I was born in the 1950’s, live in a 126-year-old house in Virginia, I am retired and spend a great deal of my time writing. I have lived through the Kennedy assassination, civil rights, Neil Armstrong on the moon, and 9/11/2001. I have seen the Vietnam war, the war in Middle East, the war on drugs, Star Wars, and the war between men and women. I have written hundreds of short stories and essays and a handful of novels. Only one novel was (self) published and one poem published in a collection.
I have been a writer my whole life, creating my first stories when I was still in elementary school.
Spring explodes in rapturous dainty trills And glorious flowers. It has begun, The season of beginning, with dales and hills Dressed in the blanket of fairy fun.
Sun sets on the last chill eve of winter. The promise of plenty and kind beauty Is o’er the world when the dawn enters With blazing brass and boundless bounty.
Softly, the voices arise, like the first bright Lark song when it meets heavens bowers. Ever more gentle, caressing and light Fairies dance among the tiny flowers.
If this be spring, living in beauty bright, Blossoms chase away the deepening night.
When lost in moments of deep silent thought I conjure up dreams that Time has erased And remember all the angry words wrought By my witch’s heart in torment encased.
White water rapids are green eyes blue For precious friends hidden deeply inside And weep anew with each tender new clue Time old, but recalled, still wanting to hide.
A heavy grief felt for those not forgiven And heavier still, their innocence abounds. In thought revived, reminded, and enlivened And my mind and soul, the anguish surrounds.
But for a while, I think on you, dear friend All losses restored and all sorrows end.
Previously published material. Cannot be reproduced without written permission from the author.(c) copyright 1999 Karen Vertigan
As heaven puts on her evening gown of deepest blue, I think of you Anxious One that I have become when Helios rested from his charge Do you hear my song slipping from me with all of my earthly feelings? It soars high as Aurora’s hem on sprouted wings of rhyme and verse And flies whitely, in caressing circles, gently touching your smile My heart, clothed in a timid shroud, begs for release from its bonds To touch the soul of the music pouring from your mystic fingers Do you know that my love is growing in my restricted chest Until the moment it is released with a burst of brilliant words That challenge Nyx’s dark dress of despair and loneliness? If you are the dreamer in this night, then I am what you dream But when you awaken from your slumber, I am your need And I grow in my love, stronger when you think on me A Nova of starshine that waits in the vast silence of the dome For the music of the first kiss…
Published in an anthology of poems titled Connections: Contemporary Verse From Around the World, Sharon Derderian and Robert Lawrence, Editors, Iliad Press, 1999.
I went to a website called The Wayback Machine which is an archive for old websites. I used to own a site where I posted things I had written wayback when. I will share many of the stories and poems here.
To Your Eyes
Karen Vertigan Pope
For A Long Forgotten Old Boyfriend… written on Wednesday Morning 2.10.99
Penned on an envelope while musing and found after three years while cleaning out an old filing cabinet which was stuffed with trash worthy papers.
Your eyes are things that capture and hold And pull me closer to where you are Dark and lovelier still, they call out With an owl flight voice of such sweetness That bearing it is a bright burden What secrets do you conceal in the depths? Oh, beautiful eyes that you are. I behold life in your eyes A flower: Yes, opening, glittering with dawn’s dew A melody: Yes, touching the soul as only beauty can Sensual curves of creativity Speak to me in a new language Show to me an abstract landscape Sings in a voice of such purity That rising, it brings me nearer to Heaven than ever I have approached before And seeing them for the first time I did not know eyes could be so brown Nobody, not even the song of the lark, has such soft eyes… O, beautiful eyes that you are!
Love is actually everywhere you look. Most of the time it is not earth shattering or even remarkable. Most of the time it is those tiny moments when we are struck with the simplicity of the emotion.
If you look, and not even very hard, you will find examples of love flowing in lives. Touching each of the senses. Some examples:
Hearing
I stand in line at the check out in a department store and a woman in front of me is on her cell phone. Not an unusual sight these days. She gets a particular smile and her face and then tells the phone, “I love you, too, sweetheart.” My imagination takes over. Was she talking to her husband? Boy friend? Maybe a child. Hearing love is true music.
Sight
I sit at a stoplight, eager as everyone else for it to change so we can progress to the next stoplight. In front of me a man is driving and a woman rides shotgun. He leans over and kisses her, tenderly and slowly on her lips, passing the time until they can proceed.
Smell
I approach the barista and ask her if they have Kenya Coffee. She smiles and says yes, hands me a bag of coffee beans and rings up my purchase. All the way home, the scent of the best coffee in the world fills my car. I get home, open the bag and inhale deeply, allowing the scent to overwhelm me. Coffee Love. Perfect.
Taste
Everyone has a favorite flavor. For many it is chocolate, or bacon or oranges. The happiness that happens when something touches our tongue and awakens the sense of taste is delightful. It is love. How often do we say, I love dark chocolate or I love lasagna. Food is love. Taste is love. Sharing food is love. Just ask any chef.
Touch
The tactile sense is overpowering at times. I find myself walking through a store and gently caressing the clothes on the rack, or the yarn in the bin. Judging the textures. Enjoying the feeling. Did you know you have nearly as many nerves in your feet as in your fingers? The best feeling is when I take off my shoes and caress my feet with the carpet under me. The motion is deliberate, moving my feet to and fro. I allow my toes to clutch the carpet fibers and relaxation washes over me. Love.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Love makes the world go ‘round. All you need is love. Love is a many splendored thing. When I seek love, I find myself smiling more often. I am calmer. I am happier. Love, love, love.
I challenge you to find love. Every day. Everywhere.
Are you a process or a product crocheter? Maybe you’ve never stopped to think about it or perhaps you’ve never heard of these categories before. Read on to learn more and find out what drives your crochet process.
Product Crocheters
How do you pick your crochet projects? If your main focus is the end result of your finished project, you’re likely a product crocheter. Because your main goal is to create the desired piece, you may not even look through the pattern before you begin. For fearless crocheters, this is a wonderful way to gain experience in new techniques you may not have otherwise tried. You choose your pattern based off of a garment or accessory that you want to wear or complete for a gift. Generally, product crocheters will focus on one project at a time and finish what they’ve started.
Process Crocheters
For process crocheters, it’s all about the journey. You love the act of crocheting and simply want to play with different yarns and your favorite stitches. Process crocheters tend to pick larger projects that allow you to crochet away without much stopping for measuring, hand finishing or fiddling with any kind of stitch you don’t enjoy. You may also cherish the act of searching for the perfect pattern, pairing with the perfect yarn, and swatching until everything is just right.
Combination Crocheters
Most of us aren’t strictly process or product crocheters, but a combination of the two. I know there are certain stitches or finishing techniques that I just don’t enjoy, so I do tend to shy away from patterns that are heavy in those areas. For the most part, I have a rough idea of my finished product in mind when I’m searching for a pattern. I usually start with a yarn from my stash and the amount of yardage guides me to what is possible (one skein? A lacey scarf or hat. Several skeins? Sweater or shawl time!). From there, I look at what the end result would be and if I like it, I’ll take a closer look at the pattern to make sure I’ll enjoy creating the piece. Combination crocheters want to cherish both the act of their craft and the end result.
Something fun to note is that preferences can differ from craft to craft. I find my knitting process is very similar to my crochet process, however I’m definitely a product sewist. The act of sewing isn’t as therapeutic to me as crocheting, so I just want the project to be completed and off my sewing table. In contrast, sometimes I just want to crochet for the sake of crocheting. I’ll grab a skein or two of yarn, my hook and a simple pattern repeat to create a shawl or scarf that just goes and goes. I always want something in process on my hook or needles.
So, which type of crocheter are you? Whatever your process, cherish your crochet time!
Allen looked deeply into Hannah’s eyes and moved closer to her face. Their lips touched, for the first time. Allen lingered, loving the sweet sensations that coursed through his veins and Hannah felt her heart race into overdrive. Time stood still for them. Seconds or hours could have passed and neither one would have noticed.
Allen moved away from Hannah a few inches and saw her eyes were still closed as she savored the tingling in her body. Slowly she opened them and he smiled at her.
After several calming deep breaths, Hannah said, “The kiss…”
“Yes?”
“Does it mean you want to have a relationship with me?”
He hesitated, wondering where she was going with her question. “I thought I made that evident.”
“Oh, this guy really doesn’t know. Not necessarily evident. People go around kissing each other right and left all the time.”
Allen frowned. “Do you? Go around kissing other guys right and left all the time?”
“Well, no, I don’t. I didn’t know if you went around kissing other girls right and left all the time.”
“Uh… no, I don’t.”
Hannah smiled at him. “Okay, then. Did that kiss mean you want to have a relationship with me?”
“What? Are we in middle-school? Did I just pass you a note that says, ‘Do you like me? Yes? No? Check one.’”
“Very funny. I repeat, did that kiss mean you want to have a relationship with me?”
He frowned at her and then asked, “So there are limits? Boundaries?”
“Definitely.”
“Kissing is okay, then?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of kissing? Any tongue allowed?” he asked, willing to play the game with her.
“Well, yes, but limited.”
“Limited to what?” Allen asked.
“Lips, but not passed the teeth.”
“So licking your tonsils is R-rated?”
“Yes, if I still had tonsils. They were taken out when I was two.” Hannah told him.
“Can I lick your cheek?” he asked.
“Is this guy some kind of pervert with a weird cheek fetish? Why would you want to lick my cheek?” she asked him.
“I don’t know, but it could come up. It might destroy the mood if I have to ask you if it is okay, later. You know, right before I actually lick your cheek. Better to get a clarification now. And I don’t have a cheek fetish. By the way, how long have you had this disease where everything you think comes out of your mouth?” Allen asked.
“Can you believe this guy? Okay. Touching my cheek with your tongue may be alright under certain conditions.”
“Got it. Use of the tongue is conditional. What about hands?”
“So, I am allowed to touch your hands. What about your face?” Allen asked.
“When you say touch my face, what kind of touch are you thinking about?”
“A perfectly pale pink caress.” Allen started to have a lot of fun with her negotiations. He decided to go all in with her game. “And your neck is okay to touch with fingers and lips?”
“Yes.”
“Shoulders?”
“Yes.”
“Can I lick your elbow?” Allen asked.
“What? Why? We have established you don’t have a cheek fetish, but is there an elbow fetish we need to discuss?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t have a reason now, but it could come up in the future. I just want to be sure. And I don’t have any kind of fetish that I know about. You can keep that thought to yourself.”
“So what’s up with all the licking? I am picturing a St. Bernard, here. And no, I don’t like doggy kisses.”
“A St. Bernard? Oh, this girl is giving me a headache! I am trying to discover what your boundaries really are.”
“Oh, this guy who wants to lick my cheek and my elbow!” Hannah put her fingers up to her the bridge of her nose as if she were really caressing an aching head. “Okay. Again, licking my elbow may be alright under certain conditions.”
“Conditional elbow licking. Got it.” He noticed her frown and felt her start to shut down a bit. He didn’t want the game she started to end, just yet. “What’s wrong? I’m making a list for future reference. Now, what about your chest?”
“Chest? As in breasts?”
“Well, yes. All guys want to know about breasts.” He gave her his most serious look.
“If I knew you were a typical guy and not very special, I may have called all this off. Pay attention, Allen. This is a very important negotiation point. Breasts are R-rated. Plus, it should go without saying that all genitals are R-rated, too.”
“I wasn’t even going to ask about genitals. But, what if we hug? I will be able to feel your breasts touching my chest through our clothes. Are you saying no hugs?”
“Hugs are fine,” Hannah smiled because she realized he was fully playing her game.
“Yes. Back hugs are fine as long as your arms and hands remain in the PG position.”
“Okay. Arms and hands in the PG position. Now, what about feet?”
“What about them?” She asked.
“Can I caress your feet?” Allen asked
“Only after I’ve had a pedicure. What about your feet? Can I caress them?”
“Only after I’ve had a pedicure. Can I kiss your toes?”
“Weird, but the pedicure provision still stands,” Hannah said.
“You will let me know when your next pedicure appointment is, right?” Allen asked.
“So you do have a fetish. A foot fetish,” Hannah teased.
“This girl really doesn’t know.” He took a deep breath and then said, “Any part of the body can be an erogenous zone if it is approached correctly.”
“Oh, my. Do we have to start our negotiations, again? I feel like Antony Blinken at the Middle East Peace Talks. Like I am getting nowhere.”
“Who?”
“This guy is totally uninformed. Maybe I need to re-think this whole romantic relationship. Antony Blinken is the current Secretary of State under President Biden. You do know who President Biden is?”
“Oh, ha ha,” Allen said. Then, “We have actually covered a lot of ground in our negotiations. Nothing red. Just lovely pale pink. That is a major breakthrough. Do you want to continue?”
“Continue negotiations?”
“This girl really doesn’t know. I meant continue with a romantic relationship? You do realize that a romantic relationship is much deeper than girlfriend/boyfriend.”
“Deeper in what way?” she asked.
“Boyfriend/Girlfriend relationships are like middle school relationships. ‘Do you like me? Yes? No? Check one.’ A romantic relationship involves the heart and real, deep feelings.”
“Deep feelings, like… love?” Hannah asked.
“Totally like love,” Allen said.
“Are you saying you love me?” Hannah asked him.
“Did you just go back to middle school? ‘Hannah, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’”
“Well, I’m not sure. We have to kiss again before I can answer your middle school note.”
Allen didn’t hesitate. He put his hand on her cheek and pulled her in closer. Their lips met again and he gently touched her lips with his tongue. Suddenly the kiss deepened and his other hand pulled her into a closer embrace.
Allen pulled away from her, leaving one hand holding her cheek and the other hand holding onto her shoulder blade so she couldn’t move too far away from him. “I’m ready for your answer.”
Hannah said, “Let me see. The note said, “‘Hannah, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’ The answer to that is ‘Yes.’ My note says, ‘Allen, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’”
“Hannah, I love you with all my heart.” Allen pulled her into another PG-13 kiss that lasted all day.
8:05 Up and at-em. Slowly. My body is stuck and I feel like I am moving through glue. Arthritis is to blame.
8:20 Finally made it to the bathroom.
8:45 Finished repairing the damage sleep caused. Stepped on the scales and gained a pound over the weekend. I am either eating too many chips or I am pregnant.
9:00 Dressed and made bed. See Mom? I didn’t get on the internet just to make you cry.
9:10 Breakfast gathered and brought into the office. No coffee today, because I drink decaf when I do drink coffee and not drinking coffee at all seems to be no problem. Besides, I don’t have irritating co-workers to deal with and no meetings in the breakroom that turn into marathon gab-fests.
10:30 Read the daily Bible text, Breakfast completed, perused Facebook, wrote a blog entry, checked email, checked to-do list, looked online for baby girl names.
10:35 Started working. The thing is, I work at home, doing a job that is sometimes boring and definitely tedious. But, I am saving my house. I call apartments all across the US, checking on apartment availability and pricing and then that info gets sent to the guys who hired me so they can set rates for the “daily pricing” system. Basically, apartments now charge as much as the market will bear, so no breaks on apartment rent.
12:30 Lunch break. Left-over fish fillet made into a sandwich with cheese and tartar sauce. Better than a McDonald’s fillet of fish.
1:30 Watched a guy on YouTube walking around Yokohama, Japan while I ate my lunch.
4:05 Finished working for the day. Highlights from working: Lady: I need your home address and your birthdate before I can provide any information. Me: I am simply looking for pricing and availability. I am not filling out a lease at this time. Why do you need my home address and my birthday? Lady: We need it to make sure you are honest. Me: I will look elsewhere.
4:08 Thinking about the lady I encountered. How will knowing my address and birthdate prove I am honest? I am baffled.
4:09 Turned on the TV.
5:45 Put my trash can out be the street for pick-up tomorrow. Watched an episode of Meet the Meerkats on Discovery+. And another. And another.
6:00 Ate cereal for dinner because I didn’t want my leftovers and was too lazy to cook.
6:45 Napped in my chair after dinner.
8:15 1 hour and 15 minutes of meeting with Friends on Zoom. One of my favorite things to do during the week.
9:15 Watched an episode of The Zoo. Animal shows are safe to watch. I am not old enough to watch anything that is rated “R.”
9:30 Got ready for bed. I used to just get into the bed, now I have to get ready for bed. I am older, now.
10:00 Read a book until I fell asleep.
10:01 Rudely awakened when I dropped the book on my face.
11:30 Read some more until I felt sleepy, again.
11:31 Put the book on the nightstand so I wouldn’t drop it on my face, again.
If you read all of that, I congratulate you. You have a great deal of perseverance and stamina.
I am pretty chilled out about most things. It is a perk of getting older, I think. Like water on a duck’s back. But, it seems when something starts to bother me, a non-stop rant may ensue…
Let me start at the beginning. There is a company who sends me emails several times a day. These are completely unsolicited and unwanted. I do not read them and I do not want to read them. (I am not going to name the company in this blog because I refuse to give them any free advertising.) I have unsubscribed from these emails, on average, twice a week for the last month. I always get the message “You have been unsubscribed. Please allow ten business days to process your request.”
TEN? TEN DAYS? TEN DAYS NOT INCLUDING WEEKENDS? Oh, for crying out loud. Any reputable company can unsubscribe you from their email list immediately. As in right that second. As in you-will-never-receive-another-email-from-them
This company I am writing about not only did not unsubscribe me at my request, they INCREASED the number of emails they are sending me by a factor of four.
Sidebar: You see, you have to open the email to unsubscribe and that flags their account, telling them I opened the email and therefore I MUST be interested in their product and/or service.
I assume the thinking is, if they send enough emails to me, I will finally be intimidated into buying their product or service and I will finally stop receiving their emails. I am not a fool Unnamed company. I know if I buy your product and/or service, I will NEVER get rid of your emails.
I sent them to Google and reported them as spam. Maybe that will work. Likely, I will get another increase in the number of emails I receive from these people.
The funny thing is, I don’t even know how I got on their list to begin with. Probably, my email address was sold to them by someone else. If I ever find out who that is, I will report them to Google, too.
This post is not about crocheting or writing. This one is about anger, as the title suggests. So much to deal with, these days. But, let me start at the beginning.
Anyone who follows this blog knows my brother died last June. In order to keep my finances in order without having to sell most of what I own, I decided to get a roommate who could pay me a small amount of rent monthly. I made a very bad mistake when I didn’t charge a deposit. I thought I was being nice. I thought I was doing my future tenant a favor. I tried to be a fair and reasonable landlady. What a mistake!
I found a woman in her fifties who needed a place to rent, so we agreed on a sum I gave the the grand tour of the house and she said she liked it. She signed the lease, agreeing to pay me month to month. Then, she moved in. Within a week, this woman started complaining about the temperature in the house. My house is 126 years old which means it is hot in the summer and cold in the winter, even with HVAC installed. She complained about several things she thought was wrong with my house: No insulation, builder’s grade carpet in the bedroom, only two electrical outlets (she forgot to count the one in the bathroom) and the water from the water heater was too cold, the internet was slow, she had to park on the street, and on and on ad nauseum.
I replaced the water heater because it was old and a ticking timebomb, anyway. I patiently explained the cost of insulating a old home and the cost of re-wiring and old home. She demanded lower rent. So, we renegotiated and I lowered the rent by $100 a month. In retrospect, I should have told her to get lost right then.
Accusation
Then, she began accusing me of going into her room when she wasn’t home. Every. Day. I told her I did not go into her room because I had no reason to go into her room. She installed a security camera and pointed it toward the door to the bedroom. This was apparently done the day she moved in, however, I didn’t know there was a camera in her room for a couple of months. She was bragging on a rug she bought for the floor and I spotted the camera when I went into her room (with her present) to admire it. I thought my head would explode, but I held my peace. Another big error on my part.
She began accusing me of going into her room when she wasn’t home. Every. Day.
The next time she accused me of going into her room, I suggested she look at her camera footage and she would know I didn’t go in there. That became my new mantra. “Look at your camera footage before you accuse me.”
Escalation
By this time, winter was approaching and she began to complain about the room being too cold, the water being too cold, me going into her room and me listening to her phone conversations. As for the last complaint, I went into my bedroom, which is upstairs and right over her bedroom, to change my clothes after dropping food down the front of my shirt. She came up the stairs and demanded I stop listening to her phone conversations. “What are you talking about?” I asked.
She demanded I stop listening to her phone conversations.
“I was on the phone and you went into your room to just hung out and listen to me,” she explained in her whining, complaining voice. What an incredible ego she had. Really? There couldn’t have possibly been another reason I went into my bedroom? She is too old to be an entitled millennial, but that is what she acted like.
I asked her through clenched teeth, “Is your TV on right now?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Stand in my bedroom and tell me what you hear.” I could not hear her TV in my room, nor could I hear her when she was talking on her phone in her room. She didn’t respond. She gave me a bitch-I-wish-you-would-drop-dead look and left. While she was heading down the stairs, I told her that I refused to sit in a closet and never come out just because she moved in.
She had her mail changed to a post office box because she thought I was reading her mail. She continually complained about me going into her room. She still complained about me listening to her phone conversations. She complained that it was my fault that HER Firestick stopped working because of my wonky internet. (I have no problem with it, whatsoever.)
As a side note, I didn’t promise 5-star accommodations. I distinctly remember promising a bed and a bathroom, kitchen and laundry privileges.
She nearly ruined my washer with using too much fabric softener and when I asked her to not use it again, she did anyway. It took me two days to clean out my washer after she left because the inside of it was covered in a sticky blue sludge that smelled just like her fabric softener. And I was allergic to it. when I did my laundry, inevitably, it coated my clothes. I had places that itched that I really didn’t want to scratch in public. I told her this. She didn’t care.
And then, the day before she left, she once again accused me of going into her room. My patience snapped and I suggested (loudly) that she check her camera footage. I suggested she stop making the accusation because if she asked me five months from now, I would tell her the same thing. “I did not go into her room!” I told her that if I HAD to do into her room for some reason, like the house was on fire, I would text her to let her know. I told her I never wanted to hear that accusation, again. She said, “All I want is peace.” I replied, “Then, stop your paranoid accusations and figure out, once and for all time, that I don’t care what is in your room and I have no burning desire to hang out in there when you are not home. I have a life and none of it includes looking around your bedroom.” My tirade was skillfully sprinkled with a few foul words and much longer than I included in this post.
She moved out the next day.
And after she left, I knew why she didn’t want me in her room and was so freaking paranoid about it. She robbed me blind. She must have had a pile of my things in a corner and she was afraid I would see them. The list of things she stole from me is as follows and in no way complete: sheets for the bed she slept on, 2 brand new pillows, the pulls from the ceiling fan, the light bulbs out of the ceiling fan, the bathroom set of cup, toothbrush holder and soap dish, a walking cane, a blanket I crocheted for her that she was supposed to pay for, another blanket I let her borrow, a 25 gallon plastic tote I let her borrow, a hammer, several screwdrivers, a cordless drill, kitchen utensils, an umbrella, and the key to the front door.
She robbed me blind.
Then she told one of my neighbors, who asked her why she was moving, that I kept going into her room when she wasn’t home and she had camera footage to prove it. That statement made her a liar as well as a thief, because there is no camera footage of me going into her bedroom because I never did.
And I don’t want to even discuss how nasty the bedroom and bathroom was right after she moved.
The Lessons I Learned
I will not invite someone I don’t know to live in my house, again.
And if I ever decide that someone can move into my spare room, they will give me a hefty deposit that I will NOT return until about 30 days after they have left and I have had time to assess anything stolen from me.
I will immediately evict anyone who starts to complain about my house.
I will not renegotiate the rent once it is agreed upon.
I will add $150 non-refundable key deposit and change the lock the same day a new tenant moves out.
Karen Writes More Than Karen Crochets 