Tag Archives: Gigi

Things you may not know about Papa Noel, Santa or St. Nick…

You think you know Santa? Here is a story that might have you rethinking that. Enjoy this dark tale by Gigi 🙂

Rethinking Life

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Picture from: Pinterest

You think you know me, but you do not.  You make up stories about me and believe they are true, but they are not.  You mold me into what you wish me to be but I tell you, you know me not.  You give me names that suit you, suit your fiction and your beliefs, but do you ever wonder who I truly am?  Do you ask yourself what I am?

Humans are funny creatures, thinking that believing makes it so.  I can assure you that nothing is farther from the truth.  Outside of your slanted and tiny belief system are wonders untold.  Layers of life you are blind to, by choice and by circumstance.  You turn away from the things that do not fit into your story but those things do not disappear, they live on without your consent or acknowledgement.

Names have power, I will…

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hold tightly

Chicago Botanic Garden: Picture by Gigi See Original

she possesses softness and beauty
and remembers to hold them tightly
surrounding herself with love
and enveloping her soul with kindness
because while you should always be kind to others
it is equally important to be kind to yourself
and sometimes harder to do

~Poem by me

Melanie Thomason

beautiful flower photo by Gigi

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The Connely boys…

 

 

I had to share this wonderful short story by Gigi.  She weaves such magical tales filled with love and hope.  Do visit her page to find more treasures.  

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Everyone thought Billy, Bobby and Jimmy were brothers, I mean they did have the same last name, after all.  But the truth is, the boys were not related in any way.  Matt and Clarise Connely had Billy and then sort of picked up Bobby and Jimmy along the way.

They were living on Elm Street, in a sleepy sort of town, when Bobby started hanging around their house.  He and Billy became friends and what was once a, “would you like to stay for dinner,” invitation quickly turned in to an every night occurrence.  Bobby, it seemed, was afraid to go home. Clarise could see it on his face and in his manner.  One night, when everyone went into the living room, she asked him to stay the kitchen for a moment.  Clarise asked Bobby to sit down at the table, which he did rather reluctantly.   She gave him a plate of chocolate chip cookies, right out of the oven, so the chips were soft and stringy, just the way he liked them.

“You’re almost living here,” said Clarise sweetly.

“Can I?” asked Bobby.

“Can you what?”

“Live here,” he answered in a rush, his eyes wide, chocolate smeared across his upper lip.  “Please.”

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beautiful anomaly -for Gigi Appreciation Day- part 5

the world is a crazy,

maddening place

people shuffle through

blindly

at a mind numbing pace

ignoring the atrocities

that happen

right in front of their face

sometimes it gets hard

to find the humanity

in the human race

but look past the insanity

and you can find

the beautiful anomalies

who Stand Up

with passion and grace

and speak out actively

to better our space

~Melanie Thomason

Happy Birthday to a beautiful anomaly ❤

 

 

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Gigi Appreciation Day- part 4

…..while I am shining a spotlight on the fabulous Gigi…I can’t forget to mention that she is a fabulous author!

Conversations with Death, both books 1 and 2, are fun, fast paced and engrossing.  Do yourself a favor and check them out 🙂

Conversations with Death: A Love Story, now available on Amazon Kindle.

book 1

Book Description

“Death stopped by far too often, as far as I was concerned. I needed a way to deal with my rage. I was furious. So, I decided to hunt down and, if possible, kill Death.

When I wrote the very first Conversation, I was ready for a fight. I never expected to write a second Conversation, let alone an entire book full of them. But something happened when I met and started talking to Death…things got funny, gifts were exchanged, cats, birds and fish became involved, and while all that was taking place, I learned what Life and Death were really all about.

We all have our own truth and this is mine. Conversations with Death is a funny, loving and romantic give and take between a Party Girl and Death itself.”

 

Conversations with Death: The Love Story Continues, also available on Amazon Kindle.

book2

 

Book Description

“The relationship between Party Girl and Death continues. Her questions are never ending and breakthroughs simply lead to more questions. Living together means that Party Girl gets to meet some of Death’s coworkers, specifically the Death Angels, who keep things interesting. Death Cat and Pretty Boy move their relationship forward. And a spur of the moment decision on the part of Party Girl and Death, adds a new twist to their lives as they travel down the road between life and death.”

 

 

Links:

 Gigi’s Blog

Conversations with Death Books 1 and 2 on Amazon

So, go forth and support this wonderful writer!  

Buy the books.  

Read the books.

REVIEW the books!!!

🙂

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Gigi Appreciation Day- part 3

One of the things I admire and love about Gigi is the unapologetic, passionate way she takes a stand and speaks up.

Gigi Speaking UP!

war is hell but…

what some people never think about is that females live in a war zone for their entire lives and the war NEVER ends.  There is no place for females to “return to,” no going “home.”  Home is sometimes the worst hell of all.   It doesn’t matter who you are, where you live or what you have, it only matters that you are female.

I was talking to a vet at the WALL in DC.  I said that if they made a WALL for women who had been killed by men, or women and children who had been tortured, raped  and abused by men, or women and children who had been beaten by men, the wall would never end and you would need artists working 24/7/365  in order to keep adding new names, because the names to be added would never end.

Culture is set up to keep women poor, in charge of and responsible for children, parents, and others.  Women across the world are taught to be polite, to make others feel better and to not fight back, sometimes under threat of legal action.  Women have had their feet bound, their bodies mutilated,  their spirits broken.  We dress in tight clothing and high heels so we can’t run, which makes us easier prey.  We are hobbled in the work place and are not allowed or able to make as much money as we are worth and that leads to dependency, especially when children are involved.

Females, no matter what their age, are blamed for the violence that is done to them, even if they are children because the laws were written to protect men.  Women often feel safer when they are with a man because HE is a warning to other MEN to stay away.

Men can never understand what it’s like to live your life wondering if you should go out, if you should get into the elevator with the man who is already in there, to go to a movie alone…to do anything alone.  Most women don’t even realize that they automatically think of the things around them, as they go through their day, because it’s something they do naturally.

Babies,  toddlers, girls and women are raped on a daily basis by their fathers, step-fathers, their mother’s boyfriends, their brothers and his friends, the neighbors, their teachers, religious leaders, strangers and relatives.  THERE IS NO SAFE PLACE FOR FEMALES!

I was called for jury duty.  A woman had been raped in the bathroom of a building in downtown Chicago.  The female judge asked the prospective jurors if they, or anyone they knew, had been raped.  Every single person raised their hand.  She went through the crowd and asked who had been raped.  After she was finished, she started talking again and, even now my heart is pounding and I’m furious because she NEVER ASKED IF ANY OF THE PEOPLE IN THE CROWD HAD RAPED ANYONE.  Women are raped in stairwells and bathrooms.  Those are two places you never want to get caught alone…ever.   Women are raped and killed everywhere. There are so many things I could say, so many horror stories to tell.

Females live in a war zone and never forget that.  Never.  And the enemy is everywhere.  And if any men are reading this and saying to themselves, “I would never do that,” well just remember this:  we can’t tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys and the good guys don’t seem to be doing anything about the bad guys, so everyone is suspect.   The bad guy could turn out to be someone a woman has known for a long time and just decided to attack her.  Because that’s really what it’s all about…a decision.  A man has to decide to be evil…to destroy a child’s innocence, a life.  And that’s what rape and abuse is…the TAKING OF A LIFE.  So next time you see the Viet Nam wall think of the women and children who live in the war zone that you guys call everyday life.

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Gigi Appreciation Day- part 2

In case you missed the memo…Today is Gigi’s birthday which I have also declared Gigi Appreciation Day! To continue the celebration of all things Gigi here are a few more selections 😀

One of her whimsical Chicklet paintings

Rubber Stamp Art

 

A Poem

Summer night…

I
heard
the
sax
first

 

low
jagged
sounds
crying
the
blues

 

then
the
darkness
started
moving
in

 

chasing
away
the
light

 

 

the
closer
the
darkness
edged
in

 
the
louder
the
sax
became
notes
torn
from
from
the
musician’s
soul

 

the
night
chuckled
and
held
out
its
misty
hand
offering
a
dance
knowing
it
wouldn’t
have
to
ask
me
twice

 

 

A Short Story: Alan Ladewig

Alan was a good man and a true poet.  He didn’t just write poetry, he lived it.  He was living his poetry when he was arrested, as he sat in Pen & Ink, his favorite cafe, sipping coffee and writing on a napkin.   Alan went to Pen & Ink several times a day, so he was well known by the staff and by more than a few customers.  Those who knew him were used to words falling from his table, pockets and nibs.  They were even accustomed to watching Alan stand up and recite partial or even full, rather long and tiresome poems. But when he stood on his chair and loudly shouted verse after verse about trees, true love, blue skies and fast moving clouds, the proprietor had simply reached his limit.

Alan and his words were hustled off to a dreary, but empty, cell to wait until his words got control of themselves.  Once they did, he was released with a warning to keep his worlds to himself, unless performing in front of a willing and, hopefully, paying audience.  Alan nodded, gathered his pens, pencils and bits of paper and left the police station. A few word dribbled from his sleeve but the officers either ignored them or never noticed.

Alan had a somewhat lonely life.  Several years earlier he had fallen in love, but the woman left him when he couldn’t stop writing poems about her, even when they were together.  He knew that it was wrong to write poetry about her beauty, while they were out having dinner, but he couldn’t help himself, the words kept pushing at him until he released them onto paper.  To be honest, there were always new words, more words, different words, all trying to escape from his mind and fingertips.  When she left, Alan’s poems turned dark.  He wrote of pain and loss, of broken heats and sadness.  But once he had released the words, he felt better and his life returned to normal.

At one point, Alan understood that he was not experiencing life in the same way others were.  All of his senses were focused on words.  He rarely looked up from his notes and scribbles.  He didn’t care, of course, it was just something he noticed.  He wrote his life and lived it on paper, others seemed to move through life and touch it in a different way.  Alan wrote about that.  He was an observant man, and he wrote about his observations.  In his later years, Alan wrote about endings.  His poems were about the sea and the ebbing of life.

A tenant called the landlord early one morning.  She said it was the third day in a row that she had walked by Alan’s door and had not seen words in the hallway.  Mr. Timbers slid his key into Alan’s lock and entered Alan’s rooms.  The neighbor gasped at what she saw.  Alan  was on the floor, covered with words.  He was smiling and held a light blue piece of paper in his hand.  His pen lay next to him, small words still leaking from its tip.  The landlord took the paper from Alan’s hand and read it aloud.

“A poet writes his own life.  I have lived well.”

Three years later, Alan’s poems were published in a thirteen volume matching set.  His work won a number of prizes and during the winter holidays his books were reprinted on fine paper with deckled edges tipped in gold.  Dead Alan was a very rich poet.

As for the Pen & Ink, well, their new sign read:  Pen & Ink…Cafe of the Famous Poet Alan Ledewig.  They named a sandwich after Alan, calling it, The Poet’s Delight.  When  ordered, the sandwich came with a napkin filled with some of Alan’s shorter poems.  It was the cafe’s most popular dish.  Pen & Ink became a hang out for poets.  A rope was put around Alan’s table,  in order to stop poets from fighting over who was going to sit in the famous man’s spot.  As time passed, the proprietor watched poets come and go, but he knew none of them were in Alan’s league.  He knew, because he never saw words fall from their tables, pockets, or nibs.   They might be poets, he thought, but they didn’t live their poetry, not the way Alan did.

 

 

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I declare August 28th Gigi Appreciation Day

Today is Gigi’s Birthday, yay!

Happiest of happies to you, Gigi!  ❤

For those of you who are familiar with Gigi of Rethinking Life it will come as no surprise that she is an amazing, talented woman.  If you do not know  her you should go to her blog…REALLY, I mean it!  Here is a link Rethinking Life

Gigi is one of those rare creatures who exude talent through their pores and can do anything…painting, poetry, collages, essays, short stories, photography and on and on!!

In honor of her birthday I would like to share with you some of the GIFTS she shares with all of us.

One of her Watercolor Faces

An Artist Trading Card

A photo from her beloved Chicago Botanic Garden

 

An Upcycled/Steampunk Baby Shoe

 

 

A Collage

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