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Carol I Hoenig's Writings

View Carol’s Books | Read Carol’s other writings below.

Poem
Jun.08.2009
  There's no time to blog today so I thought I'd share a poem I wrote a few years back when my brother was caring for his wife, who was dying with cancer. So often our focus is on the ill person that we forget about those left caring for them. I never shared the poem with my brother, but thought maybe it would speak to someone in similar circumstances.   You...
Poem
May.25.2009
Summer Gazebo Readings Blogspot
  You were there first, suspended in timeforming beneath the maternal heartbeatuntil you wormed your way down the canalemerging in to a world flooded by lightFirst daughter, you were. You are. Time beat on while I began taking shapein a place where there'd been no trace of youno familial message scratched on the wallsDid the bubble burst before or after?Perhaps...
Article
Apr.20.2009
Huffington Post
  Some here in the West have reacted with shock in response to the new Afghanistan law that gives Shiite men permission to rape their wives, even though President Hamid Karzai claims that we're simply misinterpreting this law. In other words, we've lost something in the translation. I won't pretend to know if that is the case or not, but I don't think it's too...
Article
Apr.14.2009
Huffington Post
  Yesterday, I shared the first of two parts to my article, which is from my work-in-progress memoir. Today is the second part titled Getting Back Home: An Update.   Several months ago, I wrote here about the possibility of my being able to buy back the home that I had to sell due to a divorce agreement. Presently, though, there is one particular roadblock...
Article
Apr.13.2009
www.HuffingtonPost.com
Following is from my memoir, which is a work-in-progress. People still cannot believe that I actually bought back the house that my ex and I sold due to our divorce agreement several years ago. Serendipity had a hand in my getting it back. Look for part II here soon.       After three years of being suspended somewhere between Limbo and Hell, I may...
Article
Apr.09.2009
A Portion from my Yet-to-be Published Novel, Of Little Faith
  The foyer was quiet, except for the drone of the organ beyond the closed doors.  Service had begun and I was late.             A gray-haired man with sagging jowls approached me. "Happy Easter, Laura."             I nodded, but couldn't figure out how he knew my name.             "Don Simpson," he said, shaking my hand.  "Head deacon....
Short Story
Apr.08.2009
Pindeldyboz
              Stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway, sitting in my '69 Mustang, waiting to move forward.  Well, backward really, since I'm returning home.  But it's going to be temporary.  It is going to be temporary, I tell myself as I glimpse the boxes crammed in the back seat from the rearview mirror.  Can't really remember what I'd packed,...
Article
Apr.06.2009
Audacious Creativity: 30 Ways to Liberate Your Soulful Creative Energy--and How It Can Transform Your Life
http://www.amazon.com/Audacious-Creativity-Liberate-Energy-Transform/dp/0615234887/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1239057430&sr=8-1  A portion of the following essay was published in "Audacious Creativity":  They are a part of my past.  A history.  Yet, they are very much present.  I’m talking about the friends I’d made along life’s journey...
Article
Grandpa With His Horses
Mar.30.2009
Childhood Memories Anthology
1967 was a summer of yearnings, for both the country and myself.  I was on the cusp of becoming a teenager, but it wasn’t happening soon enough, as far as I was concerned.  While images of unrest unfolded on the television screen, I felt the same turbulence inside of me.  Like the country, which was both in a battle far, far away and at home by people of...
Article
Mar.27.2009
Absolute Write
I'm sitting at my keyboard doing what usually keeps me centered. However, as I sit poised to write, resuscitating the characters back to life in the novel I'm working on, guilt creeps in, prodding me to get up. The guilt is precipitated by the sounds of hammering, the smell of fresh paint and the voices of my friends working feverishly to make the handy-man...