I thought about not telling the whole story, especially where other people’s lives tumbled into mine half a century ago, because this blog is about my life, and I have no wish to hurt people who were young when they lived alongside of me in the early seventies, people who probably had no more idea of how things would unfold than I. But the truth is the truth, and hiding it would make my life inexplicable. In the early seventies, I was a young working woman and looking for the love of my life with whom to make a family, so when someone suggested that I go to a dance at a half-way house, I said, “Yes, I like to dance. I would like to meet someone. What is a half-way house?” Being naive and

I had none for all of the usual reasons, and then some, including that it seems selfish to bring a child into the world as it is: full of fear, disease, and war. Are the joys of life worth it? In my twenties I was uncertain as to the genetic merits of my blood line, and those of the men I met, which in retrospect seems like heavy thinking for a young woman. Doctors told me that I had health conditions that would make childbearing difficult, but they may have been mistaken and I may have allowed my early miscarriage to overly frighten me. In sixth grade at age twelve, when I heard the finer points of what my responsibilities in procreation would be, my instantaneous gut response was, no wa

Why do only we, and no other animals, have it? The dictionary will say that compassion is “sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others”; but that is a simplified understanding of compassion. Well-developed compassion is the desire to remove the sufferings and misfortunes of others, which is a different and much more difficult feeling; and complete compassion is to actively work to remove the sufferings and misfortunes of others, even to one’s own detriment. Animals cannot yet feel or act in this way, what would our world be like if they could? ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... My understanding in this matter is incomplete, see the fascinating research

These were my hopes and dreams for my “second half” of life. (from a list I made in 2003) My own house, with a quiet garden near a wooded area for daily walks. Animals (cat, dog, bird, interactions with horses). To keep my friends to love & be loved by me. A man who is wise, kind, strong & gentle, to love me & be loved by me. To bring children into my life. A great job. 1 or 2 extravagant vacations each year. To do my artwork, and give it to friends, & sell it to people I like. To do creative writing, and submit it for publication. I could only wrest from Life some of what I wanted, but I am grateful that I have had my house for more than a decade, and around it I planted a quiet garden, but

In a classroom I always used to sit in the front row, as near to the door as possible. That seat let me hear and see the teacher, yet let me leave immediately and unimpeded when the class was over. Decades ago, when I certified to teach sociology in an Arizona community college district, I had to take a “class” in teaching, during which we also underwent some pencil and paper assessment tests. My Master’s degree in sociology already qualified me to teach even above the community college level, up to the undergraduate university level, but this is how Arizona did it, so I showed up to participate and get certified, although the hefty tuition fee was irksome. The class had presenters from

I am aware of having had two delusions in my entire life, and both times I was appalled to find my mental processes hijacked by emotional need, and frightened by the strength and persistence of the delusion. My heart goes out to those with physical/mental disorders such as schizophrenia for whom delusions can be overwhelming. Until I experienced a delusion, I had no idea how gripping they can be. The first time I experienced a delusion was when I was fifty or sixty years old, and swimming off the coast of Hawaii. I was used to public beaches in Minnesota where there are signs indicating where they are. In Hawaii I could see the Pacific Ocean everywhere, but I did not know that the prime

I wrote the letter of supplication below on September 28, 2015 to Muhtar Kent, chairman and CEO of the Coca-Cola Company, and various other entities who support the horrific “entertainment” of bull fighting by advertising at the venues; such as Bud Light® beer. I also copied the Vatican and the President of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops because according to SHARK the “Pope could end this torture tomorrow with a strong statement condemning the torture of these innocent animals.” Bull fighting in 2018, which is putting an animal in a pen and stabbing it to death from relative safety behind all sorts of shields and distractions, even attacking it while riding a horse, occur

When he was young and I was a little child, my father could be quite playful, in the one-upmanship way of men. He used to tease me to say “Oh”, and I would say “Oh”, then he would coax me to say “whatta”, and I would say “whatta”, and he would eagerly prompt me to say “goo”, and I would say “goo”, then he would happily say “siam” and I would say “siam”. And repeating after him, I delighted him by saying “Oh, what a goose I am.” I soon caught on so he only got to play that game a couple of times with me. To stay amused he would sing it to himself, ♪♫♬. He also taught me how to play snap, each of us stretching out a rubber band between us, daring to other to hang on until the quickest one

Celebrated with a poem that I wrote in 2006: Earth, My Lovely Earth. As I admire the Earth, my lovely earth, I see each part formed to the other, and Given me and thee by God. Creek flows like music, turning over earth and stone, Then runs lightly down steep steps, To pool a home for creatures quick and shy. Edging stone, stepping stone, carved by rain, kissed hot by sun, Leafy green running humid over boulders on the bank, and For thee and me, God's clay animation, a cool stone bench in the shade. Caption: Quilted Earth by Annmarie Throckmorton 2018

Wife and mother of presidents, proponent of literacy in a country where in 2018, 32 million American adults cannot read, this wife of the former CIA Director quipped on her deathbed: AS SEEN ON FOX NEWS FIRST LADY’S CHARM AND WIT: "She and I were needling each other. The doctor came in and she turned to the doctor and said, 'You want to know why George W. is the way he is?' The doctor looked somewhat surprised and she said, 'Because I drank and smoked while I was pregnant with him.' ... She's funny." – Former President George W. Bush on "Mornings with Maria," revealing that his mother Barbara Bush flashed her trademark sense of humor until her death on Tuesday. WATCH From experience with my

Every year my health insurance policy covers new glasses for me, lucky me. Usually I get driving glasses but I now have two pairs that work well enough. Yesterday I picked out new reading glasses: Silhouette, $314.00, Khaki Gradient Mat. My co-pay was $34 dollars, very lucky me. My previous pair of reading glasses are three years old and I had been worrying that if I lost them I would not be able to read, work on the computer, or do any other close work. It is scary to think that if I lived just 10 generations ago (imagine standing in line with 10 people, that is how far back in time it would be), I would not have been able to function after age forty when my close vision deteriorated.

I met a fire-eater but I did not believe it. So I went to see him perform in a park. There he was with his fire sticks and a jug of fuel, working a ring of gawkers for money as he swallowed and belched out fire. I was aghast, more horrified than amazed. He caught my expression and called out, “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.” The crowd laughed. This complicated man juiced his vegetables to maximize their healthful effects, a sample of which he offered to me. I declined, preferring to eat my vegetables cooked. He suffered Crohn’s Disease, it pained him greatly; and the rest of his sad story is his to tell. I meet that fire-eater at a Mensa* party. My late friend Larry Reyka (my best

I checked out another free image framing application on my Kindle HD8. Most of the features were worthless as is typical with these free apps, but I did find an old-fashioned style frame I like, and put it around my pretty house. Ohhh, I wish I had time to play with more images, to make some art. I have the beginning thoughts for some horses, the colors will be gold, silver, dark blue, and pale blue. I wonder what composition will form across my keyboard as I create my herd of dream horses! It has been years since I drew a horse. I used to ride horses, and working with their images evokes pleasant memories. Sunday is my day of rest and relaxation, but more than to rest, I want to advanc

Like all people who try to be the best that we can be, to be good people, I wonder why Syrian President Bashar al-Assad would repeated attack his own people (for any people for that matter) with chemical weapons. The unmistakable photographs of gassed, tormented, dead men, women and children explain why France, Britain, and the United States would determine to use conventional air strikes to contain the deviant actions of the Syrian president, if it was him. As I write this I hear birds chirping on my patio with joy at the new, clear spring weather (and the seeds that I broadcast there this morning.) May God grant a new, clear spring in the hearts and minds of people. Tears have never bee

My God, supreme being, the creator of the high vault of heaven, Unknowable is your mind and heart as you thought life into being, Fearsome are your arms and back to have created this world from the void. Beautiful is the face, hair, and dancing feet of this world that you have wrought, Grace and elegance flow from you into all that lives, Most high is your intent and action, oh creator of my life. Advocate of decency and equality, Holder of integrity and compassion, You are my succorist—my beloved, awesome God. by Annmarie Throckmorton, 2014 Caption: Abstract Love For My God by Annmarie Throckmorton 2018

The Ohio countryside is so beautiful that I wrote several poems trying, as one does, to capture God’s work in a human hand. Evening Fields is one of them. Evening Fields by Annmarie Throckmorton, May 18, 1999 In the moist gray evening, bird calls keen Over fields centered, flat and fertile. Edging fragile wild blooms mottle velvet green Where insects saw whee-eee and chortle. Children splashing in a distant pond Distant dogs and distant tractors. Neighbor farm lights on one by one. Lightning bugs soon to follow. Dog smells like the sweet grass from her run. Cat’s bright eyes anticipate the long hot night begun. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... In 1999, I submitted this poem for p

While I was serving our country as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali, West Africa, an article I had written earlier, “The Executrix Sale”, was published in the Sunday Magazine of the Columbus Dispatch newspaper, June 22, 1980. The Columbus Dispatch lopped off part of my name, reducing my byline to Ann instead of Annmarie, but they did include a blurry copy of my hand-sketched self-portrait. The Columbus Dispatch was the only daily “mainstream” newspaper based in Columbus, Ohio, then and now. (Its first issue was published in 1871.) Columbus is the state capital of Ohio, the most populous city in Ohio, and it is where I earned both my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees. Columbus, Ohio is the 1

I used to draw pencil sketch illustrations for a very small but delightfully original literary arts publication in Columbus, Ohio (1992-1995). The name of little newspaper eludes me, but I have posted several of my illustrations for it below. Pencil sketches capture emotion in the drawing hand movement that is not precisely available in any other art form. My hands hurt too much to enjoy drawing now, so I tend to express my thoughts digitally, but I used to love the feel of the lead line drawing off of the pencil in a smooth flow. It was sensual. Sometimes I would doodle with a pencil, and then surprise myself with a finished drawing a few hours later. It was exciting! I never actually

In a very strong dream which has persisted in my mind, I spoke to my sister (who has not spoken to me in forty years) and I told her “I forgive you for stealing the quarter million dollar inheritance from me, leaving me poor in my old age.” She looked at me like a child and said “Thank you.” The only thing untrue in this is that she would not say thank you. Caption: Abstract Purple Screening Of Gold, Jewels, And Wooden Nickels by Annmarie Throckmorton 2018

Someone witty said old people do not really loss their hair, it just grows out of their ears and noses. Hardy har har har, but not so funny when you yourself suddenly have coarse hairs tickling the inside of your nose in inaccessible places, then sprouting out of your nostrils to horrify sensitive young people, who still think they are immortal and suspect that your signs of aging are due to personal failure on your part; failures they are certain they will avoid, so go away with your old, hairy-nosed self. Every Sunday I turn on my 3x magnifying mirror, steady my nerves, and confront reality face to face. It seems that nature intended mature women to have elegant little goatees. Well, ov