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My new husband and I love totally different music. He is a bass player of Jazz.. while I can enjoy it... he doesn't really embrace my simple need for 'gut reaction to music.' Music has been my escape through abuse and sorrow. I live within music. He lives within correctness of music I think. These are simply raw emotions I expressed after we both listened to some music. He wasn't stirred by mine and I was left wanting by his.

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Max was not entirely perfect; his office was a disaster zone. LOL! I don't know how he got anything done in all the papered chaos. I used to tease him laughingly that one day he was going to die and leave me to deal with his office...Max got the last laugh. While sorting through the morass in the early hours of this morning when I couldn't sleep, I found a folder under a pile of books on his desk. In the folder I found little things he had kept: ticket stubs to the opera, receipts from especially romantic dinners out...dated on my birthday or our anniversary, a few photos of us together taken by a stranger he had asked...and this. I had forgotten I had even written this poem...my first to Max. I mailed it to him during the first absence we had to endure after we had fallen in love. He kept it all these years...As I read it i realized the unknown of tomorrow can become the reality of today...the known of yesterday fades into memory...there is only today. i can not control time, but i can choose to be present in each of the moments i have. time lived moment by moment is life lived to the fullest...time lived moment to moment with each moment filled with love is, for me, life lived to the max!

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My Writing Life.... Hopefully a better writer after being on this site and paying close attention to feedback and the work of others. Many have read this already so for those who haven't that might want to. All feedback is welcome. We all have our stories about how we feel about writing and how writing affects us and those we reach out to. I encourage all writer to do this exercise. Why do you write?

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Love changes as we age; hopefully our last love is the Velveteen Rabbit kind of love when we are loved for our true selves...when we know our beauty, male or female, radiates outward from within: "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. "The Velveteen Rabbit" I am no longer young nor do I possess the beauty I once had. Extra pounds hide my once enviable figure. I am beginning to exhibit some of the outward signs of the Parkinson's Disease I was diagnosed with ten years ago, but I consider myself one of the luckiest of women. I am loved for myself. All I have to do to be loved, cared for, and adored is wake up in the morning. This is for Max.

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This memoir is being written for a HUGE competition sponsored by the Brisbane City Council (southeast Queensland, Australia. It can be fiction or non fiction, 4000-6,000 words long and MUST be set in Brisbane. This part 1 is almost 3000 words long, so I have had to cut it into two to go on the site. I would be most grateful for constructive criticism. I have to get it RIGHT !!!! "Singlet" is another word for "vest" or undergarment.

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