Monday, July 30, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: My book
Author Mike OConnor: My book: I write every day because each piece reflects a memory in some way and because tomorrow isn’t promised. Every memory is precious. [...
My book
I write every day
because each piece reflects a memory in some way and because tomorrow isn’t
promised. Every memory is precious. [G1]
Mike
As a young boy, I
began my journey as a writer and teller of tales.
Words got trapped in my head looking for a way out and my grandmother told me
to write the words down that someday I would read those words (saved in a blue
notebook for decades) and know who I was, and who I was becoming. I read the
tales in that notebook when I was fifty-nine years old. My grandma long since
departed, but with me in every word I wrote then and now. Memories are a part
of all of us and should be kept so our children and generations of children to
come can get to know their ancestors in ways only personal writings can
describe.
I wrote my book
“Raw emotions” based on my memories of youth and adulthood touching on moments
frozen in time until released on my keyboard for all eternity. It was my
intention to have something I could leave behind, a part of me that time won’t
be able to forget. My great, great grandchildren will know who I was and what
my beliefs and emotions were as they read my words and get to know me as told
by me. All of us are remembered in some way when our journey is complete, I
hope my book serves as an invitation to my future family to understand where my
life took me and how I remembered it.
Michael Oconnor
“Raw emotions” available at amazonbooks.com barnesandnoble .com iuniverse.com
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Love songs
Author Mike OConnor: Love songs: She looked out her kitchen window with tears of love falling down her cheeks , she was remembering him and how he would sing to he...
Love songs
She looked out
her kitchen window with tears of love falling down her cheeks, she was remembering him and how
he would sing to her. In the morning he would sing her a song, his beautiful
voice burning into her heart with each note. He sang from deep within himself
his voice, his words piercing her soul.
She carried that song with her throughout that day and all yet to come. When
she was unhappy for some reason he would sing her an uplifting song, taking her
hand and dancing with her as his beautiful voice filled the house with happiness.
She never
knew when he would break into song as sometimes he would in the strangest
places, like the grocery store where he would start singing songs from old
records he so dearly loved.
People would stop and listen showing their appreciation with applause which he
ate up with a smile as big as his voice. As age caught up with them he
continued to sing to her sometimes not remembering every word, but she did as
she had listened to all of them for so many years. Theirs was a happy marriage,
a happy life, it was a life of song and expression from a quiet man with a
soothing voice that she would miss so very much. As she looked out her kitchen
window she saw him standing there in his Sunday suit holding a bunch of
wildflowers softly singing to her and she smiled a little smile softly humming
the melody of true love.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The man in back
Author Mike OConnor: The man in back: He sat in the back of the auditorium blending in with the darkness. It had been twenty years since he left and never looked back lea...
The man in back
He sat in the
back of the auditorium blending in with the darkness. It had been twenty years
since he left and never looked back leaving a wife and young son to be alone
and in love with the bottle. For years he lived on the streets occasionally
working but mostly begging and stealing to support his habit. He was saved five
years ago when after a brutal beating by three men he ended up in a rehab
facility where he got sober and remained so at least for today. His son went on
to become a well-known artist and entertainer who headlined tonight’s show that
he learned about from posters he saw in a coffee shop. He wasn’t ready to
confront his boy who surly had forgotten about his drunken father a long time ago.
As the lights dimmed and the crowd came alive a tall and solemn figure came on
stage and sat behind the piano. “Thank you very much” he said to the audience,
“I would like to dedicate this first song to all the children who lost a parent
to an addiction” The song was a blueprint of the man in the backs life and he
openly wept, the beautiful music drowning out his pain and sorrow. At the end
of the show as people began to leave the man in the back stayed trying to hold
on to every note, every word, every moment he could trying to get up the nerve
to go back stage, but he didn’t, not now, not tonight but maybe tomorrow,
maybe.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Friday, July 27, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Why?
Author Mike OConnor: Why?: Darkness finally arrived finding him laying in bed eyes glued to the ceiling, deep into his thoughts of days gone by. He was a youn...
Why?
Darkness finally
arrived finding him laying in bed eyes glued to the ceiling, deep into his
thoughts of days gone by. He was a young man in his thoughts, handsome, smart
and ready to take on the world. He moved in the right circles and obtained
great wealth and notoriety in the corporate world. A lot was sacrificed in
those days
so his golden years could be lived out in style and comfort. Now as he lays in
an imported bed from Spain with silk sheets a nurse just feet away to be at his
beckon call and the best equipment money can buy to help keep him alive, he
wonders if it was all worth it? There would be no around the world cruise or
winters in Paris. He wouldn’t get to spend time, quality time with his family
and friends. He would lay in this beautiful bed staring at the ceiling trapped
in his own body unable to move, talk or even cry as the tears have long since dried up. "Why,"
he asked himself over and over, why can't anyone hear his cries for help as he
hears them day and night? The nurse ends her shift, and another takes her place
making sure he is comfortable speaking softly to him as his blank stare up at the
ceiling goes on and on. If he could just reach the machine that breaths life
into his empty shell of a man, he would shut it off once and for all and drift
as far back as his memories would take him when his body moved like a child at
play and his mind was that of a scholar. He should have put more thought into
the document he signed so long ago stating he wished to be kept alive no matter
what. because now that no matter what has become a "No matter"
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Wednesday, July 25, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Those hands
Author Mike OConnor: Those hands: He looked at his hands remembering each scar and knotted fingers. He could feel the pain all over again as he relived the ro...
Those hands
He looked at his
hands remembering each scar and knotted fingers. He could feel the pain all
over again as he relived the roads to who he is now. Small towns offering
nothing but hard labor, endless days of working in the fields, mines, and
sawmills, anything to make a dollar or earn a meal. He learned to do many
things with his hands some that stayed with him and he became a master of many
trades that he would pass along to other young men just trying to survive. Life
was hard back then, but it was all he knew so to him it meant just one thing,
working hard was his pathway to make something out of himself. Time passed, and
the scars faded, the blisters now rock hard callouses that he sometimes scraped
at with his pocket knife. The veins in his hands stuck out like roadmaps of
where he had been, his nails short and now dirt free. A single tear fell from
his furrowed brow knowing those hands that could raise buildings, or build
bridges were now just the hands of an old man who needs them both to hold a cup
of coffee.
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Monday, July 23, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Overload
Author Mike OConnor: Overload: Memories flashed through his mind so fast they sometimes slammed into each other causing a momentary loss of ev...
Overload
Memories flashed
through his mind so fast they sometimes slammed into each other causing a
momentary loss of everything. He had to shut down when this happened, collect
himself and resume his journey. He had a gift it was believed that allowed him
to remember his past in great and remarkable detail. Whenever he chose to go
back in time all he had to do was think about it and the pieces came together
in one vivid memory. During these journeys he would sometimes find himself so
into the memory he felt the people around him, tasted the food being eaten and
even smelled the scents of Holiday baking and grandmas perfume. He was able to
feel the dirt beneath his feet as he walked down a country road holding his father's
hand and feeling safe and happy.
This ability he had could be very good or go horribly wrong as it wasn’t just
pleasant memories he received. He felt the pain of loss of someone dear to him,
a broken heart when a relationship ended, nothing was left out which caused him
to use caution when he went back. He believed the mind could hold onto
thousands of memories, but the average person could only reach
back so far before the door closed. In his case, the door blew open and the
memories raced into his mind like a tropical storm. He knew one day the number
of his memories all piling up at once would cause an overload and he would
remain stuck in one that would play over and over in his head like a merry go round that never stops.Sunday, July 22, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Special
Author Mike OConnor: Special: He sat on the on curb in front of his house watching as the other boys his age played a game of touch football. He never got picked for ...
Special
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Author Mike OConnor: Silent life
Author Mike OConnor: Silent life: She sat at the back of the church wiping away the tears of sorrow ever so discreetly much like their love was. Her heart was broken just l...
Silent life
She sat at the back of the church wiping away the tears of
sorrow ever so discreetly much like their love was. Her heart was broken just
like his family who sat in the front next to his flagged casket. She didn’t
care at that moment if her silent cries were heard as her heart was shattered
and her true love gone. He told her he loved his wife and she didn’t doubt he
did. He was a good father who spoke so much about them she felt she knew them
and so wanted to hold them in her arms and tell them how deep is love for them
truly was. She was the other woman for twelve years ready at an instance to see
him if only for a brief time to be able to hold him and share her love like she
had never shared before. The years passed, and she accepted the fact he would
always be the man he was and asking him to change was not something she would do.
Were they so wrong to be together? Did his wife know and just kept quiet about
it? Did they argue about her smelling a woman’s scent on his clothes? Did she
cry herself to sleep on the nights he didn’t come home? Did her heart tell her
she was sharing him? She sat in the back of the church and prayed for
forgiveness for a love she knew caused pain for others. She wept and grieved in
silence, alone but with a feeling he was with her telling her his love for her
was as real and as beautiful as ever a love could be. She left the church
before the others, walking home in a light rain that hid her tears, knowing
deep in her heart she loved the right man for reasons only known by her heart.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Saturday, July 21, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Choices
Author Mike OConnor: Choices: He knew full well that the path he has taken in life was by choice, his choice. It was him that made hasty decisions on m...
Choices
He knew full well
that the path he has taken in life was by choice, his choice. It was him that
made hasty decisions on matters of the heart without taking the time to explore
what his feelings really meant. It was him that looked for the fast dollar to
be a hero that bought expensive gifts and had lavish parties not thinking about
the future as it was light years away. He was the one who always said it would
all be ok and not to worry about things that truly mattered because he always
came up with a way to fix it. It was him that showed his children all the wrong
ways to live but for some reason unknown to him his children grew up with minds
of their own and looked back on their younger years with both joy and sorrow.
He was a friend, a cool dad, someone who always had a smile and a hundred
dollar bill he would pull from behind your ear as the tears fell and he
couldn’t help that no matter how much he wanted to. It was him who got old and
couldn’t run the hustles anymore, it was him who had to accept that all he did
in his life amounted to a worn-out Cadillac that needed a paint job, a trailer
in a not so nice retirement village and a brown leather checkbook that use to
spit out checks for anything he wanted but now has a balance of six hundred dollars.
He wears sandals with white socks and Bermuda shorts that should have and
probably did come from the goodwill. He hangs out at the pool with other seniors doing water aerobics and asking who will attend bingo Saturday afternoon?He thinks he still has a way with the ladies but most of them know his game and are wary of his charming ways. They knew men like him and some even married them, so
the lovely ladies of the trailer park hold onto their purse strings very
tightly. He usually eats alone with a TV table in front of the television
cheering himself on as he guesses the correct answers on the wheel of fortune.
He switches the noise box off after the eleven-clock news and climbs into his
lonely bed trying to relive the times of years gone by. When his eyes open in
the morning he lays there asking why?Friday, July 20, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Happy hours
Author Mike OConnor: Happy hours: Friday night, the work week over and time to have some fun. He looked in the mirror remembering the good old days when leaving work e...
Happy hours
Friday night, the
work week over and time to have some fun. He looked in the mirror remembering
the good old days when leaving work early on Friday meant a good seat at the bar.
There was free food and drink specials up until the band started then dig deep.
Girls always dressed differently on Fridays changing from proper work attire to
something a bit more feminine which was always something to look forward to.
Who would have known Mary from accounting had such great legs? People got
wasted and the crowd thinned out except for us die-hard drinkers and legends in
our own minds.
We drank shots and beers until the bartender cut us off trying to save his job.
Now a group of us would stumble a few blocks to another bar that could best be
described as a bucket of blood. Walking in you were greeted with the smell of
old puke and spilled beer. The bartender looked like he drank a shot for everyone
he served, and if you had money, you drank until you either passed out or were
carried out by one of your drinking companions. The pool tables were in rough
shape with torn felt, burn marks from all the cigarettes placed on the rail
while you were trying in your drunken stupor to make a shot. No band in this
joint just an old jukebox filled with songs like "Born to be wild",
"Call me Superman", "satisfaction" and others that kept the
place rocking as
barely dressed girls rocking it out on top of the bar. Now if you were hardcore
you would leave that place at closing time and make your way to the after-hours
club on the other side of town. Here you had your own bottle behind the bar and
you bought it every week to be sure it would be there when needed. All you had
to do is buy your mixers if you wanted any. The party went on until six in the
morning when everybody was escorted out the door that slammed closed behind
them. Yep, happy hour Friday was really something back then at least from what
I remember.
This Friday he was heading to the local bar within walking distance of his
house because they had the best fish fry in the whole darn city. www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Thursday, July 19, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Evening walks
Author Mike OConnor: Evening walks: She held onto her grandpa’s hand feeling safe and loved. she looked forward to their evening walks in the country where grandpa had lived ...
Evening walks
She held onto her grandpa’s hand feeling safe and loved. she
looked forward to their evening walks in the country where grandpa had lived
for his whole life. It was here on a dusty road he first met grandma who was
picking berries with her sister. Grandpa said she was the most beautiful person
he had ever seen. They got married and she moved into the farm house where she
lived for over fifty years until the lord took her home on the first day of
spring, her favorite time of year. Grampa lived alone now and refused to do
otherwise if he was able to fry an egg and shave his face. His granddaughter
was the only one who visited him guess his kids lived a busy life in the big city.
They did come out at Christmas with big wrapped boxes and smiles to last
another year. As they walked she would ask him to tell her a story about the
love he and grandma shared, a smile would come to his face and he seemed to
light up like a firefly in the meadow. He would go on and on about her and all
she meant to him. She saw the pain he felt but she knew in his heart he
believed he would see her again someday. You can learn a lot from the older
people in your life, like what true love really means, and how giving up should
never happen. He told her so many things that she carries with her now that he
has joined grandma in a faraway place.
if you asked him what a perfect place is, he would squeeze her hand and
smile the greatest smile she had ever seenwww.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Sunday, July 15, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Same but different
Author Mike OConnor: Same but different: He sat at the same bar stool he did when he first began drinking at eighteen. The stool was in the same bar his dad drank in every da...
Same but different
He sat at the
same bar stool he did when he first began drinking at eighteen. The stool was
in the same bar his dad drank in every day after work. Like his dad he was a
painter who although good at it, never really ventured out to become his own
boss. His dad was the same way said it was easier because he didn’t have to
have a license or do book work, all he had to do was show up for work and hed
get a paycheck every Friday. He was about twelve when his dad taught him the
ins and outs of painting houses. Back then you didn’t buy cheap throw away
brushes and other tools needed, nope you washed them out every day and wrapped
them in cloth to be ready for the next day. You wore painter’s coveralls to, so
you didn’t ruin your clothes. They hung on a hook in what was called the mudroom.
This was a small room just inside the back door where boots and coveralls and
anything mom deemed dirty stayed before entering the house. My dad worked hard
and over the years he worked very hard and let everyone know it. Mom always had
a plate for him as dinner time for him was sitting on a bar stool sharing
stories with other men of the crafts. We ate without him but every morning we
all had breakfast together before he went into the mudroom and got dressed for
another day of painting. I don’t really know why I stayed being a painter, I
guess it was mostly because I had no desire to do much of anything else. They
say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and I suppose that’s true. I
ordered up another round for my buddies that have been drinking here for as
long as we can remember, same bar, same stool, same jobs and the never-ending
nagging question “could I have done better? “There is one difference between
him and me, I make it home every night for dinner with my familywww.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Friday, July 13, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Rivers edge
Author Mike OConnor: Rivers edge: Sitting on a rock at the river's edge she remembered her life in bits and pieces like a slow moving picture show. There were i...
Rivers edge
Sitting on a rock
at the river's edge she remembered her life in bits and pieces like a slow
moving picture show.
There were images of her youth and family picnics in a forest clearing. She saw her
mother spreading food around the blanket never taking her eyes off us little
ones as we ran and played always within calling distance. Dad was fiddling with
something under the hood of his 1930 ford that seemed to be worked on more than
it was driven. She saw her teenage years hanging out at the corner store after
school visiting with her friends and sometimes having a few coins for an ice
cold bottle of coke which she would share with her two closest friends.
Memories flew past her of senior prom and her first kiss from a boy named Billy
Henderson, the high school football quarterback. She saw her wedding day and
the great sense of
happiness and loss as her beloved mother went to the lord one week before
she was wed. With her eyes shut she felt the pain of childbirth again and
relived the years she raised three children. Sitting on a rock by the rivers
edge the evening breeze washing over her like a soft cloud of memories, she
cried tears of joy and sadness at how quickly time had raced up alongside of
her and passed her like a 1930 ford filled with happiness and youth. www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Author Mike OConnor: Routine
Author Mike OConnor: Routine: He woke up sore this morning, seemed like every muscle in his body ached. After a few grunts and groans he shuffled into th...
Routine
He woke up sore this morning,
seemed like every muscle in his body ached. After a few grunts and groans he
shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee. No fancy one cup things for
him he liked to listen and smell the coffee percolate in the same pot he’s been
using for as long as he can remember. The shower felt good on his sore muscles,
so he spent a few extra minutes in there before the daily ritual of shaving
with an old straight edge his dad had given to him way back when. Besides who
in their right mind would use a throw away plastic razor that in his mind were
for ladies’ legs. He pulled out a clean white t-shirt from the drawer and a
pair of clean blue jeans that had more patches than an old bike tube. Back
in the kitchen he put on the work boots he just bought recently as the last
pair that he wore for three years had all but busted open at every seem. He
poured a cup of coffee and sipped at it while he fried a couple of eggs that he
had with a single slice of toast like he did every day for as long as he remembered.
He washed off his plate and began to pack a lunch when his daughter came into
the kitchen. “Morning dad” she said reaching for the coffee pot, what are you
up to today”? He smiled at her and said “Same thing I have been doing for as
long as I can remember” he said. She watched as the old man made a sandwich and
washed an apple putting them into a brown paper bag then sitting down with her
at the table he just kind of went blank. She got herself ready for work
thinking how sad it really was that he went through this every morning
believing he was still a younger man that went to work at the mill everyday for
over forty years. She kissed his cheek and said good by on her way out the door
never forgetting to tell him to have a great day. She often wondered what he
did once she left?
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Anybody out there?
Author Mike OConnor: Anybody out there?: Someone asked me today if I had a girlfriend? They asked why not? I had to think about that for awhile, then came back with my ans...
Anybody out there?
Someone asked me
today if I had a girlfriend? They asked why not? I had to think about that for
awhile, then came back with my answer. I told her that I wasn’t very lucky in
the dating world. I don’t drink anymore, or go to bars, which is where I always
met ladies usually turning into something from the Bates Motel. I am a quiet
man with no desire for drama. I told her I am at an age where the younger
ladies, let's say in their forties, think I'm an old man, and the ladies my age
don’t quite fit the profile I'm looking for. That leaves ladies in their
fifties who are looking for forty-year-old men, I'm screwed. Then there's the
matter of what I could bring to a relationship? Well, I am a writer who spends
time everyday writing its time I won't give up. I live a very modest life with
my dog who gives me more affection than anything or anyone could give. I drive
a twenty-year-old truck with no intention of renting something newer to impress
anyone. What money I once had is just that, once. I am quiet by nature but do
enjoy a good conversation as long as it doesn’t include politics. I believe in
God and pray for a lot of people on a daily basis. I don’t like social media
very much but keep a presence to market my books. I own several guns and love
to shoot whenever I can. I see a shrink every four months to talk about my most
inner feelings and how best to deal with them.I'm not crazy, I'm just someone
who needs to let it out at times and hear a response from someone with a
degree. Oh and I live in a mobile home but you can call it a trailer if you
want to. I depend on myself to be happy or sometimes sad. I love the ocean and
rivers but hate Florida ponds and lakes simply because I hate gators and
snakes. My idea of someone I would like to spend time with fits into the
categories I have mentioned. Someone who is looking for a companion to have a
meal with, take a walk on the beach or sit by the river just looking. Someone
who has learned the education of the streets and knows what they like and don’t
like.Someone I can write a story about and will hold my hand when we go
somewhere.Someone with a beautiful smile and haunting eyes that can look deep
into my soul. Are you out there somewhere? Maybe there is someone for me and
maybe not. I will continue to live my life, doing the things I do and maybe
someday someone special will walk right into my life.
Monday, July 9, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: His porch
Author Mike OConnor: His porch: He sat on his front porch on a fine summer evening watching and waving to passersby as they took their evening walk. Some would nod others...
His porch
He sat on his front porch on a fine summer evening watching
and waving to passersby as they took their evening walk. Some would nod others
bid him a good evening. He lived in the same house for over fifty years now and
watched as babies grew up and children had babies of their own. He tried to
remember all of them but lately, the faces looked familiar but the names
escaped him. He made it a point to sit on his porch every night even in bad
weather because it was a fairly busy street and somebody he could wave to would
surely pass by. He knew the paper boys all forty-six of them over the years.
Some went off to college others to war. Some worked in the canning plant like
their fathers did and some sit at the same bar stools in the same bar just like
their fathers did Some grew up and became firemen and police officers and some
went away never to be heard from again. He knew of twelve houses on his street
where the parents left the house to a child and that child married and had kids
and no mortgage. He watched countless birthday parties, first communions,
graduations, weddings, funerals, and just about everything else you could think
of on a city block. He saw teenagers making out in cars, and fist fights
between brothers on the front lawn. He has seen a lot on this old porch and
wouldn’t trade a minute of it especially right this minute when he heard the
obnoxious song of the ice cream truck coming towards him. Looks like a
chocolate dipped cone kind of night.www.michaeloconnorwriter.com
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Sunday, July 8, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The painter
Author Mike OConnor: The painter: Back and forth he guided the brush each stroke a carefully thought out move. He paints houses, has been for over forty-five years. S...
The painter
Back and forth he
guided the brush each stroke a carefully thought out move. He paints houses,
has been for over forty-five years. Some say he's too old and will kill himself
doing such a thing at his age. Surely he will fall off a ladder or worse! He
just laughs it off and goes on with his work. The painting has a calming effect
on him, he is alone with his thoughts and the only company he gets is the
homeowner occasionally asking how things are going? He has fallen off ladders,
been stung by bees, attacked by birds, had a bucket of paint fell onto his
head, thank God he was wearing a hat and yes he has even stepped into a pan of
paint right up to the ankle. Sometimes when a job requires a helper he calls
upon an old friend who also believes he isn't ready to wash the brushes for a
while yet. He enjoys his friend's company and has always admired the quality of
work he does, much like himself a perfectionist with paint. They sit down at
lunchtime sharing stories and sometimes fruit. He lost his wife a while back
and still speaks of her as if she was waiting at home. They sit mostly in
silence as most of the words have already been spoken besides they have a house
to paint. When the house is done and payment made the two old painters head in
separate directions him promising to call on him again when needed. Bach home
he spends time cleaning his brushes with as much care as a mother cleans her
newborn. With everything back in its proper place, he goes inside to an empty
house, re-heats last nights leftovers and checks for messages. Seems he's been
recommended by a friend to paint the small chapel behind the big church on
Hickory street”.That will be a nice job” he thought to himself as he sat in his
old recliner and fell asleep to the music of days gone by.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Friday, July 6, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: His chair
Author Mike OConnor: His chair: The chair at the head of the table sits empty now. It seems so odd not to see him sitting there parting words of wisdom to generatio...
His chair
The chair at the
head of the table sits empty now. It seems so odd not to see him sitting there
parting words of wisdom to generations of listeners. He was a wise man, a
simple man who loved his family, his church and his country in that order. Sunday
dinner was mandatory unless you were in intensive care and if you happened to
be running late you got the glare that stuck with you for a solid week.
Normally he sat quietly enjoying his meal listening to others talk about their
lives and when he disagreed with something said he would set his fork down,
cross his arms across his chest and wait for silence before commenting on
whatever it was. I think most at the table shook heads in agreement if only to
keep the peace and the food warm. There were many late nite conversations at
that family table sometimes it was just one of us and dad asking for his advice
on any and every topic that seemed at that moment a world crisis. He would
always make it better somehow with a soft voice and a gentle touch with his
weathered but strong hand. There were a few times at that table that weren't so
nice when a car got wrecked or a bad grade in school happened more than once.
Nothing was off limits with dad and he let us know that from a very early age.
Now his chair collects dust in the ruts it made being slid in and out of that
table. He may not be with us anymore but I still from time to time have a seat
across from his chair and tell him about my day, my life, and I swear I see his
arms folded across his chest just listening with great interest and a greater
love. www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Author Mike OConnor: The lake house
Author Mike OConnor: The lake house: She sat at the edge of the dock on a warm spring day. Her feet just touching the water sending shivers through her. Looking out over ...
The lake house
She sat at the
edge of the dock on a warm spring day. Her feet just touching the water sending
shivers through her. Looking out over the lake she remembered times spent here
with family and friends. There was still an old tire swing just behind her on
the hill that led up to the old house. She remembered the boys trying to outdo
each other but mostly to get the attention of the girls who laid on the dock
sunning themselves and telling stories usually about each other. She remembered
her father collecting old tire tubes and putting air into them for a lazy float
around the lake that sometimes lasted for hours. One summer her dad brought a
small boat there. It had a slow leak and when too many of them got in it there
was usually a race with a bucket to keep the water out. They usually ended up
swimming back to the dock pulling the boat behind them.
So many holidays were
spent here, each bringing with it the imagination of her parents that brought
the place alive with their handmade decorations and hard but loving work. She
sat and remembered as many of those days as she could before having to leave
for the last time. She sold the house on the lake to a young couple who told
her about their dream of having a place where family and friends could gather
and make memories to last a lifetime. The taxi was waiting as she took one last
look at the place that made her who she was, a wife, mother, great, great
grandmother and a friend that lasted for her forever.
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Thursday, July 5, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The day after
Author Mike OConnor: The day after: Dozens if burnt out bottle rockets litter the yardsteet and the roof. Shriveled up burgers and the few remaining hot dogs don’t loo...
The day after
Dozens of burnt
out bottle rockets litter the yard street and the roof. Shriveled up burgers and
the few remaining hot dogs don’t look very good but uncle Frank took one and
ate it as he tried to recover from what he said is the worst hangover ever. He
didn’t make it back around the yard to the gate before slumping over and
ridding himself of that very well done hot dog. Inside it looked like the day
after a frat party with litter and bodies just about everywhere you looked.
Slowly the kids began to wake up, their rested bodies ready to begin another
day of play with cousins in from out of town on their yearly pilgrimage to the
fourth of July party. They grabbed the remaining cupcakes with the frosting
licked off by who knows who? Oh, there's aunt Bev with red, white and blue all
over her mouth, must have been the last thing she did before falling asleep on
the sofa. Slowly the house came back to life with all hands on deck cleaning
up, cooking a huge breakfast and trying to remember the night before. Uncle
Frank was holding a beer saying it was the only way to bite the damn dog that
bit him, offering one to those in need. Once everybody was fed and the chores
done, the kids went outside to do what kids do while the adults sat at the
kitchen mostly drinking coffee and having some good laughs as they began to
remember all the craziness of the night before. I asked Uncle Bill about the
bandage around his hand and he said he was lucky he didn’t blow off his whole
hand setting off the fireworks. It was late afternoon when people began to
leave promising to stay in touch and all looking forward to next years party.
All in all, I guess this year was a success as I smiled to myself knowing there
was a reason I quit drinking five years ago.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Love songs
Author Mike OConnor: Love songs: He didn't feel as old as his actual years and it made him wonder if others felt the same? He had made eighty-two journeys arou...
Love songs
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Tuesday, July 3, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Heat
Author Mike OConnor: Heat: The street had a hot mist rising from it seconds after the rain stopped. It only rose a couple of feet before being sucked back into...
Heat
The street had a
hot mist rising from it seconds after the rain stopped. It only rose a couple
of feet before being sucked back into the asphalt. I remained inside where the
temp was a cool seventy-nine air conditioned degrees as I watched out of a
window and watched as the world burned. Once vibrant flowers drooped and fell
to the ground their life cut short. I wondered if they felt the agonizing
death? There was a stray dog lapping up what was once a puddle now a race with
his tongue for the last few drops. A blackbird perched on a small branch seemed
to be bouncing as if it was trying not to just fall off and fall to the ground
below. There was condensation on the window I was looking through and I pressed
my lips to it in need of something wet and cool. Guess I could have just opened
a bottle of water but then I wouldn’t have been able to write this.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Author Mike OConnor: "Buddy"
Author Mike OConnor: "Buddy": He was a baby when he came into my life. A wobbling, happy, loving creature with only goodness in his heart. I cried when he fell a...
"Buddy"
He was a baby
when he came into my life. A wobbling, happy, loving creature with only
goodness in his heart. I cried when he fell and broke a leg wanting to take his
pain away so he wouldn’t cry anymore. He recovered and although he walks a
little off, he can still chase birds and catch a ball. It’s just him and me in
the house, me going about my way, him on my heels my constant shadow. It’s been
four years now and we are best friends. I get angry at times when he spreads
his food across the floor or gets in the garbage but It's hard for me to
realize he is a dog because he acts so human. I never stay mad at him for too
long his sad eyes get me every time and I can’t reach for the snack box fast
enough. Dogs aren’t for everybody but for those of us who treat them with the
love they deserve, well a dog can be the biggest blessing in your life because
they will give that love back to you in countless wet kisses.
This is “Buddy”
my best friend.
Monday, July 2, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Songs
Author Mike OConnor: Songs: The church was empty except for a rather large choir on the second level. They were practicing songs for an upcoming funeral mass. I...
Songs
The church was
empty except for a rather large choir on the second level. They were practicing
songs for an upcoming funeral mass. I sat alone below them in awe with the
songs they were singing. ‘Chances are” by Johnny Mathis, “I’ll be home for
Christmas” by Elvis, “Blue moon” by a country super star I can’t put a name to,
and lastly, they sang the national anthem of the united states. Their voices
were in perfect harmony as I sat wondering who had passed? Who was this person
in life that wanted such a variety of songs at his memorial? The choir came
down from above and stood chatting about the same thing I was curious about.
One of them said she thought the deceased was a local entertainer who played
the older circuit. Another said he thought he heard it was a prominate social
lite who had a massive record collection and these few songs were his
favorites. I read the obits later that day and saw the notice for a Robert
Miller. He was a simple man who lived his entire life in the city he died in.
At the bottom of his page were his own words. Well folks “Chances are” I won’t
be home for Christmas”, Ill be rising past the “Blue moon” looking down at the
country I lived and died for, so when you sing that anthem sing it loud so it’s
the last thing I hear.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Author Mike OConnor: Happy Fourth of July
Author Mike OConnor: Happy Fourth of July: The boy was home alone which he sometimes was now that he was twelve. He knew all the rules and the consequences f for breaking them...
Happy Fourth of July
The boy was home
alone which he sometimes was now that he was twelve. He knew all the rules and
the consequences f for breaking them. He did his chores like his mom asked and
while reaching in the broom closet he accidentally overturned a box and a very
colorful assortment of fireworks came spilling out onto the floor. He stood
there for a moment looking at everything deciding if he should take just one
small box and set it off in the backyard, after all, whats the worst that could
happen? Well, he could start a grass fire racing around the yard trying to
untangle the garden hose to put it out as it spread to the garage where his
dads vintage 1957 Chevy was stored. Or he could cause the old man across the
street who is a veteran of two wars to think he was under attack and start
shooting in his direction. Then there's always the possibility he would blow
off his hand like his mom always warned would happen. He looked at the small
box of fireworks and decided to return them to the bigger box in the broom
closet. That night when darkness fell his dad brought out the box and everybody
gathered in the backyard for the big show. His dad asked him if he would like
to light one, to which the boy replied, “Maybe next year dad” he was still
visualizing that 1957 Chevy going up in smoke.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Sunday, July 1, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Sweet sleep
Author Mike OConnor: Sweet sleep: He tried to sleep but his memories of time past kept him awake. The soft chimes and momentary beeps of machines around and on him didn’...
Sweet sleep
He tried to sleep but his memories of time
past kept him awake. The soft chimes and momentary beeps of machines around and
on him didn’t make for a good sleeping environment either. His visitors had
long left, their steps walking away his last memory. He heard his daughter blow
her nose trying to hold back the tears that would soon fall, she has such a big
heart that one. His son didn’t come today seems he was out of town on business
but that was all right he thought after all he was only doing what he was
taught to do. Take care of family first, his family. He too has a good heart
and will go far and be successful. A nurse came in asking if he needed anything,
he shook his head and bid her a good night. They were kind to him here, through
experience he imagined, after all, wasn't it their job to be kind? When the
room was still, and the moonlight crept into his room he made one last call to
his God asking that all those he loved remembered him not as the frail old man
who they cry for now, but rather that happy, kind of crazy guy that held the
family record for the most hot dogs eaten at the summer reunion. He wanted them
to know that leaving this place was all he wanted now so he could be together
again with all those already gone before him. He has no pain, no worries, and
no regrets. He was a man who knew what love was and how to show it. His life
was full, and he was blessed with many who called him a friend. Now the soft
chimes and momentary beeps are fading into silence as he closes his eyes for
the last time only to open them again to something beyond his wildest
imaginationwww.michaeloconnorwriter.com
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