Cop Mom

Like so many writers today, I thought I'd wake up and post a profound commentary on the year end/new year continuum.  A perky reflection on my accomplishments of 2017 and a hopeful anticipation of what 2018 may have in store for me and my loved ones.  I stayed up late on the next to last night of 2017, and had every intention of sleeping in, which for me is somewhere around seven am.  Instead of awakening with abundant inspiration and motivation to write, I was roused from my sleep with the steady wail of sirens.  Then a phone notification which was difficult to discern - was it a text?  email?  FB post?   I have a new phone and don't know the nuances of the noises.

The phone notification was a text from a friend  who lives close by telling me we are being instructed to shelter in place.  Cop shot on County Line Road in Douglas County.  This is tough news to process at any time, but before coffee?  My mind was reeling.  Is the deputy OK?  Did they catch or kill the bastard?

I am an NPR kind of morning person, so I tune in.  Shit.  When news like this is the lead on NPR you know it is bad.  Without thinking I open my front door to grab the Denver Post, but it is not there.  I assume the post got the dates of my vacation notice wrong, but no big deal.  I can pick up a paper later on today.  With my first cup in hand, I google 9News and read one deputy down, but when I click again the word changes to multiple.  I am in the red zone of residents being asked to shelter in place.  That is why there is no paper; the roads around the apartment where I am staying are closed due to law enforcement activity.

Cop Mom.  I am the mother of a police officer in Colorado.  I grab my phone and send a 'stay safe' text to my son on his work phone,  He doesn't carry his personal cell on duty and I want him to know I am thinking about him, his colleagues and all law enforcement in Colorado.  Stay safe.  Two short, simple words.  A prayer perhaps that my son will be safe again today,  That the deputies in DougCo are not mortally wounded.  That their families  - their families what?  I don't even know.  That they can 'handle' what comes their way today?

Cop Mom.  I sit and drink my coffee and cry into my cup.  Sometimes I hate living in Colorado.  My son, the cop, was nine when Columbine happened .  He wasn't feeling well and stayed home from school that day.  We were shopping at King Soopers on Wadsworth and Jewell when the non-stop screeching of sirens began.  I kept thinking what the hell is going on?  When we left the store, the police cars were racing down Wadsworth.  Arvada PD, Boulder County Sheriff, Westminster.  I knew it was bad.

Platte High School.  New Life Church.  Aurora Theater. Arapahoe High School.  A street shootout in Colorado Springs.  Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs.  Thornton Wal-Mart...

Was this the reflection I had planned for today?  A chronology of gun violence in Colorado?  Absolutely not.  I was thinking more along the lines of my grandson's milestones.  My daughter's achievements and struggles.  An assessment if I had fully or partially or poorly achieved  my goal of a year of writing.  Reading only memoir and poetry and craft.  Was I on the right path?

Instead I am sad.  Frightened. Empathetic toward the other Cop Mom's out there today.  Wondering if the news will be bright or bleak on this last day of 2017.  I'm in a condo in south suburban Denver, shades drawn, away from outside walls,  That is what the shelter in place instructed.  I am listening to helicopters overhead.  The sirens have stopped.  It is eerie to be here by myself.  No one to hug and tell me 'it' is going to be OK.  No one to share my unknown, but not unfound, grief with.

Cop Mom.  On this brilliant, sunny Colorado day.  Stay Safe Son.

After New Years

Just a couple of days after New Years Day and I'll be Santa Fe bound.  I have no plans for the ringing in of 2018.  New Year's Eve is a holiday I have successfully avoided most of my adult tenure.  I don't imbibe, and being odd (wo)man out on a heavily alcohol fueled evening is not my idea of a celebration.

When I lived in Colorado Springs, the family would enjoy watching the small, vibrant fireworks over Pikes Peak each New Year's midnight.   There is a storied history of the men and the club who brave cold wintry conditions to set off a pyrotechnic display.  The Adaman Club has added it's 100th member this season.  This tradition is one of only a few things I miss about living in Southern Colorado.

This time of year also has me thinking of resolutions.  I like to think of that word in two parts RE - Solutions.  It reminds me that I already know what I need to do to make my life easier and more pleasant.  I just need to RE-member, RE-commit.  The solutions, mantras really, are close to my heart; they are not profound.  Be kind to myself and others.  Keep the focus on myself.  Let others live their lives how they wish, so I may live mine as I please.

Do I do this perfectly?  Heck no!  Progress, not perfection.  I frequently need to remind myself that my children are grown, and I had my chance to impart all the wisdom, manners, and decision making skills to them as youngsters.  What they say, think and do now is on them.  Adults!!  Often this means a bit of tongue biting.  Other times it means watching them thrive or fail as a result of their decisions. Sometimes it is painful to bear witness to young adult lifestyle choices.  And sometimes it is very rewarding.

There is a rumor that today will be balmy and pleasant.  A good day for a year-end head clearing hike.

Time to Write!

Jane

One Week Away

One week until I head south for about a six hour drive to my rented casita in Santa Fe.  Disbelief and excitement run concurrently in my head.  Am I really dong this?  I AM really doing this.  The temperature in Centennial Co is a cool 16 degrees today.  Santa Fe is sitting right around 50 degrees.  This validates my choice, though weather is fickle and only Mother Nature has control.

I'm readying my necessities; books and blank journals. Pens and thumb drives.  Hiking boots and a zafu.  Medicine, vitamins, and skin care.  No make-up.  I don't even own mascara!  Some favorite teas, coffee and snacks.  I'm an over-packer, and I must be careful not to let the idea of thirty days away get the best of me.  It has to fit in my car, preferably the  trunk.  And I need to leave some room for Santa Fe goodies to bring back.

Many friends have requested a last visit with me, but it is impossible to honor them all in such a short time.  Plus, I don't feel like venturing out in this cold air. Tomorrow I will travel to NoCo to see my son and his family.  I do need that little man hug from my grandson.  Enough affection from a two year old to last for about six weeks, all told.  I'll also see a good friend that I met about 3.5 years ago, when I gave living in Fort Collins a go.

For now, I'll keep writing!  Transposing from my nearly illegible notebooks into this laptop.  Affording each piece an initial edit as I type.  It is interesting to read what I've written over this past year.  Some of it is good, and some of it is garbage.  All of it is mine.

Time to write,

Jane

Santa Fe - Here I come!

Santa Fe - Here I Come

Two weeks from today will find me driving south on I25 from south suburban Denver to Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I have rented a casita* - and will endeavor to sequester myself for a month of writing.  By nature I am a procrastinator, so if I stay where I am, I will likely never finish this writing project that has been in my heart, and my mind.  Just not on paper.  Well, that's not really true.  I have written about a dozen pieces for what will hopefully morph into a book.  But I need at least three dozen more.

What does sequester mean to me?  Here is my utopian vision:

• Wake up early and write
• Have a cup of coffee and write
• Eat breakfast and write
• Write, write, write.
• Ass in chair, pen in hand
• Write, write, write

In actuality this is more my style:

• Wake up, check phone for social media opium
• Go to gym
• Visit a museum
• Try to write

Only time will tell if a change of scenery will be the missing muse of my motivation!

Friends and family - I implore you to help me out.  Don't call me!  Don't start a WWF game with me!  Help me be successful in this important attempt to define myself as a writer.

Please do tell me your favorite spots in Santa Fe and surrounding areas for food, adventure and experiences,  I will need to hike, be in nature and see art to keep the creativity going.  If you see a poem or essay that has you thinking of me - send it.  I'll need all the help, love and positivity of my tribe to keep me going.

Time to write,

Jane

* Casita - a small house

Fire Five

Fire Five

by Jane Hillson Aiello

5/25/2017

Fire took my neighborhood

But left a house for me

And though I had a place to live

My heart yearned to be free

Fire took my friends’ abodes

Houses turned to ash

And though my house was standing

Still – I wanted a new path

Fire took my life purview

Of want and things and stuff

And though ‘twas hard to let it go

I knew I’d have enough

Marriage done and children grown

Fire roared “go it alone”

Sold the house, family treasures

Fire whispered “go find new pleasures”

Fire took part of my soul

Singed me to the core

Though embers of the life I loved

Burn in me evermore

Miscreant

Jane Aiello

Miscreant

Avert your gaze.  Don your darkest sunglasses.

Fiddle with the station.  Surreptitiously check the door locks.

Pretend to be looking for something.  Important.

Clutch your IPhone, electronic self defense.

Don’t go downtown.

Re-route the GPS to avoid flyers.

Never take public transit.

There is solace in your SUV.  Safety.

Throw appeals in the trash can.

Let the second collection pass you by.

Leave nothing on your porch, the curb.

Acquire comfort in your suburb.

Shred your library card.

Subscribe to Prime, Netflix.

Steer clear of public restrooms.  

Buy expensive coffee in pretentious places.

Indulge your children that extra helping.

Neglect to teach them charity, compassion.

Usher them across the street.

Shield their eyes, cover their ears.

Harden your heart.

No strangers at your table.

There is not enough for just one more.

This is how you deny homelessness.

Now and Then

Jane Hillson Aiello

Now and Then

My friend’s mother does not know it is Friday

Her heart beats strong

But her mind is frail, fragile

Her aging body has outlasted her senses

My own mother no longer breathes

Her heart gave out

But her mind was quick, quirky

Her ailing body betrayed her, senselessly

My friend’s mother is difficult

He implores her to remember

Patience is thin and taut

My own mother is naught

I ache to be short with her

Scold her with pleasure

My friend’s mother wants to die

She languishes because he

Has not released her

My own mother is cold in the earth

Shovels full of dirt delivered

Hard sad noises upon her pine box