Blog Posts by Monika Basile

  • When I was a Mermaid

    We will gaze at the lost town. Mermaid statue in Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio.
    I was eight and he was ten. It was summer vacation on a yearly trip my family took to a resort in Indiana about an hour and a half away from our home outside of Chicago. It was a highly anticipated event for my brother and I. We saved our money all year for it to buy souvenirs and to play the games of chance on the boardwalk.

    He was my brother's vacation friend. I was the third wheel always with the two boys. I am sure I cramped their style and I am sure too, it bothered my brother to have his little sister batting cow eyes at his summer friend. But my eight year old little girl self seemed to be unable to hide them and unable to stop my hero worship of this strange different boy who was older and always nice to me. He didn't treat me like a kid sister like all of my brother's other friends had always done. He still treated me like a girl even though I could climb a tree way higher than he could.

    We were all too young to swim in the lake. (I eyed that lake constantly with

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  • Colors of Love

    I know someday when I have grandchildren, they will say, "What do you mean it was against the law?" They will say that about gay marriage. And I will be happy to have seen it come to pass. I know too, there will be those who will hate it even a hundred years from now just as some still hate interracial marriages, or marriages that cross faiths, or marriages that interconnect classes of different people. There will always be hatred. However, hatred does not stop love. I am thankful for that.

    I was told once to not write about things that incite people, that this, as a writer, was a quick way to become hated and would set me up for negative feedback. Don't write about religion or politics or sex because this gets people all crazy. Yet, I find my own life, that I write snips and pieces of, tends to bring about the same things sometimes so what does it matter anyway? So hate me and disagree with me because it will not stop me from loving anyway or believing that love still conquers

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  • Un-Private Parts

    According to Wikipedia.Org sexting is sending nude and/oor sexaully explicite tex messaging
    There seems to be a rash of unusual yet common events occurring in my life. They are strung together with a theme-a theme of disgust on my part. I am wondering if something has possessed certain men, taken a hold of them, if it is somehow beyond their control or if it is something about me that brings it on. The men tend to throw an accusation my way consistently and believe it to be me-that there is something inherently wrong with my reaction. This may be so...but I doubt it.

    I have been getting an awful lot of "junk" mail and "junk" texts. What the heck is this? I mean why in the world would anyone send a picture of their privates to a stranger? And why are so many men doing this? And why-are they sending them to me?

    I have even received a graphic video as a first text which I happened to open while sitting in the drive through of Wendy's with my twenty four year old son. He saw it.

    "Is that a penis?" He said in shock.

    I was quite embarrassed. "Um, yes. Yes, it is.

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  • Fly Away

    feather in Port Townsend cabin
    I am sure there is no true, all encompassing definition of love. I believe there are many skewed ones, self righteous ones and even bizarre ways to define an indescribable feeling. The trick of it is to find someone's twisted view of it or wonderful view of it to be in tune with your own. I think this is where the magic may lie. I think this is also where the heartache and the confusion begins too.

    If we don't agree on or at least somewhat agree on what love means to us personally, then we will never have what we seek and we will not feel loved enough to fulfill us. We will feel as if we have not been loved "well". We will blame our partner for not living up to what we thought love should be because what they thought love should be is completely different.

    I have been loved in a multitude of ways. But the most important way that I need is for someone to be there. This is the simple part of expressing love to me personally, be there, truly. This is something that I even bring up in

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  • Red Shoes

    superga sneakers
    This is just a small part of the story. The beginning part. It is one I never told and least of all to the person it is about though I have promised to do so some day.

    Awhile back, I had been discouraged about my ability to pick anyone who might be good for me. I seemed to get sucked into the most unlikely of relationships and wind up confused and feeling like a fool, or shocked and feeling that I must just somehow be an idiot in the grand scheme of the universe's workings. So, I asked God for specifics. I said, "Put a red bow on him. I seem to choose so poorly. I don't trust myself anymore to find what I am supposed to be having because I get distracted too easily, or too excited, or to understanding, or I am just not where I need to be. Put a red bow on him, God, because I can't make heads or tails of this anymore."

    Mr. Music arrived on the train. I have written of him before. " The Wishing Well" is about him and an ending of sorts. I guess it is confusing to not have

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  • A Heart to Be Broken

    Broken Heart
    There are so many things to be afraid of in this world. Love is not one of them.

    Being in love, falling out of love, staying in love, loving to the tips of your toes and into the pits of the stomach and even the loss of love should not be something to be feared. Yet, there are so many of us who live inside this fear that we fail to live inside the reality of loving someone deeply. So instead, we do without. We don't dare give one hundred percent of our heart with the fear it will not be returned or it will be taken from us. And that is the truest tragedy-that we miss the most important parts of life worrying that they will not last.

    I think we should be more afraid to become robots, to become self serving, to run into hiding as we try to avoid something as common as a heartache. What does this leave us with? Where do we get to in life? What do we obtain to block our feelings off as we wander on this journey? Sometimes, we get things. Sometimes, we have great accomplishments.

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  • Monsters Are People Too

    Sometimes There Really Are Monsters Under The Bed
    In memory of my dear Uncle Pete who passed away in the wee hours of this morning.

    My father instilled a great love of monster movies in me. Most Saturdays and Sundays of my childhood were filled with marathons of the Creature Feature or The Monster Matinee. My Dad, my brother, my uncles and my cousins would settle down for the long haul of it most weekends. And we were the true couch potatoes; absolutely glued to the television set, living for commercial breaks to run to use the toilet so we wouldn't miss anything, and filling our bellies with wonderful junk to enjoy our movie experience-except for when I would hide behind my dad's big easy chair when it got a bit too scary for me.

    You see, I am one heck of a big old chicken and it started years ago with my own imagination. But being a chicken-and knowing it-gave me plenty of ways of learning to cope with a bad case of "The Fraidy Cat Syndrome". Me, and my wild mind can make absolutely anything scary if I think about it long enough.

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  • Enough of the Fairy Tale

    "Isn't there more?"

    I have difficulty when someone says this to me. I have heard so many women complain of all they have in a relationship as they still long for the elusive "more". I am confused as to what it actually is and how each of these who have said this to me cannot describe or explain what it is they are still seeking.

    There is no perfection. There is nothing really close to it. There is goodness, and sweetness, tragedy and heartache mixed in with it. What "more" can another possibly crave?

    It is odd to my ears, while speaking to a woman who I knew, she kept saying, "He is good to me. I love him and he loves me. He has a good job and is kind and attentive and we can talk for hours about everything. The sex is great. We get along so well, but shouldn't there be more?"

    I was appalled. I said, "You have it all right there. What more are you wanting?"

    "Oh, I don't know. It just feels like there should be more to it than this. I mean is this what I have been

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  • Pretty Women

    Daisy with missing petals
    I feel as if I should have some perfect advice for all of my children due to being a mother to many. Yet I think I have already given it by example. They have each watched me do things and the result of it all is they should easily be able to figure out what they should and shouldn't do. It is easier to see the fault and success in another life than in our own. It is simpler to watch sometimes than to attempt to explain where we made a splash or where life went wrong.

    However, there is one thing that has plagued me like the plague. One thing I would so like to especially share with the girls in my life.

    You do not see yourself as you really are. You really don't. We women really do not see all the subtle nuances that others see in us. What we see in the mirror is not the truth and only a partial truth. Don't believe your own eyes because they play tricks on you.

    Society shoves down our throats that we have to find the beauty in ourselves or others won't find us beautiful. It isn't

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  • The Opposite of Love is Indifference

    Men of a Certain Age Characters
    The age of indifference has nothing to do with numbers. It has to do with mindset and what we grow accustomed to, what we allow, what we accept and what we have given up on. I have found this does not conform to an actual timeline or years lived in the world. This has more to do with not caring and not even caring that you're flitting through life unconcerned.

    People are people no matter what age they are.

    I have been given advice to go for older men. "They are the ones who will take care of you. Who will get you. Who will want to settle down and actually have real relationships."

    I have been told by an older man, "We're too old to get emotional about things. We don't need all that seriousness."

    My response was, "I'm too young to resign myself to live my life without any emotions involved." Yet, I do not have any belief that my thought or feeling has anything to do with age. Nor do I think his thoughts on the matter have to do with how old he is either. It

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