Your attitude affects what you create

Your attitude, the emotion that you are feeling while you are crocheting affects what you crochet. In fact, your attitude affects whatever you create, whether is it a scarf, a meal, or anything.

There is no superstition when it comes to infusing love into a piece of art intended for those we love. At the subatomic level, we are beings of energy. 

Read The Secret Life of Plants. You will see that our emotions, our attitudes, affect the plants around us.

Rent the movie or read the book, The Secret. It shows you how much power our thoughts and feelings have.

Anything that we create with intentional love will hold the energy of that love within it. Those who touch it will feel it.

Try this experiment; Make something easy, like a scarf, for one of your grandchildren. Wash the yarn before your start. When you place the yarn in the water, ask the water to remove all negative energy from the yarn. This also works with smoke from sage, cedar, and other plants. If you use smoke, ask the spirit of the plant to remove all negative influences from the yarn.

As you start to crochet, state your intention, aloud, that you will fill each stitch with love and affection for all who touch it. As you crochet imagine love, security, warmth being intertwined with each stitch. Imagine, in your mind's eye, your grandchild feeling so good, so safe, so loved, wearing your scarf. Try to "feel" those things within yourself as you crochet.

When you finish, take it over to your grandchild's house, unwrapped. Give it to your grandchild. Watch their reaction once they hold it. Don't be surprised if their pet dog or cat wants to sit on it.

Autumn Geese

 By Mushroom Montoya

When the autumn geese tumble and twirl

With their gobbling and cackling overhead,

My heart wraps its fingers around my throat,

Rolling a swelling lump that stings my eyes,

Making me yearn for bygone days

Of playing ball

                    and tag, 

                                and telling silly stories

with my now

                        dead son.

When autumn geese glide overhead

They gobble down to me,

"We're flying to our nighttime roost,

Before the dark can steal our bed,

Thus we cannot,

                        dare not,

                                    and wish not to stay.

We only come

To remind you

Your Jeremy

                                    is dead.

I cry,

"You don't need to reminds me."

I wail.

I weep.

From way down deep.

"I know my son is gone."

As they cackle away

I can barely hear them say,

"Only his body, 

                    Only his body,

                                        Only his body.

Cranes of Autumn

 I don't need reminders

Signs,  or forewarnings , 

Telling me 

that the anniversary

of our son's death 

Is approaching 

In October.

But,

As the autumn leaves begin to fly, 

and my heart starts to cry, 

Sometimes grief visits me 

in a kinder way. 

When the long necked cranes soar

and gobble 

as they twirl and swirl,

strumming my heart strings 

and playing a soulful song:

"He remembers you" 

He thinks of you.

Then he smiles."

I stand gazing upward

Their wings wafting the fire

Of my desire 

to have him back again 

"Memories we bring,".

They continue to sing,

"Love we carry 

from him to you 

And from you to him.

He remembers you.

He thinks of you.

Then he smiles."

I don't need reminders

Signs, or forewarnings 

Telling me our son is dead.

But I love seeing the cranes of autumn

Swirling, twirling, and strumming their song

Across the sky

Soothing me 

In my broken hearted cry.

Strolling In the Neighborhood Woods

Tree people have a calmness, 

they willingly bestow 

with those who stroll 

in their presence. 

They vibrate their tranquility 

around our hearts 

as our feet plod 

along the paths 

beneath their branches. 

They cackle or whisper

stories and songs

when the wind breezes by.

If we slow down

and listen

we will hear them. 

They giggle 

when grandmother spider 

catches our faces 

in her web.

 

My First Father’s Day

In the wee hours of December 18th, 1969, while the Southern California winter’s cool darkness lounged outside, Roberta got out of bed, walked around to my side, and shook me awake. A peculiar odor assaulted my nose and permeated the bedroom’s air. My parents had invited us to sleep at their house in case Roberta went into labor while I was at work. IT’S TIME! jumped up and down excitedly in my thoughts. I sat up forcing my body to wake up. I pulled back the covers, swung my feet out of the bed, and stepped into a large wet puddle.

“I think my water broke,” Roberta said. “I thought I was peeing at first but the liquid keeps coming out.”

My mother came into our bedroom, heard what Roberta had said, and ran back into the closet to grab a large blanket. I went into the bathroom, dried my feet, threw some water on my face, and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. The commotion had shaken my father awake. He stood at the doorway and told me to hurry, but to drive safely. Roberta had wanted to change out of her wet pajamas but my mother told her that she would probably soak whatever she wore. My mother folded and then wrapped the blanket around Roberta. She gave her another to sit on.

Adrenaline kept my eyes open wide as I raced outside to open the car door. I helped Roberta get into the big yellow 1959 Chevy Biscayne with its wide rear “wings”. I said goodbye to my parents who were standing by the curb as I closed Roberta’s door. I pushed in the clutch, turned on the car’s engine, and turned on the lights. I drove in the early morning winter darkness up the 605 freeway to the Kaiser hospital in Bellflower. I parked the car near the emergency room entrance. We walked into the emergency room reception area. “She’s having a baby and her water broke,” I said to the first official-looking person I saw.

A nurse came in through a door behind the reception area and asked Roberta a bunch of questions while the receptionist kept me busy producing identification, showing proof of Kaiser insurance, and filling out hospital forms.

I’m going to be a father, I thought over and over again as I filled the paperwork out.
A nurse told me that she was going to take Roberta into the Labor and Delivery area upstairs. They put Roberta in a wheelchair and left through a pair of off-white doors.

When I finished filling out the paperwork, the receptionist told me that I could go to the Father’s waiting room on the 6th floor. I ran to the elevator and shuffled my feet waiting for the elevator. There was one other man in the Father’s waiting room. I went into the hallway and asked if I would see my wife. “Oh no!” the nurse said. “No men are allowed in the Labor and Delivery room. Didn’t they tell you that?”

“They told us that I couldn’t be in the birthing room, but they didn’t say I couldn’t be with her before that.” I heard a woman belt out a blood-curdling scream. My stomach did a somersault. I hoped it wasn’t Roberta. It didn’t sound like her voice. I went back into the father’s waiting room and paced the floor. Later that morning, a nurse came into the Father’s waiting room and called my name. My muscles tensed with excitement. “Did she have it?” My shoulders slumped when she told me that Roberta would be there for a long time. They told me that they might have to induce labor, so I might as well go home and get some sleep. I argued that I didn’t want to miss our baby’s birth. She assured me that Roberta still had a long way to go. I worried about her and felt that it was so unfair that she had to be in there alone. I didn’t want to go, but the nurse was insistent, telling me that I would be a better new father if I was wide awake. I was already wide awake from the adrenaline, but I went home anyway.

My mother greeted me with a glowing smile when I walked in the door. “What is it? A boy? A girl?” she beamed. “They sent me home because Bertie has a long way to go,” I said as weariness sat on my shoulders and pulled on my cheeks and eyelids. “I cleaned up the floor and took off the blankets,” my mother said, “but Roberta’s side is still wet. Why don’t you take a nap on the couch?” Sleep quickly overcame what little resistance I had left.

I ate dinner after I woke up. I kept looking at the clock as I ate dinner. I thanked my mother and then hopped back into the car letting the neighborhood diminish in my rearview mirror. I exceeded the speed limit because I didn’t want to miss our baby’s birth.

I walked back into the hospital and talked to the nurse who told me to go back to the fathers’ waiting room. After a few more hours, a nurse called me to the door. I followed her to another door on the other side of the hallway. She opened it. A baby boy, my baby boy, lay naked in the bassinet. He had a large clip attached to what was left of the umbilical cord. I stared at our baby for as long as I could as they wheeled him away.

Luckily there was a payphone in the fathers’ waiting room. I was so excited that I misheard how big he was. I called my parents and almost yelled over the phone, “He’s 36 inches long and weighs 7 pounds and I can’t remember how many ounces!”

My parents laughed and my mother said, “We know you’re excited but we know that the baby can’t be 36 inches long. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

I went and stood in front of the baby window and paced the floor once again waiting for the nurse to bring my new son, our baby, into the viewing room. What’s taking them so long? I wondered. A nurse finally brought our baby into the viewing room. Jeremy Eric Montoya slept in the bassinet. I beamed and stared. Pride beamed and mixed with a tinge of fear as it welled up within me. Wow! I’m a father now, I thought.

 

The Tree By the Sea

 

40 Mile Bike Ride

January 31st Bike Ride  

Hearse Driving Man

 

Hearse Driving Man

By Mushroom Montoya

 

 

Grief has been sitting in our driveway.

I hear his engine running.

His car's pistons vibrate

In my gut,

 

Shaking tears

Out of my eyes

While I do all I can

To ignore the hearse driving man.

I go and stand outside

Our front room door

Pointing my accusing finger,

Go away.

He lowers his black tinted window

Music flows out to my ears,

Memory, from the musical, Cats

Lets me know

He isn't going anywhere.

 

I send a hammer smashing curse

To slam and squash his cold-hearted hearse

Into tiny, whiney, smithereens.

But it is all to no avail.

 

My hammer is just a useless wish

Making me want to yell and scream

At my inability to make him disappear

And stay away forever.

 

He turns up the volume

On his cursed hearse’s radio

Playing Josh Groban’s

To Where You Are.

 

And then he flings a bloody hatchet

Out of his dark hearse window

Smacking, cutting, and whacking me

In the middle of my chest.

 

I fall to my knees

Begging please,

Oh please!

Go away!

 

I struggle to stand up.

I turn around

And walk inside.

I shut the door.

 

But try as I might,

The door won’t lock

I kick it hard

Exploding a bomb

 

Full of memories of

Me and our son,

He is in my cradling arms.

Me rocking him slowly back to sleep.

 

And then I weep

Seeing his body

Laying the coffin

While bagpipes blaze

Amazing Grace.

 

Grief revs his engine

I hear it backfire,

Knocking me down

Into my own pool of tears.

Audio Link

Rooster Challenge

 

                                https://pixabay.com/images/search/rooster/

Rooster Challenge

 

I sit on the wooden step. 

My teeth are clenched.

I squint my eyes, 

Looking for an opportunity.

 

The huge red rowdy rooster 

Marches guard patrol,
Bobbing his head,

Warning me to stay far away.

 

His cruel callous eyes cut almost

As sharply as his razor-sharp beak

That made me shriek

When he flew onto my face,

 

Biting and tearing my flesh apart,

Scarring my head and arms forever,

Teaching me never to meddle

In a blustering rooster’s business. 

 

But I can’t stay sitting 

On this silly splintery stoop.

I’ve got to run to the outhouse. 

I’ve really got to poop.

 

Why won’t he leave

And go into his coup

And protect the baby chicks,

So, I can get off this stoop?

 

I stare at the rusty wire fence

Surrounding his chicken domain,

Remembering that fateful morning

When I smiled happily holding 

 

A couple of baby chicks,

Who were so soft and cute,

When all of a sudden, he screamed

As he crashed and slashed into my face.

 

My legs are twitching.

My bladder is filling up.

I stand and watch and secretly beg,

“Please, go away.”

 

Wow! He shakes his wobbly wattle,

And puffs out his feathery red wings.

He lifts his head and crows

As he struts along the rows

 

Of flowers leading the way to his coup.

I have my chance.
I mustn’t wait.

I really have to poop.

 

Salt Spray Invitations

 

Salt Spray Invitations

By Mushroom Montoya

 

La Mar sends me salt spray

Invitations,

Love notes for my nose

To read.

 

Sunshine sparkles on tree leaves

All around me.

Wind shakes them and pretends

They are white gloved wavelets,

 

Beckoning me to

Dance on the seashore,

Barefooted and

Barelegged,

 

So, La Mar can hug me,

And soothe

My broken heart.

 

Salty moist breezes

Whisper her song,

"I didn't feed all his ashes

To the fish and clams.

 

I saved a few.

Come to me

With an open heart.

I shall place his smile

Deep inside you."

 

Salty tears slide over my cheeks,

Onto my bare feet.

My toes twitch and whine.

They prefer saltwater

From the sea,

 

Rather than the salt laden grief,

Pouring out of me.

 

To La Mar I'll go

To be soothed and blessed.

To say hello to our son

Forever swimming

With La Mar.

 

Elk Drum Called Me

Elk drum called me, 

From inside her canvas cave.

I swear the bag wiggled a smile.

Of canyons, and valleys, and mountain streams,

With beams of sunlight illuminating the mist

That’s been kissed by the leaves.

“Come,” she cooed. 

How could I resist?

I opened my pack 

And lifted her out,

Giving her a kiss 

With my poem sprouting lips,

That melt hearts and pull tears

From painful years, long ago.

My fingers swirl around the mallet’s handle, 

My hand caresses her leather straps. 

I nod to my drum. 

We are ready to fly.

My mallet awakens her belly

With a light tap and then ratatatat

I am out,

No longer bound 

By the confines of my golden brown skin.

We glide out my window

And bow to the Guava tree.

She giggles open her entrance 

To the path down her roots

Of silk, musty mushrooms, and 

Iridescent crystals of jade and amethyst.

The drums ratatat boom boom booms

Me into a cave with a passageway 

Of yellow and red rose petal waterfalls.

I slide down the chute into a pool 

Of laughing dolphins telling jokes

To the Coyote and grandmother on the bank.

“Sit here,” Coyote howls, “And listen 

To the wisdom of our ancestors,

Relish in their uproarious  laughter,

Eat the guava blossoms of mystery,

Drink from the pond of delight,

Glow with the splash of sparkles,

“Sientanse aqui,” Grandmother beacons,

Patting the green moss on the bench,

I sit down leaning my body against her

Laying my head on her bosom.

Like I did when I was seven years old.

The boom boom boom is gone.

My drum takes a nap on my lap.

We all dream together 

As we fly up, up, and up,

Passed the grinning moon, and laughing sun,

Passed the stars, and planets,

Passed the galaxies, and through a fog,

And onto the top of a ziggurat pyramid,

Where Quetzalquoatl, dressed in a robe

Of stars and flowers, greets me to say,

“Welcome my brother,

I have missed you so much.

When will you stop pretending

That you are not powerful and beautiful too?

It’s time to accept the truth of the mystery 

That you can sing songs of magic,

Twirl worlds with your pen

To soothe a crying world

And make it love and laugh again.”