When you're a little boy and your mommy's sick, maybe you get to take her a glass of water, or carry soup down the hall and hope you don't spill it.
You don't like to see Mommy hurt or sick, and you sure hope she gets better.
When your mother's life story is well into the final chapter, and few paragraphs remain to a known, earthly end, you find yourself at her bedside.
You move a spoonful of soup toward her mouth, encouraging her to sip, telling her it will be soothing and soak up the medicines just as you offer her water positioning the straw so she can swallow with ease in the positioned bed.
You hope you don't dribble water or soup down her chin onto her chest, should her head change position or your hand waver mid-process.
You don't like to see Mom hurt or sick, and you sure hope but you know.
Stories & Commentary | Fiction & Nonfiction
the unpredictable pencil of
needs to tell you a thing or six...
- Joe Gensle
- Stories Commentary Humor Drama Fantasy
Ideas sprout like wildflower seeds in an undiscovered meadow.
I calculate arrangements of words, the medium of artistic expression, here, colorizing language and dialect, and with visual regard for punctuation.
I seek a voice to find your ear or heart, hyperactivate your mind, challenge or bolster your values, aim at your deepest fears to electrify their vulnerabilities.
Your reaction is my reward, defines my success.
I give no less concentration or effort than you who paint, play piccolo, plant petunias or pan-fry potatoes.
"Words have weight, sound and appearance; it is only by considering these that you can write a sentence that is good to look at and good to listen to." Somerset Maugham
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Know I'm left-handed, Roman Catholic, conservative Republican and don't apologize for it. If that's a deal-breaker, build a bridge and get over it; if you have a problem with it, you're right: You've got a problem. To invite yourself out, hit "Next Blog," above.
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