The Doppelganger ...

Daddy and Mama

Robert and I moved to Florida in September 2012, from Pennsylvania, just a couple of months after my father passed away. 

I was very close to Daddy and this past couple of years has been a slow, but necessary, time of healing.

Loving it here in Florida has helped, and I often think of the many conversations I had with him about our possible move. Daddy was all for it and already planning to come down and stay for a week, or a month ("Or forever", he teased).

I miss him terribly, but I know in my heart that the move was good. Robert has been wonderful and my rock through it all.

The other day, I was puttering around town in our golf cart doing some errands and enjoying the beautiful weather.

 The honeysuckle was in full bloom along the streets, its sweet scent intoxicating, and I noticed my favorite trees, the crepe myrtles, were greening nicely everywhere, soon to wear their deep color flower bunches.

 Once, I even pulled over and parked in the grass so I could smell a huge flower on a magnolia tree. It was so peaceful and relaxing -- it really is paradise here and I'm continually amazed by the native plants and animals that are so different from those up north.

I wasn't in any particular hurry as I shopped for groceries, picked up a couple of things in the hardware store, and then headed to my last stop at CVS for vitamins. My mind was filled with thoughts of my new book and ways to market and publicize as I headed toward the checkout and got in the short line.

Suddenly, my world flip-flopped, taking my breath away. The man just in front of me in line was Daddy. How could that be? I asked myself in disbelief. But this man did have the same build, the same thinning hair, clothes, and he was sitting on a red motorized scooter like my father used because of his painful knees and ankle.

 When he slowly reached up to the counter to swipe his credit card in the machine, I also saw my father's hand. That's when tears filled my eyes. Could it somehow be …

Then he turned to look at the cashier and I could see his face. No, this was not Daddy. As much as I wanted it to be him, he was just a nice older gentleman on a red scooter making his purchase at the CVS drug store. I wiped my eyes with a tissue, took a deep breath, and struggled to regain my composure.

That's the way life works sometimes. Just when you least expect it, a sound, a song, a scent … or a nice elderly man on a red HoverRound scooter, will trigger a sweet memory.  It tugs at the heart, but it also brings a loved one close just one more time to help us heal.

I wonder, would he have been upset, had I asked him for a hug?

Anatomy of a Poet: The Story Behind

New Book

"There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken. There is a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable. There is a sorrow beyond all grief, which leads to joy. And a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being." ~ Bri Maya Tiwari

That quote astutely describes not only my life, but the poetry in my newest book, "Anatomy of a Poet" .

One of six children, I grew up in a small Ohio town and married my high school sweetheart at nineteen. A Vietnam War widow at twenty, I went on to marry and then divorce two times. 

I made a lot of choices, some good, some not so good, but as one of the poems in the book ["Choices"] ends, "...at least I made choices. How sad for those who merely hitchhike along, never daring to choose at all."

I have three beautiful daughters, nine grandsons, two granddaughters, and a wonderful partner, Robert Cosmar. I have finally learned that true happiness begins and ends with myself.

"Anatomy of a Poet" was written over a period of nearly forty years. The poetry is rich with memoir, humor, fiction, and at times, it is sensual in nature.

Read an Excerpt of "Anatomy of a Poet"

Buy at Amazon

Reviews:

"I find in myself with most poetry an impatience, "Oh for crying out loud, just say it" leading to a lassitude and eventual cerebral failure." Not so with this work, her raw emotions and sensuality had my attention. I believe this is the only poetry book that I ever finished. " ~Henry Le Nav


"I would recommend this book to all lovers of poetry and, especially, to all who think they are not."
~Mrs. C. I. Campbell


"Totally open and honestly expressed in a variety of poetic styles, each matched to her emotions of the moment. No cutesy innuendos here. A damn good and honest work." ~John David Lionel Brooke

"I found this book to be a "quick read" on the one hand and yet I keep going back and rereading parts of it ... and then rereading the whole section." ~MaryAnn

"In the pages of this book you will find powerful, thought provoking, sensual, and beautifully written poetry from the heart." ~Susan L. Parkins

"This is a beautiful and touching book of poetry, which has at it's heart a mature, loving, but still raw and passionate woman. Many of the poems, and to be honest my favorites, are about beautiful femininity engaging with men, often rugged. The touch of men on a woman's heart and body features heavily, but not excessively; it's not soft, vapid chick-lit. It's well-rounded, and the works also include verses on urban conditions -- but it's love that makes this book tick." ~Alistair Baillie

"One fine author and a magnificent lady. I highly recommend this book with its compilation of meaningful and thought provoking poetry." ~Tom C.

"This is my kind of poetry. Direct, beautifully expressed and without a hint of pretension." ~Allison Cassidy

"I love this book. The poetry is sensitive and touching." ~Joanne "Joni" Taylor

"Here we have a collection of poems by a woman who writes from the heart; "Anatomy of a Poet" may have been written by a children's book author, but it's poetry for grownups." ~Byron Edgington

"I just finished reading C.J.Heck's, book last night. I enjoyed it very much. She definitely has a way with words, that will make you laugh, cry, and feel things very deeply. I can tell that she writes from her heart and soul, and her words will definitely make a lasting impression." ~Rebecca Carden

"The reader is drawn into expertly crafted poetry and wonders if the Poet has experienced all she writes about. If not, CJ Heck has fooled everyone. Anatomy of a Poet peels back the outer skin of the reader and gets into the heart. I highly recommend this book." ~Karla Dorman

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Lesson in a Glass of Water ..

How Heavy is Your Glass of Water?

A psychologist was teaching stress management to a large audience. As she walked around the room, she was holding a glass of water in front of her.

As she raised the glass high for everyone to see, they expected her to ask the "half empty, or half full", question. 

Instead, with a smile on her face, she inquired, "How heavy is this glass of water?"

The answers that were called out from the crowd ranged everywhere from 8 ounces to 20 ounces.

She replied, "The absolute weight really doesn't matter. So much depends on how long I hold it.

 If I hold it for a minute, it isn't a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have a muscle cramp in my arm. But if I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb, maybe even paralyzed.  In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

She continued, "The stresses and worries in life are just like this glass of water. Think about them for a little while and nothing happens. Think about them a bit longer, and they begin to hurt. And, if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed and incapable of doing anything about them at all."

It's important that we remember to let go of our stresses and not carry our burdens through the evening and into the night. We have to remember to ... put the glass down.

~Author Unknown


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Book: Anatomy of a Poet

You've probably been wondering where the heck I've been for the last couple of months, and for that, I do apologize.  I was working hard to get my first poetry book for adults finished.

Introducing:  Anatomy of a Poet:

Format:  Paperback and Kindle

Anatomy of a Poet - Poetry for Adults

About the Book

As Bri Maya Tiwari said,  "There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken; a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable; a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy, and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being." 

That one quote astutely describes not only my life, but the poetry in Anatomy of a Poet.

One of six children, I grew up in a small Ohio town and married my high school sweetheart at nineteen. A Vietnam War widow at twenty, I went on to marry and then divorce two times.

I made a lot of choices, some good, some not so good, but as one of the poems in the book ends, "...at least I made choices. How sad for those who merely hitchhike along, never daring to choose at all." [from the poem, "Choices"]

Anatomy of a Poet was written over a period of forty years. The poetry is rich with memoir, humor, and at times is sensual in nature.

Poetry can be daunting and hard to understand, but it doesn't have to be. I feel a poet has an obligation to write in a way that everyone can understand. Poems should flow softly through a poet's words, their meanings easily touching the heart and mind of its reader. If a poem comes from the heart, it will reach other hearts.

Read a Preview of "Anatomy of a Poet"

Buy at Amazon

Book Introduction:

"Like a rose with many petals sharing its sweet aroma, this is how I see and feel about the love of my life, CJ Heck. She is my electric blue-eyed girl. 

She can be both a little girl, or a strong woman, whenever and wherever the situation calls for it. She is both sensuous and exciting, and soft and affectionate. 

Tragedy struck her life early with the death of her husband in Vietnam. This experience laid open the very core of her heart and soul and opened the channel to a well of compassion and sensitivity that waited deep within. Her pain was the fertilizer that helped her bloom as a writer.

CJ's poetry is not a surface observation, but a soulful interpretation of the events and people that inspired her. She writes both eloquently and simply of things that touch her heart, things she wants to share. She is gifted at painting a picture with words on the heart and imagination of others, thereby communicating not just an image, but a life experience. 

I feel very honored to have been asked to write this introduction and share my feelings about CJ Heck. She is the water for my soil, the sunlight for my petals and the nurturer of my growth. 

Sit back, open your heart and enjoy the journey as revealed through her words, images and emotions. You are blessed by this opportunity to know her in words, as I know her in life."  

~Robert S. Cosmar [Writer, Blogger, Astrologer, Author of four books]

Comments:

"This is my kind of poetry. Direct, beautifully expressed and without a hint of pretension." ~Allison Cassidy

"CJ is predominately viewed as a writer of works for children, but CJ now carries over her approach to more adult themes. In doing so, she presents a profound world that is deeply sad, incredibly humorous and sometimes very intimate." ~Joseph Daly

"CJ's writing ability is a testament to talent and passion. Her ability to craft words into emotion and movement is remarkable." ~Lexy Page (Owner/Freelance Photographer at GA Page Photography)

"CJ is a writer that comes through as a great communicator but you also have a strong feeling of friendship with her and her pen. She touches your heart in special ways. She makes you feel like you have lived this story." ~James McCraney (Owner, James McCraney Financial, LLC)

"I love learning new words, especially when they are explained with such diaphanous clarity. Whether she talks of love, children, life, or any other subject, CJ's words are always clear and harmonious. She makes us forget that easy to read is hard to write." ~Marc Mimouni (London, United Kingdom)

"CJ Heck is a very talented author. Her words are enlightening and charismatic to people of all ages. It is a privilege and honor to read her prolific pen." ~Janet Caldwell (Managing Editor, Inner Child Magazine


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Letter From Heaven: by CJ Heck

Ours is not to question, but to accept that everything has a purpose, a reason, and we are to "go with the flow".

Angel Crying

About ten years ago,  a poem came through me, as though I wasn't writing it.  I've since learned it is called creative inspiration and it is my higher self writing through me.

The poem was from the point of view of a little girl in heaven looking down and speaking to her grieving parents.

At the time, I thought how strange and different the poem was.   It was not light and funny like what I normally wrote for children -- this one was very sad.  Nevertheless, I went ahead and put it in my first book.

It would be five years before I found out that there was a profound purpose for the poem.

I was hired to do a school visit several states away.  Seven schools would be brought by bus to a central school where I was to do five presentations per day for three days.

It was a wonderful time -- the teachers and children were really into the presentations, some classes even reciting the poetry right along with me.

About a week after I returned home, I received a phone call from the librarian at the central school.  She said one of the second graders had been killed in a car crash.  Her mother and little brother were still in the hospital, but were expected to be going home soon.

She said after the school visit, the little girl read the poem, "Letter From Heaven", to anyone who would listen, saying that the little girl in the poem was her -- she was going to be the angel.  I was speechless.  I thanked the librarian and asked if I could have their address to send a card to the family. 

A week later, I got another phone call from the librarian.  She had attended the service at the funeral home for the little girl and most of the town had come to show their support.  She wanted me to know that as each visitor arrived, they were given a pink sheet of paper printed with the poem and the story the little girl had told everyone -- that she was the little girl angel in the poem.

The little girl's parents called a couple of days later to ask my permission to have the poem etched beside an angel on their daughter's gravestone.

The experience was incredibly humbling. It touched me very deeply, all the way to my soul.

 

Letter From Heaven

(for Mackenzie)

Mommy, Daddy, how  I miss you

and I know you're missing me.

There are windows here in Heaven.

Every day I look and see

my toys all in the toy box

and my dolls up on the shelf.

I can't pull them in my wagon now

nor hold them to myself.

My little rocker's empty.

I know your arms feel empty, too.

I can see the sadness in your face,

Mommy, Daddy, I love you.

My music box is silent

but I don't have to hear it play.

Mommy, Daddy, it's not needed now.

Angels here sing every day.

Please don't worry that I'm lonely.

There are children everywhere.

We are all His little angels

and there's so much love up here.

Mommy, Daddy please don't cry for me.

Heaven's such a lovely place!

God says you did your very best

and your love shows in my face.

Mommy, Daddy when you need me

just look up and say a prayer.

I will see you through the windows

and I'll hear your voice up here.

A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Morgan Freeman: Newtown Tragedy

An Angel Crying

Morgan Freeman's take on what happened in the Newtown Tragedy:

"You want to know, "Why?" This may sound cynical, but here is why. It's because of the way the media reports it. 

Flip on the news and watch how we treat the Batman theater shooter and the Oregon mall shooter -- like celebrities. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris are household names, but do you know the name of one single victim of Columbine?

Disturbed people who would otherwise just off themselves in their basements see the news and they want to top it by doing something even worse, and going out in a memorable way. 

Why a grade school? Why children? Because he'll be remembered as a horrible monster, instead of a sad nobody.

CNN's article says that if the body count "holds up", this will rank as the second deadliest shooting behind Virginia Tech, as if statistics somehow make one shooting worse than another. Then they post a video interview of third-graders for all the details of what they saw and heard while the shootings were happening.

Fox News has plastered the killer's face on all their reports for hours. Are there any articles or news stories yet that focus on the victims and ignore the killer's identity? None that I've seen, because they don't sell. 

So congratulations, sensationalist media. You've just lit the fire for someone else out there to top this and knock off a day care center or a maternity ward next.

You can help by forgetting you ever read this man's name, and by remembering the name of at least one victim. You can help by donating to mental health research, instead of pointing to gun control as the problem. You can help by turning off the news."

Victoria Soto , teacher was 27.

Allison Wyatt was six.

Benjamin Wheeler was six.

Avielle Richman was six.

Jessica Rekos was six.

Caroline Previdi was six.

Noah Pozner was six.

Jack Pinto was six.

Emilie Parker was six.

Grace McDonnell was seven.

James Mattioli was five.

Jesse Lewis was six.

Chase Kowalski was seven.

Catherine Hubbard was six.

Madeleine Hsu was six.

Dylan Hockley was six.

Ana Marquez-Greene was six.

Josephine Gay was seven.

Olivia Engel was six.

Daniel Barden was seven.

Charlotte Bacon was six.

Rachel Davino was 29.

Mary Sherlach, the school psychologist, was 56.

Anne Marie Murphy was 52.

Lauren Rousseau, a teacher, was 30.

Dawn Hochsprung, the principal, was 47.



 "A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

A Lesson in Irony

A good friend sent me the following in an email this morning:

A Lesson in Irony . . .

Food Stamp Graph

The Food Stamp Program, administered by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, is proud to be distributing the greatest number of free meals and food stamps ever -- to 46 million people!

It Works for the Animals ...

Meanwhile, the National Park Service, administered by the U.S. Department of The Interior, asks us, "Please Do Not Feed the Animals."

Their stated reason for the policy is, 

"Because the animals will grow dependent upon handouts, and will not learn to take care of themselves."

This ends today's lesson ... kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Rather than hand out food stamps and free meals, shouldn't the government help them find employment and/or educate them so they can earn and be independent? Would this not also give them a true sense of self worth? I'm sure you are familiar with a Biblical quote about GIVING them fish, or TEACHING them HOW to fish ... I feel the government is putting a Bandaid on the problem, instead of suturing a gaping wound ...

The same good friend who sent me this article, himself a Vietnam vet, wrote the following comment in a veteran's group on Facebook (and I quote):

"My feelings are that EVERYONE right out of high school ought to have to do 2 years of service for this country, whether it's in the military, the job corp or even the peace corp, with the government putting aside money for their education.

This breaks the apron strings back at home and, besides giving them skills in service, would give them a lasting sense of self worth. Then after their two years of service, they could go on to college if they wish, or they would be far better equipped to get a job. This gets them away from the helping hands at home and from gov't agencies..........just my 2 cents worth."

I think what he says is worth far more than a mere 2 cents, don't you?


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

The Folded Napkin

A Trucker's Story

(Author Unknown)

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. 

I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome.

I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. 

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. 

After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. 

Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?," he asked.

"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."

"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.

Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie."

Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

"There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,"

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.


Plant a seed and watch it grow ... if you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck