Clouds Above and Beyond

I lay in bed unable to sleep

I wondered, “who will die first, me or him?”

I’ve been thinking alot about death

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my pen and paper.

The sound of crunching leaves beneath my bare feet,

The smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery,

The beauty in life could not shake

what lurked

Above and beyond the clouds.

He rolled over, annoyed.

“What’re you doing? Why aren’t you relaxing?

“Can’t relax. I wonder, why am I here and when will it be my turn to leave?”

“Please stop.”

“Life is so short, there is so much going on, it’s hard to find a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“It’s not hard. Why don’t you write something cheerful.”

“That won’t help.”

“It might.”

“You’re annoyingly optimistic.”

“That’s me. So write.”

“Fine. Roses are red, violets are blue

I’m sick of wearing masks, vaccines and uncertainly

How the hell are YOU?”

“Yea, funny.” He said.

Perhaps he was right. Worrying about life instead of living it is tiring and depressing. So, I finished crocheting my poncho while he went to the liquor store for the ingredients to my favorite martini.

First two Photos courtesy of Pinterest

The Risk and Reward

I am up late on Sunday evening not at all happy to have only two days off to write, create, knit, do laundry, grocery shopping, etc.  I can’t sleep, basically and when I cannot sleep I think of odd things.  In this case, I remembered an article I wrote years ago about a girl I used to know.  The title of the article, “The Risk and Reward of Reaching Out” was published in the San Francisco Chronicle paper.


It is not very hard for me to believe that I made my way through middle and high school without getting caught up in the drug culture of San Francisco during the 1970s and 1980s.  Everyone I knew did them, but  I simply was not interested.  And I was not into “cliques” in school.  Just because my friends did drugs did not mean I wanted to.  I believed not doing drugs had to do with my mom, she never imbibed, nor did she drink while raising us.   Unfortunately for many people including my old babysitters when I was a child and friends I grew up with, there was no escaping the drug fate.

In 2006 when I worked for the City and County of SF Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services as a clerk and I volunteered with homeless organizations, I was invited to write an article about the impact drugs had on me.  The only thing I could think of was a cute little girl whom I grew up with in grade school, I called her “Cori” in the article.  “Cori” was a cute caramel-complexioned chubby little girl, I was skinny as a rail.  Seriously, my legs in knee high boots looked like pencils in cups, that’s how skinny I was.  Kids teased us and called us “Cori and Lorrie, fat and skinny!” which we hated.

When I wrote the article I could not help but feel bad not just for “Cori”, but for the fact that I wrote about how tragic she turned out.  I did not mean any malice, but it bothered me that she fell so hard.  Of course, I later realized not everyone walks the same path, although the end result is and will always be the same.  I am fine with what I wrote about “Cori.” And, although I no longer see her around anywhere I will always hope she left San Francisco for a better life somewhere.  Hopefully that sentiment is true.  If so, good luck to “Cori.”

 “The Risk and Reward of Reaching Out” – by L.D. Sargent.   Click HERE for article.


Here I am yet again.

Fluttering my bright blue wings 

Struggling, pushing against a mesh veil

I am at the point of reflection.

blueI have no idea why I was chosen to be,

But I am here

pushing and fluttering and moving.

I am here

with my hand reaching out tentatively.

about to enter yet another door to

Whatever IT is.


blue1 Inside is a path adorned

with spectacular gold trimmed tile.

My bare feet slide slowly around the tile

outlining each and every bulb impression.

I stand curious and waiting,

waiting and hopeful about

What my “future” will bring and when.

blue3 I stand curious on gold trimmed tile

with a Quartz dipped in gold

that embraces my tiny neck.

I remain waiting.  Wondering. blue necklaceNot knowing why I am here keeps me standing,

keeps me waiting,

keeps me curious,

keeps me hopeful.

Not knowing why I am here

is why I remain.  Here.


new day

Welcome to 2015!  While I wait for the residue of 2014 to wash off my weary body I plan to be very busy in 2015 which unfortunately means I won’t “blog” very often, but  I WILL work on blogging as frequently as I can.  Until then I will “reflect” how I feel and what I hope to feel with great images and my words that speak volumes for me for the year ahead.  Feel free to feel what I feel and enjoy!  See you soon!


orange ky

In my mind I wander,

along a path.

I find a rusted door with a rusted lock,

but no key.

I wander, drenched in a hue

that reflects for me

a bright “shimmer” resonating a deep glowing wave of hope.

orange wave

I wandered not far from the rusted door,

I wish I had the key.

I stepped over the rusted locks

that lay along the path near the door.

orange links

The rusted worn locks had beauty to them

a pained and crinkled solemn splendor

that lay on the path beneath a lamp.

The lamp illuminated the very glow

I wanted my soul to feel, and I smiled.

orange light

As I  wandered I looked up to find

a timid little bird

that rested not far from my path

although, it did not notice me.

orange bird

On my way home, in my mind

I burned an orange candle

and I reflected my journey

along a path with an orange hue

and a light of glowing hope

that I know will bring to me

a new year of many colors

that I will relish and savor

And find peace, love, happiness

and success in every sense of the word! 

orange candle

Life is GROWTH

Life is nothing if it is not about growth.  Life makes us all put things into perspective whether we are prepared to do or not.  Our human brains are never quite prepared for beyond life, but we can’t lose perspective of what life is all about; living, loving, laughing, change and growth.  Growth is about moving forward and moving forward is ultimately about death.

In mid-November 2014 my biological father, a man who did not raise me, passed on.  I will eventually lose my beloved mother who is at hospice care and has lived with Dementia and Parkinsons for 13 years so far.  Doris, my mom, single-handily raised me and my younger half-brother (different dads) to the best of her ability. I was devoted to her and dutiful to her every need.  My father Clyde was inconsistent in our “relationship” at best.

me and clyde(L.D. and Clyde in the 1960s and 2005 at my half-sister’s wedding.)

One thing I like about life’s growth, life’s transition, is that at some point you get a bit of clarity.  For instance, all my life my father never told me why he chose not to participate in my upbringing, yet before he passed on, he became attentive to me and talkative, as if he wanted to really speak to me.  I knew something wasn’t right, he was never effusive with me.  I told my father I had finally gone back to work in a job with the Government and he suddenly beamed, he had retired with the Government.

“Oh, I put out contracts for the twin Tower building in Oakland, California!  I retired wearing $200 suits!”  My father loved his money.

“But, dad you know I am kind of artsy, do you think I will be able to keep up with this type of job?”  I asked.  He answered with his typical no-nonsense gruff Southern flare.

“Well, you got a brain, dont’cha?  You went to college, didn’cha?  They wouldn’t of hired you if they didn’t want you!  They don’t hire dumb people, not the Government!”  That was Clyde’s way of paying me a compliment, I believe. :c)  I remember he and my mother came to my graduation, I had returned to college in the 1990s.  That picture is the ONLY one of them together that I have.

parents at my graduation edit(Doris Banbury and Clyde Sargent, 1996 SF State University)

Clyde even gave me money recently to be finger-printed for my job and money to eat, I was completely strapped before I got that job.  He had never before been so readily attentive to me.  But, it is when he  asked me to live with him, came out of the blue a few weeks before he died, I realized something was wrong.  Perhaps I had a biological “connection” to Clyde, but I knew something was not right.  Three weeks later he was gone. 

I am happy to have learned that my Southerner father Clyde Lee was a smart college educated man with a plethora of accolades on his den wall, I remember seeing them.  Clyde survived Typhoid fever as a child growing up on a cotton field, a tiny parish called Sicily Island in Catahoula, Louisiana; (I went there as a girl and saw his house and the cotton field).  Clyde fought in the Korean war (1954-56); graduated with a B.S. in Vocational Agriculture from Southern University and in 1984 Clyde became the first black Director of Procurement and Contracts for the Federal Government. 


The coolest part, Clyde gave me my younger sister Vickie, we grew up in separate houses with different moms, but we got to know each other over the years which is a good thing.  At Clyde’s memorial, he and my sister’s mother are cremated and will reside at their old house to be close to Vickie, I spoke although, I did not want to.  But, I was poised and funny and irreverent and I mentioned that if Clyde did nothing else for me as I learned he had done for so many others, he gave me pretty good genes to work with.  And that is the best type of “growth” to have, good genes, especially as an adult. 

I am of exemplary health and I am prepared to move forward in life knowing that my mom, Doris, and my father Clyde gave birth to a woman of courage, faith and strength with good skin, good teeth, those that are MINE, and a wicked sense of humor!  I believe life moves forward and we all must move with it, no looking back, but move forward  and accept growth as a blessing not a challenge.  GROW is what I am prepared to do.

Have a great holiday and New Years Eve and a fulfilling and prosperous New Year in 2015, everyone!   Lorrie

Happy New Year 2014, warts and all!

My “issues” with religion run deep.  I am a non-practicing Catholic since my late 20s; I curse like a drunken sailor; I lose faith if I get a hangnail, I’m insecure most times for no apparent reason.  But, as much as I fail to “believe” and “have faith” on many occasions, I mean, I need a bushel, not a mustard seed, I also realize something very important.  I realize that someone besides my mom wants me to succeed despite my “issues.” 

Someone besides my mom wants me not to give up and blend into the cold wet earth.  Someone besides my mom looks out for me even when I curse and cry that no one gives a fuck about me and what I am trying to accomplish.  Someone besides my mom does not judge me by the number of friends I have, or that I am not “smooth” enough, not “nickel slick” enough to take whatever I want without regard of others.  Someone besides my mom knows exactly who I am and how I want to present myself to the world, whenever I present myself.  Most importantly I realize that someone besides my mom knows I CANNOT GIVE PRAISE UNTIL I LEARN TO PRAISE MYSELF. 

Whomever that someone is accepts Lorrie even when I feel let down at every turn, when I am unmotivated and scared of life.  Whomever that someone is that rests on my shoulders, God, Buddha, Allah, etc. that someone is patient enough, unlike many humans and with the exception of my mom, to allow Lorrie to find her way as best she can do, warts and all.  And I truly am GRATEFUL to whomever that someone is.

champsHere’s wishing everyone a flourishing 2014, warts and all!  LDS