Marie Kinneer's Blog
- Georgia, USA
- October 20
- Born in Omaha, Nebraska and now resides in Cleveland, Georgia with my husband and four dogs. Four of my five children were adopted in various places in the world. My family & I have lived in Harrogate England, Germany,Turkey and various places in the USA. I find great joy in travel, cooking, writing and the people I meets every day. My writing spans more than forty years. I write fiction from real life encounters and personal experiences. I am an avid reader and love quilting. I am an active member of the Clarkesville Writers Society of Georgia where work is shared,critiqued and encouraged.
MY RECENT POSTS
- Excerpt from my next novel
May 11, 2013 12:40PM
- A Sonnet
February 03, 2013 09:42AM
- My Latest Book - A memoir
February 01, 2013 04:12PM
- May 27, 2001 by Mimi Marie
January 08, 2013 11:27AM
- My Name Is Mollie
December 27, 2012 04:55PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “Thank you, Libby. I'm
still mourning that baby girl.
her on May 27th,
February 09, 2013 08:37AM
- “Wow! I wonder what "you"
are. A predator? A pet?
I used to be
February 04, 2013 09:20AM
- “Who ever accused you of
hating the USA is over the
Corruption is not only
February 04, 2013 09:11AM
- “Thank you both for your
February 04, 2013 09:00AM
- “I don't have writer's
block often, I have time
block. I have
clean up the
March 25, 2012 08:33AM
Marie Kinneer's Links
"Louise," Thorny yelled from somewhere in the house. Probably his office, I thought, slamming the album of pictures shut. I was scrap booking, designing pages into works of art, adding photos almost as an afterthought. Low on paper cement I'd have to quit soon anyway. But, damn… Read full post »
Thou art to me as the gentlest
Composed of warmest breath and tender sigh.
Though rocky storms may quake the weak man’s ease
When warmest breezes toward December fly,
When all too fast the life of Zephyrs end,
And daunted, a man’s dreams to dust return,
Then all the promise of spring can/… Read full post »
I was at my parents’ house celebrating Memorial Day. I was playing with my son, niece and nephew, teaching them how to walk on their hands. I felt wonderful. I drove home that night with my husband and son. At approximately 1:00 am I had a Grande Mal seizure. I am… Read full post »
My name is Mollie. My mommy calls me Widdle and Mollie Doodle All The Day. I love my mommy most of all. She gives me yummy treats and chicken breast. She lets me lick her face. She rubs my tummy even when she’s typing and I’m behind her in her chair.… Read full post »
I’ve been writing my folks memoir. They were born just before World War I in Brooklyn, New York. They lived through the Great Depression and World II. In order to write about their lives and experiences, I asked many questions and have my mother on tape with answers.… Read full post »
I’ve never feared the judgement of my peers. Have always
been my own person–shy, quiet, but comfortable in my own
My parents’ opinion was the only one that mattered so I made straight A’s in school and was careful not to be caught doing something I shouldn’t.
When… Read full post »
I’m a black thumb gardener, but I try. In fact I have a compost heap. It’s a big bucket with a lid that breathes that we bought from the county. I’ve had it two years and it’s just about full. Nothing is decomposing. Everything in it is in its original condition.… Read full post »
I’ve always loved to dance. Mom was a singer/dancer and if one of the “big bands” came on the radio and you were home, you were dancing. She led. Didn’t matter if it was dad or someone else, she led. You learned to waltz at an early age and to charleston… Read full post »
I miss your face, your voice, your laughter. I miss the me in you. Every night when bedtime arrives, I put my knee pillow between my legs, get into a fetal position, give old Button ear cuddles and tummy pats, then perform my memory ritual.
I crawl into your hospital bed,… Read full post »
If you haven’t read this book, you must. I read it ten years ago and am reading it again. Kingsolver’s insight in the human condition and motherhood is astounding. “A mother’s body remembers her babies–the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred cap against her nose. Each… Read full post »
Claire grabbed the largest suitcase from the trunk of her motherâ€™s car; her mother pulled out the smaller one. â€œCan you handle that?â€ Louise Thompson looked around the parking area as if a bellhop would appear. The lot was empty of life. She closed the trunk and smashed… Read full post »
Your beloved voice is gone
your laughter and your hope.
I miss you so,
I’m not sure I can cope.
Your sweet caress,
tight and lingering just
makes it hard to
know you’re gone and adjust.
I see your face
each night at my pillow,
my cheekbones yours,
my sweet willow.
… Read full post »
Oh my beloved,
I miss the sound of your voice,
Your strong tight caress,
The kiss on my lips.
I miss your laughter as much
As your smile so bright.
You glowed, my sweet dear.
You are my heart, and I cry.
… Read full post »
I crawled up into her bed, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear, and ran my cheek across hers. I told her she was my baby girl and I loved her with all my heart and soul.
She mouthed a breathless, “I love you, Mom.”
Just like… Read full post »
I have two malti-poos, brother and sister. Mollie is widdle at six pounds. Widdle is not a typo because that is what she is. Sammy Jr. is eight pounds and a real macho male. He’s not the least bit widdle. He’s a true lover–of food he downs in seconds, his owner’s… Read full post »
If cleanliness is next to godliness, forgiveness is the real thing–God-ness. Anguish produces nasty bedfellows–the kind that assault your positive intentions and turn your pain to innuendos. Malice replaces fear of death. Blame is passed around like a snack for anyone hungry for fortifica… Read full post »
The drapes pulled shut, the lights out, he’s wheeling her out of the bedroom. The right hand darts behind her chair of its own accord. Her right leg starts to shake; her left foot jerks sideways. She’s strapped into the wheelchair so that her spastic movements don’t plummet her to t… Read full post »
Morning brought sunshine to the thin curtains at the window in my room. I woke to the aroma of coffee sifting in under the closed door.… Read full post »
Morning brought sunshine to the thin curtains at the window in my room. I woke to the aroma of coffee sifting in under the closed door. The java joined with sausage and the scent of something sweet–my stomach growled and my mouth watered.
I stretched out my arms and legs, sat… Read full post »
Mimi is thirty-nine, but she is our baby, the youngest of our five children. Eleven years ago, in the wee hours of the morning after Memorial Day, we received a phone call. It was her husband, John on the line. He said they were at the Gastonia hospital. Mimi woke him… Read full post »
Black and Blue by Anna Quindlen is a 1998 novel by this Pulitizer Prize winner. Characters are believable; the story is well plotted and a page turner. Love and rage, passion and violence–woman and her young son are terrorized by her husband. She contacts a women’s rescue and runs a long… Read full post »
When I began to write in earnest, I wrote a poem called My Daddy Died. I tried to imagine what I would feel when that day came. The poem was published and I sent it to my daddy. Years later my dad called me from the hospital some 2400 miles from… Read full post »
We had just bought the used Alfa Romeo and had not taken it on a long trip yet. We left our house on Newton Street in Denver with Phoenix our goal. November and eleven at night, we set out on our journey. I had a four day weekend off from the… Read full post »