Right Thought, Right Time

Carmen's Blog

Walter                                             The Blue One

You have someone new in your life.

I never saw it coming. My neck is stiff and my eyes are sore for I’ve sobbed for weeks. I’m struggling to accept my exile to the drafty, sometimes frigid, left corner inside the front door. Might you reconsider your decision or at least relocate me closer to a heating vent or fetch me a blanket? The site where you have abandoned me is nearly as devoid of warmth as my previous home in your unheated, garaged car.

C & W, we, were great together. I simply cannot fathom why I’ve been supplanted by a lowly drug store cane. Please tell me it’s not because the other chap is sheathed in blue, your favorite color. Your partiality to such a regal hue merely belies your impeccable taste. I fervently wish you would reconsider banishing me to guard dust in the doorway. I implore you: grant me a second chance to assist you as I did before. Ignore the twaddle you were told by that charming, physical therapist chap. Why would having a cane of optimum height improve your gait and posture?

It pains me to do so but I admit I do find the Blue One’s flexibility to be rather impressive. Compared to my rigidity, he’s a Cirque du Soleil contortionist, able to bend and fold at your will in the most astonishing ways. Yes, yes, yes. He bests me in being flexible for you to transport and store with ease. Nevertheless, how can you disregard the years of devoted service I provided by your side? What error in judgment or indiscretion did I commit during my employ? Do you not long for my stylish companionship?

My demotion to ex-aid smarts even more because your new mate was mass-produced and not handcrafted. To be replaced by an instrument of common lineage has shattered my spirit.

Rest assured, when you tire of being supported by the Blue One, and you will, you will find me where you left me, proudly standing at attention, again ready to offer support.

Note:  Below are select blog posts that appeared on Red Room.


They must be the worst
hunters in the world;
Hording bullet rounds

to wipe out herds
of bodies born

with two less legs;
Hunters with

misguided aims
who target

innocents as prey.

After each slaughter,
we search for sense
and find instead

ill mangled minds–
shooters who believe

in make believe;
Where bodies dead

are not so dead,
and blood is all but real.

Close-ups focus and
trace sodden trails
and mounting wails

at makeshift shrines
and stuffed toy towers;

We view good-byes
said much too soon

to coffin rows,
bearing those loved,

the cherished young and old.

Outrage abounds–
for days, then wanes;
Interest shifts and

routines resume
for those

not wounded by
bloody specters

of homicides
planned yet unannounced

and often done en masse.


Dear Congress: Continued inaction and capitulation to the NRA are inexcusable.



Leg Lament (in six words)

Tripped over memories of walking well.


Smashwords Q & A

Why did you write Life Continues?
I've wanted to write a book since I was in my twenties. If I had done so, my memoir would've been a pamphlet and double-spaced. I needed at least fifty years of life to have enough interesting material. Certainly, after I survived bouts of my right hand nerves deciding I no longer needed to hold a pen and later when my jaw and chest nerves chose to riot with unprecedented regularity and intensity, I thought it was time to try to assemble and share my experiences before I couldn't do so.

Read the entire interview

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