to try to make things right.

Before my eyes a suicide, A lingering liquid fate. His drinking rips me up inside, That duel of love and hate. Why do I buy so many lies? How can I ask for more? So many times have he and I Been down that road before! Rejection in the bedroom, My cooking pushed aside, He’s sick or stressed; the money’s gone, And bills are piling high. A promise to give up the booze, The tearful hollow vows, Another trip to detox, It’s more than God allows. Why can’t he make it easy? Just tell me, “Go to Hell”! He begs for my forgiveness. How do I say,“farewell”? Copyright ©2002 Vivian G. Harriman

Lacey wings dance from blossom to blossom, So exquisite, yet elusive. Should my hand reach out or my face be seen, They disappear. In slumber, their tiny feet Tickle my nose and lips; But like dreams, they only tarry while I sleep And flee with the opening of eyes. Copyright ©2004 Vivian G. Harriman

Why does the unbeliever baffle so many of the religious? Is it so difficult to accept and appreciate life simply for what it is – with no specific explanation? How much more mysterious and majestic this universe is without an exegesis! What an incredible lottery we have won! It’s awesome to be part of such unprecedented fortune and to be more than just a pawn in some deity‘s scheme. Heaven is not a distant place we only experience with our demise. Paradise is here on earth. It is the smell of brewing coffee, newly cut hay or sweet potato pies in the oven. It is the feel of a mimosa flower brushed across the nose, the soothing hum of a purring kitten or in the rush of sledding downhill. Bliss is in the glitter of campfires, in uncontrollable laughter and in the serene land of early morning fog. Death is merely a natural process in which our bodies nourish that which continues to live. There is no "weeping and gnashing of teeth," no "fire and brimstone," no e...

Alas, here I am in my younger years (30's). 

My heart is heavy. Shame is all I feel for our country. The day after September 11, 2001, I read a posting by a young Muslim woman, which pissed me off! She expressed elation that Americans finally had to experience death and destruction on their own soil. How could this lady endorse violence and grief against a people that meant her no harm? It was her opinion that the people of the United States were so far removed from the afflictions of war in the rest of the world that they lacked empathy and were indifferent to the suffering of others, notably those of another ethnicity. She believed most Americans to be spoiled, taking for granted or not caring that much of what they consumed was at the expense of foreign exploitation, poverty and human anguish. She hated that most U.S. citizens knew little to nothing of their government’s political, financial and military involvement in the international arena, particularly in the Middle East. To her, Americans obviously didn’t give a ...