Long and Winding Road a Life Journey.

The smallest of rills

Rage on toward the future

And the beat of hearts.

(For my Haiku Challenge this week.)

The Long and Winding Road being the number one hit during my birthday week in 1970 seems appropriate for many reasons, one being I love The Beatles.

But the most appropriate things are how many times I moved as a kid and the twists and turns of my life. The moves were at least 10 but there were possibly more prior to the age of five. I think there was a Carolina in there somewhere.

There are events in my past that kids shouldn’t experience. Decisions as a adult to question. But in the end you don’t want to change anything because it brings you to where you are. Changes are ahead and more winding roads, but copious amounts of sunshine and good vibrations abound.

The last number one hit for the Beatles, The Long and Winding Road was written by Paul McCartney, but as always any song written by either McCartney or John Lennon were credited to the both of them. The album, Let It Be was finished about a year before release, according to an interview with McCartney, then John Lennon called in American producer Phil Spector to tidy up some of the tracks.  Long time Beatles producer George Martin had already finished the album, but with Spector coming in, he didn’t get any of the producer credit. He is quoted as saying, “I produced the original, and what you should do is have a credit saying ‘Produced by George Martin, over-produced by Phil Spector.[1] Martin emphasized the vast difference between the normal Beatles song style as opposed to the over-produced style of Spector.

An aside here. If you watch the John & Yoko Above Us Only Sky documentary, currently on Netflix, which includes a modern day Julian Lennon as well as footage of young Julian at their country home, Tittenhurst Park, covers the making of the album Imagine. I recommend watching as you see inside what was making Lennon tick during that time as well as revealing some of his relationship with McCartney that fans have probably misunderstood. The main reason to watch is to see how Lennon seemed to almost be devoted (not quite the right word) to Spector and jump to work when the producer said time to work. It was very telling of where John Lennon had ended up as someone who depended on Yoko (who was clearly shown not to be the evil divide she was presented to be in the press) and Spector in making decisions. It’s no surprise as his career as a Beatle had been managed in almost every way.

Martin’s words about Spector’s overproducing were seemingly confirmed by McCartney’s vocal displeasure, “The album was finished a year ago, but a few months ago American record producer Phil Spector was called in by Lennon to tidy up some of the tracks. But a few weeks ago, I was sent a re-mixed version of my song ‘The Long and Winding Road’ with harps, horns, and orchestra, and a women’s choir added. No one had asked me what I thought. I couldn’t believe it.” [2] In the Wings version in 1976, (live concert video by clicking the the bold blue text) McCartney used muted horns in place of the strings in the concert tour and album Wings over America.

What’s your Birth Week Song? Click HERE to find out and maybe share in the comments. Does it fit your life at all?

Here, There, and Everywhere: The 100 Best Beatles Songs

1 Lewis, Michael; Spignesi, Stephen J. (2004) Here, There, and Everywhere: The 100 Best Beatles Songs(also known as 100 Best Beatles Songs: A Passionate Fan’s Guide) Black Dog & Leventhal. p. 42 (May 1, 2004)   ISBN 1579123694

2 Bell, Robin (2005). The History of British Rock and Roll: The Psychedelic Years 1967 – 1969 Publisher: Robin Bell (June 20, 2017) ASIN: B073HFRT1N


A Void to Fill.

Usually when I begin writing a post I open my trusty Word Document with a grain of an idea and begin typing. This time I am sitting here waiting for something witty to discuss. Okay, so maybe witty is pushing it a little. Sometimes I am inspired by social media, not to write about a topic discussed but by how that makes me feel about an underlying problem or feeling I observe.

It’s been several minutes now, and something keeps coming to mind, a daughter. I don’t have one but through the years I seem to borrow daughters of other people. As a teacher and youth director at my church it was bad, as in every girl from the age of 16 and under was my child.

I’ve done well in my later years, being a good father figure to children out there that didn’t have a father or didn’t have one that was emotionally present even though in the house. It’s a painful thing.

After I lost my memory I also lost some daughters. It seems things just weren’t the same for them. I get it and I don’t blame them. It’s a painful thing.

But now I’ve borrowed another one and it’s been a good thing for me. She’s a good one. Somehow, I always fall into these wonderful young ladies who are smart and talented. Of course, it’s still not real. I don’t know, I just feel like there is this void inside that needs filling and I keep grabbing on to these wonderful people to support and encourage. That’s what I really love to do. That encouraging and supporting feels so good to do for someone. But, of course it’s not real, is it? It’s a painful thing.

Of course, some people are going to say I need to just be happy with what I have, and believe me, I love my son, B. For those of you that don’t know about B, I call him that because he’s my (B)oy. Yep, not putting his name out there, not even on Facebook with people who already know about him, not even a picture of him.

B is super smart, always on the equivalent of Dean’s List at his private college prep school. He has amazing promise on the trumpet, according to his band director, and even the director at an event including all the local schools’ best musicians performing together took time to point him out specifically. I just wish he would practice at home, but he doesn’t because he worries he’ll bother my migraines. I have them 24/7 since the concussion.

So yes, I have a great son. And I am perfectly fine with that and happy with that. The thing is that it just feels like something is missing. I have a feeling that one day that void will no longer be a problem, but for now, I’m borrowing a brilliant (G)irl who is the exact female version of B.

Well, that’s a little more personal stuff about me and how all that internal stuff works for me. A lot more than I planned but once I start writing I usually don’t back down. I go with it and share it. Fearless to a point. Honest to a fault. (Oh yeah, I don’t lie in my writing, just so you all know. If you read it here, it’s Truth.)

Catch y’all next time.


Of course I came up with a topic as I finished this.

Sighing Blooms (Throwback Thursday-My very first Haiku Ever)

Ron Overlook 2

The broken heart sighs

The wind aids vanquishing time

Growing the flower bloom

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good-True Story

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good

by: Ronovan

Sometimes you just don’t know how you ended up where you are. I’ve been in many ‘places’ over my many years and somehow they end up being connected in one way or the other. Oh, I don’t mean by actually connected in the sense that one thing knew the other but in that there was a reason one happened and ended and the next began.

Light at the end of the tunnelI had an interesting life growing up. I was born of two people who were picking oranges in the groves of Florida during a time of free love, or maybe at the end of that era really. My father from Tupelo, MS. who was a drummer, guitar playing singer who drove a truck and recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes that Sun Records, and yes, that’s where Elvis recorded. And no, he wasn’t Elvis.

He was also part of the Southern Mafia which led me into a few interesting situations. Ever been 3 years old and been chased down dirt roads in Florida by a man with a gun? No? I didn’t think you had. How about being back home in Tupelo, MS and having to be slung around in a truck doing a 180 because of some ‘men’ that had blocked the road to stop your father? No? Well then you didn’t get shot at and the windows shatter either.

There were other things that happened as well, all in the span of the years up to my 2nd grade in school. That’s when I ‘arranged’ for a girl on the playground to see the black belt mark across my back and run to the teacher. I had made a promise not to tell, and I was a good boy and kept my promises. I didn’t ‘tell’ anyone. After the police and social workers finished with me that day I never saw my bio father again. He and my mother were divorced anyway, so no great loss.

But through that and a series of not accidental events, because I know that all things are used for the good of life, I ended up in a situation where I worked with young people and helped many with home lives that were rough. Even the arrangement of time to work with them was an obvious non accidental event.

Even today, being here in the blog world and meeting new people, encouraging and being encouraged has been another non accidental event out of a life changing event. Good comes out of everything, no matter how bad it is, it only remains a negative influence on me/you if you let it be such.


© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-2014

A Friend is a Smile.

Everyone, please visit my very first ever Guest Blog. Amanda of insidethelifeofmoi was kind enough to let me share something from my heart. Please go and check it out and follow her blog if you are not already doing so. She is very engaging with those who comment and is a very sweet young lady.
Much Respect,

Sunday Thought: Be Still and Know

I read an article by someone I have come to consider a good friend of mine, Allison at Long & Luxe, and a phrase she used reminded me of one of my favorite all time scriptures.


Sunset Pear Harbor
gettyimages © Original Photo by Kathy Collins

“He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”-Psalm 46:10


Each person reading this has different beliefs and we each have something we turn to that brings us comfort and peace. During a period where I was dealing with high blood pressure, which due to my weight loss I no longer have, and some newly found health problems at the time my world was chaotic. My mind was not able to focus and things had no stability to me.


I’m not one to believe in coincidences. Some people say God doesn’t speak to them. I say they just don’t recognize his language.


During this time two things happened:

One Wednesday night at church we broke up into different groups and prayed for each other. The one praying for me prayed for peace and focus in my life without my saying a word of my need.


The next week, as I was functioning as the Youth Pastor for my church, I took our youth to a Steven Curtis Chapman concert. For those of you not familiar with him, he is an American Contemporary Christian music legend. Some say he even broke the boundaries and brought music of a type that spoke to a new generation of Christians.


During the concert Chapman had the lights turned down low and it was just him and his guitar. And he sang this song.

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is holy
Be still oh, restless soul of mine
Bow before the Prince of Peace
Let the noise and clamor cease

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is faithful
Consider all that He has done
Stand in awe and be amazed
And know that He will never change
Be still

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is God
Be still, be speechless

Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know He is our Father
Come rest your head upon His chest
Listen to the rhythm of
His unfailing heart of love
Beating for His little ones
Calling each of us to come
Be still, be still

As I said, I don’t believe in coincidences. I recognized God’s voice in what was going on around me. This was in 2008 and has been a mantra of mine ever since. Be still and know God is God and that there are things beyond your control, things you just have to pray about. Give the grief and the sorrows to Him. Let God be God.


Since an accident in my home in the summer of 2013 I’ve been through some tough times. One thing that has never left me is the Word of God. This verse keeps me going. I’ve expanded on it as I’ve studied the Bible more and taken a fresh look at how Christianity is today.


“Be still and Let God be God and people be people.”


I see the slogans and shirts about “Be calm . . .” or “Stay calm . . .” If I have to rely on people to bring me peace and calm, I’ll just give up now. My phrase means just stay calm and be yourself and LET God take care of the rest and LET people be the people they are and wish to be. Yes, as a Christian believing in Heaven and Hell I will share with someone what I think because I love them, no matter who they are, but I’m not going to force them to be what they don’t want to be. Jesus didn’t do that, and he’s the one I follow.


I heard Be Still and Know for the first time at that concert weeks before Chapman lost one of the three daughters he adopted from China. His youngest son ran over her in his truck as she ran to him. He didn’t see her. Chapman kept yelling to his son as he drove off after the helicopter taking his daughter away “I love you son. I love you.” Chapman eventually was able to record again. Was able to be still and know.

Much Love




2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Odd One Out

Never the one chosenBlossom on tree

Never the one choice

Never the one chased

Never the one charmed


Ever the one alone

Ever the one afar

Ever the one aware

Ever the one alarmed


The one hurting

The one heaving

The one haunting

The one howling












Now the one embraced

Now the one enthroned

Now the one empowered

Now the one elegantly…alone and okay


Inspired by several offerings I’ve read today about things not owed and being that odd girl out. One a more detailed piece and the other a photograph. I think all people at some point and many creative people especially can relate to those two offerings.



2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Waves of Uninvited Sensation

Waves of icy fingers spread

Grasping for a hold

Slipping across the surface

Gone but returning twice cold

Waves flow undetected

Toward opalescent spheres

Through lightning flashes meander

And hysterical maniacal tears

Grasping with deflective talons

Not making the slightest defense

Staring into the nothingness

Losing all time and all sense

Waves of icy fingers spread

Spreading over the rippled mass

Holding onto the silent monsters

Shattering the quivering like warped glass

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

The Southern Gentleman: Definition of a lifestyle. Definition of a Philosophy.

Many people have heard of it, but what is it? If searching for a definition you will find a varied selection of opinions, some even by those living in the South. There will be similarities of the obvious. I thought I would take a moment to give a few of my own thoughts seeing as how I characterize myself as a Southern Gentleman.

An obvious requirement would first for one to have been born in the southern United States. This excludes anything west of the state of Louisiana, that being the state where New Orleans is located. Being born in a southern state does not mean you are born as a Southern Gentleman nor does it guarantee you will become one, but there is a great chance that you will acquire many of the required characteristics simply by soaking up the atmosphere around you.

Being this is in part a definition of me, I will focus on those characteristics that seem to be to the fore front in myself or perhaps what I see as those aspects I strive to achieve. These characteristics include; Romanticism, Courtesy, Respect, Learning, and Awareness. Be aware that there is a difference between a Gentleman of the Old South Southern Gentleman and the New South.

Although some of the more genteel characteristics are shared between Old and New there are some of the more intellectual and philosophical ones that differ greatly. I will not dredge up the errors of the past in that I did not live in that age, although I experienced some of the hangover from it.

  • Romanticism: The Southern Gentleman is a romantic to the core. He looks upon God’s deliverance of woman as the pinnacle of all creation ever to occur in the universe. She was created as the only true companion of man and thus artfully designed to be admired in all ways by man. This includes not only form, but function and intellect as well. The Southern Gentleman sees the miracle in the shape of an eye and the elegance of hand. The heart of a Southern Gentleman is in a constant state of upheaval and turmoil in the awe inspiring majesty of the master artist.
  • Courtesy: The Southern Gentleman holds doors for ladies, the elderly, and man alike. It is not uncommon that once a door is held open for the Southern Gentleman to remain in position for several people that he doesn’t even know. He will also quicken his pace in order that a woman will not need open a door herself, even if he does not know her. This extends to stepping forward and bagging groceries for the elderly or the woman with a child. We take grocery carts from ladies, the elderly and the child laden once they are emptied at cars so the people will not have to make the trip themselves. A smile and a nod of polite greeting are nature even for those never met.
  • Respect: The Southern Gentleman respects the dignity of Human Life. Once not a prerequisite but now something of obviousness, the Southern Gentleman sees mankind as mankind, not kinds of man. The human race is the human race not races of humans. We recognize the greatness of the various and readily give open admiration for those warranted.
  • Learning: Intelligence, knowledge, and understanding are of great importance to the Southern Gentleman. Not only do the three lead to wisdom but also comprehension of the world and its various cultures. He is not one who is tolerant, no. The Southern Gentleman is one who understands and respects. Tolerance is a different word and gives one a sense of a lack of respect and understanding. “I tolerate you, but don’t like you.” The Southern Gentleman says, “I understand and respect you, and I love you as God’s creation and an intelligent being, but I may still not agree with you.”
  • Awareness: The Southern Gentleman is aware of the state of society and the feelings and emotions surrounding him. With a glance he will be able to deduce a problem. He is in tune with the mood of the moment. Even by listening or reading a choice of words he can determine what kind of day you have had and know how to go from there.
  • Empathy: Many of the characteristics would not serve one as a Southern Gentleman without the ability to feel for the person in moments of need and then respond as needed. He has a heart that is worn on his sleeve thinly veiled, but easily found.


Some may say that they match the characteristics but there is more to it than just that. There is that indescribable something that permeates a Southern Gentleman. Perhaps it is the easy way in which it all comes together. Or maybe it is just the slow southern accent that makes it all something special. The Southern Gentleman doesn’t rush the world. And the world knows not to rush the Southern Gentleman.

As you have read this, and now that it’s complete, you may have a better understanding of me. I was raised in the Magnolia state. And although I live in another Southern state now, known for Gone with the Wind, in truth Magnolia is about as Southern as you can be.


2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Answers Escape Me

Answers Escape Me

Copyright-All rights reserved-©RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-January 28, 2014.









Wonders never cease,

While questions abound around,

Answers find escape.


Copyright-All rights reserved-©RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-January 28, 2014.

Families Aren’t Born, They’re Made

Adoptive Parents. Foster Parents. Step Parents. Call those non birth nurturers of the young what you will, people have opinions about them, just like every person has a . . . well you know. I’m going to share mine . . . my opinion that is.


First I want to make some things perfectly clear. I KNOW that not all Foster Care parents are great. I KNOW that not all Foster Care situations work out properly. I KNOW there are statistics showing things one way or the other about the impact Foster Care has on a child’s life. THIS is not about THOSE Foster Care parents or situations. If that is the article you are looking for then you may want to move on.


THIS article is about the positive situations I have seen, and the POSITIVE OUTCOMES of GOOD Foster Care and Adoptive Parents.


You may ask, “Ronovan, what do you KNOW about THIS subject?” Have you ever heard the phrase “treat someone like a red-headed step-child?” Well that’s ME. I’m one, been one for about 40 years now. Yep, he’s my Dad, my mi papa. If I go any farther with that I’ll just end up in trouble because I think I might be mixing languages, call it Latinglish.


But does that make me an expert on the Foster and Adoptive Parent part, of course not. “Then, Ronovan, how can you speak about something you don’t know about?”


Why, I am so happy you asked me. It’s time to get serious, because I’m mad. Let  us discuss a thought of mine . . .


Families Aren’t Born, They’re Made



Let’s just get right down to it. For a time I was the head of a young group that took care of Foster Children while all the Foster Parents met for a required monthly meeting. It was a joy to do so and while doing so I learned a lot about the children. No two were alike. No two came from the same emotional mindset, not even siblings. With my teaching background, certification, being a parent of a young child and background checks I was of course a natural choice as leader, and I had teenagers to become human playground equipment. What more could an association ask for?


We were even invited to their Easter Egg Hunts and Picnic Get-a-ways. It was a great learning and growing experience for my young people as much as it was for me and those young children. We all learned about a different kind of love.


You would look at a sweet little face and the next thing you know they were freaking out because of some random thing, not very often, but sometimes. Or you look at a sweet face and they just want to be held, but you can’t because of the laws.


For me that was a heart breaker. I’m the cuddly guy, the ‘love the little kiddies’ guy, especially the little girls who you just want to be the Daddy of. They come at me with those pretty little eyes and sad faces and I just want to die. I want to hug them so bad and make them smile, even the ones that would come at me and headbutt me in the stomach because they liked me.


I’ve had experiences with two Foster Families. They have both adopted the children they were Foster Parents for. I know, that’s not a lot, but it’s something to comment on. Both are good ones too. I know there are some bad ones out there but there are also some good ones. Perhaps there needs to be a better and more in depth Foster Parent selection and screening progress. No . . . there DOES need to be one.


The children are growing up, well adjusted, as well as they can be as some recover from difficulties they had in the past. Some may have to go to therapy because of their previous family situation but they will be okay with the continued love and support they are receiving. This isn’t saying that all Foster/Adoption children have some type of issue, they don’t but some do.


The fact is parents that adopt a foster child know what they are getting into. I couldn’t do it. One family I am close to just blows my mind how they have taken children in as Foster Parents and they loved them so much they adopted them, and they have turned their worlds . . . and yes, for some it includes therapy.


These people don’t have to do it. But this family KNEW the issues before hand and still wanted these wonderful kids. Not just one, but all of the siblings so they could be together instead of separate Foster Homes. Personally, I would go crazy. One child is enough for me.


Did you know that some Foster and Adoptive Parents get attacked and harassed and even basically bad mouthed all over the place because they loved so much they did what their hearts told them to do? Do you know how many good people see this and then decide not to become Foster Parents because of it, and thus the system ends up with the REAL kind of people that some should be talking about?


Not every parent of a child that ends up in Foster Care wants their child to be there. I hope none of them do. But some end up in situations that require it. Some people might ask, “Well what if they find they are out of that situation someday?” Then if the child is in Foster Care there might be a chance of their return.


But if adopted, then no, there will be no return. I know not every situation is perfect and some Foster situations in some areas go wrong, but the ones I know of went right. I can’t think of those children having stayed in their previous family environment for one more and then another more chance while they slowly edged closer to being so emotionally scarred that they were permanently damaged.


People don’t think about that. At least I don’t guess they do. All they see is a broken up home. If I had just been with my biological father I would have begged to be in a Foster Home if I had known what it was back then. But I was lucky, I had a mother then a step-father. And yes, I made sure people knew what my father had done to me. I was 6 years old. Does that tell you how aware a young child can be of what is WRONG?


But some children won’t say anything. Just because the child doesn’t tell certain adults things doesn’t mean their lives are perfect . . . or maybe it’s that the certain adults just aren’t listening. There’s a thought, hmm?


Now for the people who are, pardon my saying it this way, real jerks about giving people a hard time for adopting kids who need to be adopted just because they disagree and THINK they know something and then start getting up in the adoptive parents’ business and start bad mouthing them to everyone they can think of . . . you need to buy a vowel, phone a friend, use a life line, basically get a clue and shut up about what you don’t know about. And I don’t care WHO you are.


I’ll repeat; not every Foster Parent or Adoptive Parent works out or is a good idea, but for the ones I personally know, they are incredible. Why do I say this? Because of this family the children are receiving a very good education and all of the various extra help they need either in their education or emotional areas. Their creative outlets are encouraged and their social activities are quality ones with good people. In fact the children have grown in so many ways that it is astounding.


There will be people that may comment on this in a negative or possibly hostile manner. I say this to you now; I’ll not engage in a debate or tolerate any badmouthing. Be civil and you may speak your piece. I read all comments on my articles. I don’t moderate them before they are allowed onto the site. But I will tell you this; start something and I delete your comment and ban you from commenting again. And you are not allowed to use any of the comments in this article in any manner at all. All rights are reserved by me. Don’t reblog it if you are going to use it in a manner of hate. Don’t ping back or link back to me for the same reason.


Remember, I said at the beginning this was a positive article about my own personal experiences with a family.


Personally I think those who love children enough to take them in, knowing they come from possibly bad situations, and still want them and even want them to the point of adopting them, is an amazing and admirable thing. I know when you are in the middle of it the situation is difficult to see from a different point of view, but there is another view. I don’t expect those involved to ever see both sides of it. Emotions run deep and it’s just a hard situation.


To all those good people who become Foster Parents and Adoptive Parents for the right reasons, I commend you. For those who do it to get money for taking care of the kids and don’t do jack for the kids, basically . . . you suck.


Much Respect to the Read Deals



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Thursday Thought: Encourage Intelligent Decisions as a Habit

“When you see a young friend make intelligent decisions acknowledge it, and praise it. By doing so you are encouraging the continuation of a habit. Do this in every relationship of your life.”-Ronovan

gettyimages© Original Photo by laflor/Vetta
gettyimages© Original Photo by laflor/Vetta

A Conversation

A Conversation

by: Ronovan


“Tell me how you’ve been doing since the last time we spoke?”


At least the questioning was consistent. I supposed I should take comfort in there being something that remained the same. Of course that didn’t stop me from replying without the brain filter in place. “Do you really have to ask?” I kept staring at the ceiling tiles. I wondered if the room was really that dark.


There wasn’t a reply or even a sigh revealing a hint of disapproval or exasperation at my tone of wording. Not that I really expected one. “Okay, fine, I’m about the same as always. Is that what you wanted to me to say?”


“Only if that’s the way you’ve really been.”


Was that what they call passive aggressive? “Yeah,” I sighed. I had always wondered what that ‘sigh of an answer’ meant in reading but now I knew. You could sigh and speak at the same time. It’s like a surrender of spirit almost.


“Tell me how yesterday was.”


“It’s like every other day Pinky, I tried to recover my world,” I said.


No laugh. None expected. But I imagined old cartoon shows about mice weren’t on the viewing list.


“Where do you want me to start?” I stared at the spot on the ceiling where the shadows always made the dust look like a puppy if you looked just right.


“How did you sleep?”


The thought of ‘in a bed’ came to mind but I knew better than to be that sarcastic. There was being pretty tolerant and forgiving of my moods, and there was downright disrespectful. Even if I didn’t have the brain filter any longer I still knew better than to be downright disrespectful. “I woke up about 1:30 the first time, I think. The days tend to run together after so many being the same.”


“Are you sure it wasn’t 3:00 AM?”


I was wrong there was a sense of humor. “You’re a funny guy I don’t care what they say about you.”


“Why did you wake up this time?”


I smiled in spite of exhaustion. “This is a funny one. I think I actually breathed too hard.” I knew that wasn’t going to be enough of an answer, but it was the truth.


“How do you breathe too hard?


“Well, actually I just took a deep breath for some reason. It could be the sleep apnea.” But if it were sleep apnea then I would not be breathing at all, but then I would take big gulps of air. Okay so it might have been the sleep apnea.


“And why would the deep breath wake you up?”


I started counting the tiles in the ceiling, as if they had changed in number since last time, or the time before that, or even the time before that one. “Pain Monster didn’t like it.”


“The ‘pain monster’ is your lower back?”


“Yes,” I began. “At least that’s what woke me up. Then Neck Grinder started to protest as well.”

Continue reading

I Don’t Stop Living

Fibromyalgia Doesn’t Stop Me Living

 by: Ronovan

If you’ve been around my blog a bit you notice a lot of things written about how I hurt sometimes, usually in my poetry. That’s my release, that escape hatch. But something else you may have noticed is, I haven’t stopped living my life.


For one I do a fairly decent job of putting out a lot of content for my blog, and it’s varied. Perhaps that’s just the old noggin not being able to shut down from the concussion.

Buck Toothed Smiley with Light Bulb



Sorry, I had to write down an idea for another blog article. But as I was saying I don’t let Fibromyalgia stop my life. I have a son, let’s call him B, yeah for boy, original, huh?

Boy at desk with apple

But wait, you say you don’t know what Fibromyalgia is? Wow. Actually I’m not surprised. Oddly enough you may be reading this and have it yourself. You’ve heard of Chronic Pain and Chronic Fatigue syndromes? Then you know something about FMS, Fibro, Fibromyalgia. I’m not going to go into details right now, but just think of having pain all the time or pretty much every minute. I’ll do an article of what it acutally all entails another time, but I’m not letting it take over my life of having fun blogging right now.

Now back to living. I’m not supposed to do a lot of things with my ailments because they make me hurt. But here is the thing . . . it’s a secret so don’t tell anyone else, okay? Good. No matter what I do or don’t do I’m going to hurt anyway, so I’m going to enjoy life regardless.


Sure I can’t sit in a chair very long. I can’t lay down very long. I can’t stand up very long. Riding in a car is grrrr. But other than the car I know I can stop or change whatever it is, and those I am with understand it and if they don’t they can just go on without me.


My son needs practice hitting a baseball. We have some wiffle balls to use and he has my old Louisville Slugger little league wooden bat. Yes, I know they use aluminum bats but this is what we have and it is actually working on his strength. Just imagine when he pick up an aluminum bat to hit the kind of speed he’ll have.

Wiffle balls and bats on grass

So what do I do in the day time? 20 wiffle balls in a bucket times five rounds of buckets equals 100 pitches from the guy that isn’t supposed to do things. Oh and that’s 2 buckets for him to hit right handed, and 2 to hit left handed and the final 1 for whatever he wants to do. Yes, 9-10 year old who can switch hit, all on his own. These are very light so it’s not the weight that gets me it’s the arm motion. My arm doesn’t move like that any longer, but I make it do it.


He sometimes wants to learn to throw a spiral with the football, American football. I’ve discovered during this summer that I can apparently pitch pretty well and my throwing arm for the football is not bad at all.


What happens after these B times? Yeah, pain. What happens during the B times? Yeah, pain. But you know what happens as well? Life, learning, laughs, and love.


Just because I have something that can’t be cured doesn’t mean that I have to let it dictate my entire life. Are there days I just can’t do things? Oh yeah, plenty. And everyone understands that. But if it is at all humanly possible I’ll do things. You see I’ve lived with pain for so long that it’s kind of like a limp. I have it every step I go but I don’t notice it, I just keep walking and I keep getting to where I want to go.


Oh, but there is one thing my son won’t let me do. He won’t let me on his bike. I tried when his back was turned and he nearly freaked out. I don’t know if he was worried about me or his bike. But yeah, he does watch out for me.


Much Apprecation to all of You

& Especially for my boy B



© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-July 05, 2014.

About my Tips

I wanted to say something about the Blog Tips and Twitter Tips that I put out to draw more Followers. I don’t do any of these things to draw in more followers myself.

It has been running through my mind of late, and you know if I know it has then it must be serious, that my Friends here that visit me in blog world might think that I do things intentionally in such a way to lure you here and try and make you stay. Plus receiving a email saying I’m a hypocrite with the way I say Much Respect, Much Admiraiton, or Much Love when I sign a Comment or Reply made me feel a bit down.

First I sign that way when it is that way. I respect anyone that puts themselves out there for the world to criticize. That’s what each of us do with our work when we click Publish. I admire great work and hard work. I have much love for those who inspire me and have shown me much love in care and encouragement. I see no reason to hide it. I love my Friends, my Readers.

I don’t. I just do what I do. I would be writing what I write no matter who was following me, how many were following, if no one were following me.

I am a teacher with over a decade of marketing background and corporate training experience. It is just in my nature to share things I see with others. To be honest if I really wanted to have a successful blog and be competitive, I wouldn’t share any tips and keep them to myself.

The thing is . . . I love my Friends here, even those that never say a word and just visit, even if they never click like. Likes are good but you visiting is what counts. There are a few people you could ask that could tell you that I know things to make my site more successful in views and the like. But I don’t use them because my goal is to create a nice Friend visit.

But anyway, it’s been on my heart to share that and explain that. I just don’t want anyone to think that I do anything I do in attempt to increase Followers on any social things I have.

Much Respect





© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-July 04, 2014.

The Drum Beats no Longer

The Drum Beats no Longer

by: Ronovan

The Daily Prompt today asked about a musical instrument. It surprises me sometimes where a few words in print can lead you back to another life.

My bio-father was a musician, that is to say when he wasn’t doing other things for money. He recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes THAT Sun Records. And yes he was a truck driver. No, he wasn’t Elvis. But he was from Tupelo, MS. He was a drummer and singer primarily.


I don’t know if I ever heard him sing for certain. I had his record once until I smashed it into a million pieces and threw it away.


I’m told I would be placed on the side of a pool table and shoot pool as an infant and entertain the people while he performed. But things are passed down from one generation to the next. For me, I have rhythm. I can keep a beat without a thought.


Everything became a drum when I was tiny. Both sides of my family were musical. My maternal grandfather was a singer as well. Both musical men ended up leaving their families.


I was discouraged greatly in regards to music. I guess maybe it was because musicians were associated with wandering men in my family, or bad men. Now I write words to songs that I cannot put music to. I hear it in my mind but cannot put it to paper.


With my concussion and the results I cannot listen to music any longer. I guess finally they’ve won. No more music possibilities for me. I still write songs, but they are poems now. The reader can make their own music to match what they feel.


I never look at the bad as bad. You can always use it for something good. Sure, it’s bad for you but you can use that experience in life to help someone else. It only stays bad if you let it stay bad.


Much Respect


© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-July 03, 2014.

Espresso – My top 3 lessons from my first week as a writer. By: Brett.

Well I have to say that this is an amazing article. It humbled me in many ways. Everyone visit this link to Brett’s page and Follow him. He’s starting a life as a writer and I have to say that if this article is a beginning, then I am so far behind him that I don’t deserve to have my name mentioned in it. So yes, I say again. Click and read and Follow and also follow him on Twitter as another show of support. @BrettsFuture We all need that little shot of double espresso sometimes.

Brett's Future


I sit here in restless repose forcing myself to relax. Mind aflutter, new venture afoot; uncertainty over my standing. In my heart the path is right. But that demon called fear casts a shadow before me.

I reflect upon the week of boldness I have just completed. There are lessons I’ve learned along the way, important reminders to guide my journey. Initial thoughts are important thoughts I tell myself as I struggle with my focus. Why is that I ask? Surely the lessons grow stronger with time, with greater experience? So I sit and contemplate why I feel this way.

Then I realize that these initial thoughts are like espresso, the initial injection in coffee each morning. That first rush after waking as you consider the long day stretched out ahead. You know that the cup you hold in your hand will not get you to the end. But that…

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My Own Heart’s Irritation

My Own Heart’s Irritation

by: Ronovan

My heart strings are a weapon

Used secretly in stealth

They cause confusion and destruction

And deranged mental health

You look at all the forensics

You say there’s no crime

This ain’t no OJ

There’s no fix in this time

piccerella man peeking

 You spend just a moment

Just to catch a breath

Those strings get to tuggin’

Causing a cerebral death

Stop just a second wait

It’s all that is needed

But no oh no

The words fall as they’re pleaded

gettyimages © Original Photo by PhotoAlto/Alix Minde / PhotoAlto Agency RF Collections

 Extra Extra read all about it

The explosion has come

Yeah the heart strings

I’ve been hamstrung

Why so surprised by that comment

Who did you think was the victim in this situation

What body could be harmed

By my own hearts irritation


gettyimages © Original Photo by RUNSTUDIO





First Image Credit: gettyimages © Original Photo by piccerella

Second Image Credit: gettyimages © Original Photo by PhotoAlto/Alix Minde / PhotoAlto Agency RF Collections

Third Image Credit: gettyimages © Original Photo by RUNSTUDIO

Copyright-All rights reserved-©RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 11, 2014.

Church Playground Memories

Church Playground Memories

by: Ronovan

 After I came home from the hospital even I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I just felt incomplete somehow. For a person suffering from amnesia that probably doesn’t sound unusual, but this was something that I just knew was missing, I could feel it.

But I only had the feeling when I went to the doctor’s office, or some type of testing. My clothes were laid out for me. I had my wallet, keys (although not allowed to drive), a 10 dollar bill, and a pen. Apparently I always carry a pen.

My belt was in place, all of my clothing was the way it should be. It really bothered me though. I put it down as possibly my not driving. Maybe I just wanted to be the driver since I always drove everywhere. Perhaps I just was not accustomed to being on the passenger side of the car looking around.

Then one day it hit me. There was a burning in my pocket. I noticed each time I left the house, not actually my own house, that my right pants pocket felt lighter than it should. There was a spot that didn’t feel right. Even looking down at my pocket when seated there was something odd about how it appeared.

A flash of yellow came to me. And that made me think of the word, ‘pecan’. I wasn’t able to speak yet but I quickly wrote it down and shoved it toward the driver. She looked at it.

“Do I have a pecan?”

“Yes,” she said.

I held my hands out and shrugged.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

I quickly scribbled down my flash.

“Yellow toy box.”

“Yes. I know what you mean, beside your chair.”

A few days later it arrived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a pecan before. They are oblong and pointy on the ends, but not this one. This one glows and looks like polished wood. When the light hits it there is character and grooves you don’t see in a normal pecan shell.

When I touched it for the first time again, the smoothness of the shell was comforting and familiar. I instantly held it to my ear and shook it. I could hear the rattling inside.

My eyes closed and I ran my finger tips around the shell slowly and could feel the ridges that you normally didn’t realize were there. Maybe they normally weren’t. Then I slipped it into my pocket and the weight was right. My balance was right. Just a few ounces but it was right. When I sat down, the sight was right.

My mind tingled with it with me again.

“For you, Daddy.”


“Yeah. I found it for you.”

Of course the smile crossed my face and a big hug was given. “Then it goes right here and never leaves,” I said. I slipped it into my pocket. The smile crossed his face.

A pecan as a prized possession may sound a bit odd to some, but six years earlier my little son had walked up to me with a smile from the church playground and given it to me. To him it may have been just a find that day.

The grey shell had turned into polished brown like the finest piece of furniture. But this hadn’t been done by a machine. This had been done by years of being in my hands through the day, and living inside my pocket forever being polished.

My Pecan - Copy

Now that I had it back I was more at ease. Every night he comes to me and asks “Do you have your thing?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He now knows how special it is to me. He knows I remembered it. He knows I know him. He knows I don’t want to lose it.

Some prized possessions may have monetary value to them, even family heirlooms, but for me, a moment of innocence that can never be captured again . . . that’s my prized possession. The pecan is a reminder of it, but the real possession is the memory of it. That’s what I have, that memory. Memories of your children can bring you back to life. That’s what happened to me.

Maybe you have a memory. Perhaps riding along with your child in your lap in a golf cart, or smiling up at you with such love in their eyes at an ice cream parlor, or giggling when you tickle them. Those are prized possessions.

Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 27, 2014.

If not me then who?

If not me then who?

by: Ronovan


I recently wrote an article called The Disguise of Contentment about life with illness and disabilities and how others look at seemingly healthy people who suffer from them. As I was writing it I simply wanted to share with people the other side of something of stereotyping.


If you’ve been reading my work for a while you know I don’t hold back. I only know how to write one way and that is personal. My site is primarily a place to release those thoughts in my mind, as I have put it in a previous article I call it Writing for Therapy.


I say all of this to make sure you understand to never look at anything I write as attention seeking or a pity party. I’m beyond all of that. Sometimes the pain gets to me and I just need to let the feelings out in words and by doing so I have discovered there are people out there who can relate. They find comfort in knowing they are not alone and that a person is productive and creative even while living with some really whacked out pain problems. (I apparently love the phrase ‘whacked out’.)


Just to clarify a bit of that previous article and its intent:


If you see a person with disabilities that are obvious you have the opportunity of choice; a) treat them just like anyone else, b) treat them with pity, which they don’t want, or c) be aware they may need assistance at times.


For someone appearing healthy, such as myself, those options aren’t there. What this brings me to is people with disabilities don’t want pity they just want to be understood. I know it’s difficult to understand in a brief encounter with someone, but the way to be is like me in a grocery store and asking for help. If I ask for help then I need it. If I park in a handicap spot and if my car has the right tags or permissions on it to do so then keep moving and don’t look at me like a criminal.


I personally don’t care. I’ve moved past what others think about me. My main mission is what I think about myself. If I am good with me then I’m all good period. But how will other people know if people like me don’t share experiences?


And remember, I’m the same guy that wrote about writer’s needing fluffy butt cushions and canaries. Just because there are some raw and honest work from me doesn’t mean that is what defines me. I’m a funny guy. Ask my other self, he’ll tell you.

He lies.

Shut up, Os.

If you see an article or poem that appears to be a pity poem or a sympathy seeker don’t think that. It’s just me releasing the only way I have available and in a way that I hope others can connect with and say “Yeah, that’s me too. I’m not alone.”

Just so no one thinks this is just my rants about things, please read A good day out and a dollop of judgement at The Happy Starfish.

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 22, 2014.