Tuesday’s Brain Food

1 chapter of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and a picture book about polar bears to help my sweet babe to fall asleep

A couple of pages from a piece by Louis Carroll called Feeding the Mind

A few moments of mind quiet and rhythmic breathing during a long afternoon swim

A prayer here and there

An old short and some poems from the writer’s corner here on Miss Corrigan (Wondering how my thought processes have changed since 2012 when I began the blog.)

An hour or so of closet organizing






Alien Corpse Found in Home Installation

It was the abused children and Anne Frank during my elementary years. High school was for racism and undergrad was for classism.

Grad school was for the impoverished.

Late twenties was for death and mother earth.

Early thirties was for animal suffering.

This a timeline of my sorrows: The source of deep sunken tears when my thoughts turn dark and lonesome. Image

I have this place where my sorrows stir. Where if I wallow too long, I get stuck in the muck.

The only way out is…


…a moment in the presence of the amazing


…laughter at the absurd


…a dream reawakened by the hope that someday…one day…

…forgiveness in the arms of the Most Patient Above.

…the tiny spark of love

anxious to ignite

a simple glance to the light

to scatter my fright.


(Post written in 2014-February)

Strings & Things

I am after the impossible dream.

Presently, I want two things that are rare these days. The first is a good job-one that can give me fulfillment and bring home the turkey bacon. The second, is a home for the cat who followed me on an evening walk last Saturday. I would love to keep her, but there are already two and three puts me in crazy cat lady territory.

So today I write to you as an unemployed crazy cat lady.

It is what it is.

If my happiness were based on fulfilling wants, I would never catch the train.
But if I didn’t keep on riding, I would certainly lose my brain.

Beach Rider

Despair isn’t far behind, and hope is just ahead.
My legs are kind of aching and oh my swollen head.
I wonder how tomorrow we will get our fill of bread.
My new friend is sweet but she’s really not mine.
Freedom whispers her name through the golden-green pines.


I can give love but I can’t create wings.
Though, I might be able to distract you with some strings & things.
Homeless CatWell cat, we’ll get there one day.
And we’ll say we did it our way.

A Short from on Set


They couldn’t have known that in the wilderness of Alaska, the son of Sylvia Plath would hang himself. They only went there to grieve their own private sorrows.


A recently married couple are driving home from a long day of work and other related endeavors. It’s mid-evening:

“So a lot of corruption goes on, but only the failed attempts are illustrated. Just how much corruption goes on to succeed is unknown, and we have to guess that only a few are caught. Yeah, so the widespread corruption that goes on unaccounted for is rampant and frighteningly commonplace.”

“And that’s your point?”

“Why must you demean me?”

“You use these words like demean and nobody understands you.”

“I’m simply talking about the nature of life.”

“So dramatic.”

“Yeah, just like the ‘so’ in your retort.”

“I’m hungry.”

CUT CUT CUT! The director pops up from his chair to guide the young actors.

Listen he says addressing the couple, I need you to understand what these characters are facing. What we have here is another missed opportunity for a moment of clarity, to indulge in the dramatic!

But! You know at the same time that it doesn’t make a difference anyway. Anything profound born in a moment is part of the past just as quick. All in all its just moments, one after another. One brings a cry so ferocious that laughter is enlivened alongside the pulsating heart…And then! And then we live with these moments while new moments are cascading around us. We are a living history, some with moments that have broken us, and others with those that have risen us from the ashes. Most with a little of each incessantly until our life is over.

The director, turns and faces the camera or the cameraman and slowly says the following:

I am homeless, like you are. I am only too aware of the fragility of that home we make and call our own. There are those who save us, and to those same, we turn our rage. Though in the afternoon light, when everyone has gone to contend with the masses, and all is still in the empty home, the simple truth streams in through the blinds. The contempt and the anger, the stress and the defenses, the blame and the misgivings, are no longer. Not by anything concrete or definable have they gone. But by the breakdown of the complex to the basic.

The director turns again to the actors.

 It is going from the dread of dragging your bones through another day to a wide-eyed fascination for one’s external stimuli. And ha! The difference is only a moment. So much of the control involved in a moment is beyond humanly initiated, but that doesn’t stop us from putting all our energy into that perceived control. And when it all crashes down us, and we are left with NOTHING, the whole world is new again. We must redefine ourselves, accept who we are, and live honestly-accepting of our new role. No, I do not drive the bus, you must say to yourself, as you squeeze your beloved a moment longer. Now, let’s continue with the scene, as if I hadn’t stopped you. But this time, keep in mind what I have told you. And, ACTION!

“You’re always hungry,what are we going to fix anyway, there’s nothing at home,” meanwhile secretly remembering the eggs and corned beef in a tin at the back of the cabinet.

“Yes, I’m hungry and tired, I still gotta take a shower, take out the trash, brush my teeth, eat something-how about I fix us up some corned beef and eggs?


Aren’t you glad I thought of that?”

“Yes, my sweet apple pie.”

(And they drove the rest of the way home in their whiny Toyota, each experiencing their own moments that proceeded to fade into the blurring landscape.)



Here comes Rhymin’ ‘RRigan

Oh blank canvas where have you been?

Were you bobbing for apples in the cellar again?

Rooting for chocolate and candy and stuff?

Didn’t you know that enough is enough?

[Scoff] simply there so that someone can see

Just how wonderful being can be.

Oh blank canvas how have you been?

How did the world look from your side of the lens?

Did the light arc and the poetry bend?

From nearby I salute you, oh blank canvas my dear.

I pray that my heart will find its way here.