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Happy Juneteenth

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Posted on June 19, 2010 by Editor

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Happy Easter

Emil Nolde, Der Prophet, 1912

Posted on April 3, 2010 by Editor

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Happy New Year

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Posted on December 31, 2009 by Editor

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James Frey and His Son Leo Siddhartha Frey

from StrollerDerby for RED

James Frey shares his devastation over losing his son

Posted by editors on December 1st, 2009 at 9:00 am

 

This World Aids Day, author James Frey shares his devastation over losing his son and asks us to help all of the chidren who still have a chance.

On July 3rd, 2008, as my wife held him in her arms and I held his hand, my son, Leo Siddhartha Frey, died. We were in a small room in a hospital in New York, a room that was, and is, part of the NICU, a room where families who knew their children were going to die went to spend their last moments together privately and in some kind of peace, though I would never describe the time as peaceful. As we watched him, and told him we loved him, and cried, Leo took a final breath and his heart stopped beating and he passed, and part of me passed with him.

It was, and still is, an unimaginably horrific experience. Whatever loss or pain or sorrow I have ever felt or known pales in comparison. I wept, literally, for weeks. To this day I cannot look at pictures of Leo, and cannot talk about him without breaking down. I have never written about him, never spoken publicly about him, and after this, may never do so again. He was my son. I wanted the world for him. I would have given him anything and had so many dreams for him, though I truly wanted him to have the opportunity to find his own. Every day he was in the hospital I got down on my knees and begged God to save him, to spare him, to let him live, to let him grow up and know love and happiness and find his way. I said take me, take me and grant him what I have known. Take whatever time I have left and give to him. I begged and pleaded and cried. It made no difference. Leo got sicker, and weaker, and he died. In many ways, I will never recover from it.

When I think of (RED), I think of Leo, and I think of the children who are dying. I think of the pain and misery their families will feel when they are gone. I think of what my wife and I have felt and lived with and experienced and I never want anyone else to have to experience the same things. I think of the fact, and it is a fact, that many of these children could be helped and saved and given life. They can find their dreams and pursue them. They can know joy and beauty and love. They can take their first steps and learn their first words and go to school and have their first dates. My son never got to do any of those things. Nothing we, or any doctor on earth, could have changed it. But we, you and I and our families and our friends and our coworkers, can change it for the children in Africa who are living with AIDS. We can give them the gift that we have been given, and that so many of us take for granted.

They need our help. They need money to purchase drugs. They need doctors who can help them learn to live with their disease. They need hope and to believe that they will see tomorrow. Give them that chance. As someone who knows the pain of losing child, knows the personal apocalypse of losing a child, knows the emotional devastation that I felt and will always feel because my child is gone, I beg you to help. Anything you can afford will make a difference. For them, their parents, their families. It will make a difference. For our world, which is so full of violence and horror and poverty and hopelessness and despair, it will make difference. – James Frey

james1 300x200 Guest Blog: James Frey Shares His Devastation Over Losing His Son

(RED) saves lives. So please choose (RED), get involved and make a difference in this world. In celebration of World Aids Day, James Frey created a one of a kind hand painted Bugaboo Cameleon stroller – inspired by his children and love of letters. The auction commences today and runs for ten days. Please visit ebay.com to place a bid and help save lives.

[ click to read at StrollerDerby ]

Posted on December 2, 2009 by Editor

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Happy Thanksgiving

 

 

 

 

Posted on November 26, 2009 by Editor

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Help Fight Spinal Muscular Atrophy @ Yankee Stadium Tonight

Greater NY Chapter’s Awareness Day with the Yankees
Wed 09/09/2009 7:00 PM – 10:00 PM

FSMA Greater New York Chapter
along with
The New York Yankees

Dylan_Yankes

SMA AWARENESS DAY

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Yankees_Cuevas Fam

 Spinal Muscular Atrophy is the number one genetic killer of infants.  SMA destroys the nerves controlling movement and breathing.

1 in 40 people carry the genetic cause of the disease – 500,000 are carriers in New York State.

1 in 6,000 live births are affected.

There is no cure or treatment for this brutal disease.  But there is tremendous hope for a breakthrough in the near future from ongoing research and clinical trials.  Families of SMA is the leading charity supporting research to find a cure. The Greater NY Chapter of Families of SMA supports over 500 families in the local area.

CLICK HERE FOR INFO – DO WHAT YOU CAN TO HELP

Posted on September 9, 2009 by Editor

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Happy Father’s Day

Father and Child by BUWA SHETE 

Posted on June 21, 2009 by Editor

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Happy New Year!

New Year by CONAL FLAHERTY (visit)

Posted on January 1, 2009 by Editor

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BRIGHT SHINY MORNING Contest Winners Announced

Thanks to all who answered the riddle for the contest to win a signed copy of BRIGHT SHINY MORNING.

Since many entries were quite creative and fun to read, we decided not only to pick a randomly drawn winner, but also to reward the most creative response.

Thus and sans further ado – the winner of the random drawing is…

DENISE COLE (of the Rainbow) 

And winner for Most Creative Entry is…

BRIAN STILLMAN (whose submission appears below)

Denise and Brian, we will be contacting you shortly via email to arrange to get your books out to you. Thanks again to all for entering, and have a bright shiny day.

———————————— 

A woman shoots her husband. Then she holds him under water for over five minutes. Finally, she hangs him. But five minutes later they both go out together and enjoy a wonderful dinner together. How can this be?

The news warned everyone to stay indoors. She didn’t want to believe the news. Then the station turned to snow. It turned out all of them were blizzards by then.

Not long after that the wife went out to find her missing husband.

FLY FACE by Aurel SchmidtShe walked the two miles and found him at the park and ride exactly where she’d last seen him yesterday afternoon. He’d said not to worry and told her to take the car, but she’d said she needed the exercise.

Some of his face was gone. He looked like the news said they’d look. The news anchor – the one that laughed like he wasn’t quite right anymore just before the signal died – had been right. After the change the victims looked just like something from a Romero movie.

The husband lurched toward the wife. She produced the pistol they kept upstairs. The just in case pistol. He didn’t recognize his name. His hands were dry but they were the same color as those parts of his face she didn’t want to look at. He didn’t recognize his name or the word stop and he didn’t notice a single one of the shots that punched through his torso. The shirt was already bloody, not that he was noticing that either.

She walked ahead of his shambling, walked back toward their home. She didn’t have to run. He’d always had that bad knee.

Their street was quiet, quiet as when she’d set out in the morning. She noticed things, noticed there were tire tracks on one lawn. Someone’s chimes rung. She stopped up at sight of the kiddie pool.

Little neon colored ducks wound around the side of the pool. Blades of grass and dropped snack time cheese doodles floated on the pool surface. The tiny pool goers had waved at them as they drove by on Sunday. Sunday. A very long time ago.

The wife walked away from the pool and sat down on the house’s porch step. She sat half folded over, top half sunk into her thighs and she shook like a mechanism had caught and the right quiver would set it off and then she’d finish folding over and start folding inside out.

LAUGHING WOMAN by Rufino TamayoHer husband walked towards her. Shambled. Shambling, he stepped up against the kiddie pool and fell forward into the water.

The wife watched the struggle. He couldn’t quite figure out how to get up. Water leaked out as he threw what looked like a fake, laughter seeking fit. If she were anyone else maybe a week ago she might’ve laughed.

She wiped her face and wiped her hands on her pants. She stood, walked to the pool, knelt and pushed down on her husband’s head for what felt like hours. No one complained about her screaming once she started.

When the moon came up, the husband remained face down in the pool, but no longer thrashed. Occasionally a bubble would emerge from the lunar illuminated depths and bloop apart upon the pool surface.

Sometime before dawn the wife rolled the husband out of the pool, pushed him up to a sitting position, shoved a towel in his moaning face, worked the towel briskly, snipped a swathe of duct tape off the roll she’d brought from the garage, and swatted away his dumb intrigued hands long enough to press the duct tape over his mouth.

She helped him to his feet. She swatted his hands away long enough to pluck a blade of grass from off his wet sop of hair. She left the roll of duct tape and the scissors on the lawn and she led him home.

The noose hung off the beam in the room reserved for their occasional guests. The noose hung directly over a chair slid over from the desk set under the window. The second chair she’d dragged in from the study.

The husband watched from the doorway, reserving judgment. He was always slow to warm to something new.

The wife stepped up onto the desk chair, the top of her head brushing the noose, and then stepped over onto the chair from the study, nudged flush against its neighbor. She coaxed the husband forward. He grunted, sounding reluctant behind the duct tape. He kept tugging at the duct tape, but couldn’t manage to pinch hold of the creased over ends. He grunted like maybe the tape adhesive hurt the way he’d sometimes groan when she’d cut his hair.

She had to step up onto the chairs repeatedly. A dozen times. A thousand. She was screaming at him towards the end. That’s why she didn’t want kids. Her patience had limits. Enough for him, but no one else. Finally though, he followed her up and when he made it up she helped steady him. The door was behind him and he faced the back wall, but it didn’t matter where he looked, not for the task at hand.

Soon as the loop was in place and the slack in the rope had been taken up, she jumped down and shoved the desk chair toward the window. Shoved it just as far as needed.

She walked past her husband, walked under the beam, and walked toward the hall. She moved stiffly like someone trying to finish a chore before peeing their pants. On exiting she reached for the guest room doorknob, but missed. She didn’t bother a second attempt.

Every so often as she sat on the edge of their bed, hugging herself, rocking, she could hear sound from the guest room – the beam or was it the rope adjusting to the weight.

This was no longer a life where the wife would find time or find it convenient to adjust. She knew her job was not going to take her mind off of losing her spouse. Job. She didn’t have a job. Who had jobs now? With her husband, the new status quo would be rough, but it might eventually become bearable. Without him…Well she already was without him now wasn’t she?

When she walked back into the guest room her husband swung in soggy orbit just to the side and above the chair from the study.

He was still trying to tug the duct tape off his mouth.

After she hacked all the way through the rope, but before they found their way downstairs and outside onto the street together, she kissed him on the mouth, over the duct tape, and she said she loved him very much. She said his name, most of it, before the sob broke the second syllable apart. Then she tore the duct tape off and kissed him and herself goodbye.

– by Brian Stillman

Posted on June 15, 2008 by Editor

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