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Text of the page (random words):
hs and ahhs from the crowd and staring at his little round mirror pretty boy was very animated and quite taken with himself pretty boy pretty boy such a pretty pretty boy does he say anything else and mom who was beaming now oh sure he says lots of things this was no easy crowd to please it was the first time all my aunts uncles cousins and grandparents on my father s italian side of our family had en masse descended upon our suddenly smallish house and smiling seemed to be a foreign concept to them leaning forward and stacked three deep in a semi circle around the cage and me i was suffocating and beginning to hyper ventilate i needed to escape but there was simply no escaping this wall of largish olive skinned humans with their dark eyes and darker hair it was my first experience of a claustrophobia i still suffer from today then suddenly unprompted and as if on queue to save me pretty boy still preening from the attention squawked an unmistakeable string of god damn shit god damn shit god damn shit i d never seen so many people move simultaneously like this group did as if the epicenter of an 8 2 earthquake shuddered just below our little dining room jolting everyone backwards and off the floor and no one jumped higher than my wide hipped grandmother she landed with such a thud her low black heels left divots in the pine floor i caught my breath as there was instantly more air to breath but i was certainly the only person experiencing any sense of relief in the sudden vacuum of silence in that improbable unforeseeable and unforgettable moment and with the best seat in the house i watched the ensuing family drama all unfold posted in uncategorized tagged 20 lines a day awkward childhood memories creative writing family in laws non fiction personal story prose storytelling talking parakeet 40 comments april 11 2014 by dear occupant such a pretty pretty boy pt 2 i stood there as confused as a kid could be my uncles rushed to the aid of my grandfather while he struggled in vain to steady the still listing ship that was my grandmother s bulky frame like asking a stalk of corn to brace a tipping fire hydrant the science of leverage was awkwardly defining itself in real time he was all of 6 4 kind and gentle as any person you d ever meet she was a wide stump of a woman with an iced grey evil dead eyed stare that could bend an i beam and bring concrete to tears and when she narrowed that laser like gaze occasionally turning her brand of affection towards me the overly potent mixture of her rose scented perfume and stinging pain screaming from my cheek as she twisted it with a little too much pleasure well this kid learned early to keep a safe distance from that thumb and forefinger with the men shoring up the aft pocketbooks snapped open and out came the doily edged hankies dotting the sweat now appearing on my grandmother s brow and rouged cheeks dumfounded i watched as my aunts dutifully smoothed away the upset in her rose printed sundress surrounding her like handmaidens to a queen i still didn t understand what all the fuss was about on the receiving end of my father s own icy dead eyed stare mom was admonishing pretty boy but she seemed as confused as i was neither of us had ever heard pretty boy say those words before i had no clue know what they even meant and there we all stood suspended in an uncomfortable void of inaction afraid to move or say a single word hoping this unpleasant catastrophe had finally subsided hoping we could move on to the buffet to fill our bellies and forget it ever happened god damn shit god damn shit god damn shit pretty boy still bobbing and weaving along his perch and clear as day suddenly pierced the silence and proudly squawked another string of expletives to the crowd but if the huge gasp that heaved deep from my grandmother s innards were any clue as to how this all would end you would have thought those three words like three poisoned arrows were aimed directly at her unsteady again as one hand reached instinctively for the rosary beads in one of her two side pockets while the other found a gaudy gold crucifix on the heavy chain around her neck up rolled her eyeballs as my grandmother began to breathlessly recite a mournful monologue of hail mary s and our father s in her native italian she held the crucifix in such a white knuckle grip pointing it at pretty boy as if lucifer himself sat on that perch cloaked in blue and white feathers oh it was quite the dramatic scene as she turned on her heels and thumped towards the door with my poor grandfather behind her gesticulating endlessly apologizing with that familiar expression on his face whattamigonnado youknowhowsheis howdidiendupwiththiswoman the helplessness that was forever creased in his forehead this act mercifully came to its conclusion as the rest of the family followed the mighty matriarch heads down and mumbling as they corralled their children and shuffled out the door it was the last time any of them would ever visit our house being the early riser it was my chore to remove the cover from pretty boy s cage i d fill his seed and water containers and begin his daily chatter while teaching him some of my own sing song phrases here comes the sun here comes the sun here comes the sun lifted from the title of my favorite richie haven s song playing constantly on the am radio station that summer of 67 leaning close to the cage i would let my waist length hair sift through the cage until it covered his head nibbling the ends a little he waited for me to lift his veil of hair and repeat here comes the sun here comes the sun here comes the sun our silly version of peekaboo but pretty boy wasn t waiting for me on the familiar perch near his little mirror that morning posted in uncategorized tagged awkward childhood memories creative writing family in laws non fiction personal story prose storytelling talking parakeet 34 comments april 11 2014 by dear occupant such a pretty pretty boy conclusion for mom and for that entire summer pretty boy s empty cage remained where it had always been aside one of the two near floor to ceiling lead glass windows at the rear of our narrow railroad apartment the low sills provided an easy view of the wall of four story tenements and scruffy yards and easier access to the wrought iron fire escapes dangling off the rear of every building this view even on the sunniest of days in monotone brown tar shingles the imposing black painted zigzagging iron bars and early shadows left little to be hopeful about like the escher engraving of the steps to nowhere divorce changes lives in a hurry but this neighborhood we moved to tucked away in a forgotten corner of brooklyn was lifetimes removed from the wide open and manicured green lawns and the single family life we once lived the dimming memories felt like someone else s lucky dreams yet looking back now sitting on that window sill visiting with pretty boy is where i spent much of my time when i was home studying the blue intricate beauty of his feathers was such a refreshing anomaly to eyes aching for color his endless banter one of the few cheerful constants in my already unsteady life so it really shouldn t have surprised me that seeing those blue feathers lying so still and quiet nestled amongst the thin strips of daily news lining the tray of his cage was enough to bring this 15 year old man boy to tears but it did i struggled to keep my crying quiet trying to decipher the unwelcome silence from his cage wrestling with another inexplicable here one day not here the next loss yet another loss i was unprepared to absorb mom and i sat at the kitchen table and reminisced about pretty boy reminding each other of memories we had forgotten while she breathed in long slow drags of belair smokes and longer purposeful chugs of her favorite schaefer beer cradling pretty boy in her hands her chest rising in deep exhales and her lips trembling a little she recalled that fateful day pretty boy came home back in the day in the long island town of hempstead where we lived then all the shopping centers had a woolworth store nicknamed the five and dime it was a huge place that had miles of aisles filled with toys cards tape ribbons and all the handy little daily items and right in the middle of the store was their popular pet department mom and i always made a bee line there to see the rabbits hamsters and turtles and take in the songs and squawks of the yellow canaries and various colored parakeets for sale all these cute first kid pets had a high turnover rate but mom had her eye on one blue parakeet that lingered for months and despite his cheerleading the salesman could never convince anyone to take this one bird home pretty boy was not a very pretty bird despite his eventual name smaller than the other birds his age he was missing feathers and wore a pronounced scar on the white crown of his forehead so mom ever the devoted animal lover and champion of underdogs decided that day this unloved orphan was coming home with us the salesman was so ecstatic he discounted everything we needed to bring him home the sales receipt read parakeet 99 cents it was only 10am as i watched the ashtray overflow with spent buts and another can of schaefer bit the dust too it became clear as i got older that mom had quite the potty mouth pretty boy only repeated what he heard a loyal confidant when no one else was there to listen i heard a few very choice words about my grandmother that morning time has a way of dulling the sharp edges of our pain and karma well it has it s own mysterious timetable administering our just rewards my grandmother was a hateful woman whose own psychosis and prejudice eventually alienated most of her sons too there were very few tears shed from the few people that attended her funeral when she died it was hard not to notice that familiar warm spark return to her sienna brown eyes the more mom and i talked that free spirited irish spunk that was so much of her charm and despite all she would eventually overcome in a life that never resembled her early romantic dreams she always retained an empathy for all things living mom was a survivor she persevered she always did the right thing as best she could i m grateful for inheriting the very best of who she was i watched her meticulously wrap pretty boy s blue body in saran wrap tearing thin strips of daily news to line the cardboard match box he would be buried in we would have a proper funeral for our little friend and as she finished taping the edges with her usual care she looked up mischievously making sure she caught my eye and whispered god damn shit god damn shit god damn shit we both howled with laughter at the image of pretty boy thankfully chasing the wicked witch out of our lives that day shaking our heads in awe that a little 99 bird had so much say in so many lives as much as this piece was intended to be written about pretty boy the deeper i delved into the writing i realized the story was as much about my mom so it only seemed fitting on this of all days unplanned as it was to devote this conclusion to her somethings work out the way they should somewhere mom is reading this story about our pretty boy and somewhere she s flashing that impish grin click to enlarge happy mother s day to all moms today posted in uncategorized tagged appreciation childhood memories creative writing death divorce family in laws loss love mom mother s day non fiction personal story prose storytelling talking parakeet 31 comments march 27 2014 by dear occupant underneath below haiku tanka i have known more pain than i can hope to forget yet i look skyward these eyes collect joy like a jewel thief stealing moments where i can when the moonlit skies reflect more darkness than light i hide behind clouds this melancholy it lays shallow in my lungs waiting to exhale battered and lonely you found me once on the shore but i crash in waves underneath below the undertow i create in amniotic silence i know all too well a slave to the familiar tell me stars have life find me whenever i hide underneath below posted in uncategorized tagged 20 lines a day childhood memories finding love found haiku lost melancholy metaphors never giving up perseverance poetry renewal seclusion stars tanka 62 comments march 23 2014 by dear occupant the plaintive calls in this temporary lull in the stall that passes for a quiet pause the sigh between stoplights winking through another relentless rumbling evening rush i can hear the faint the plaintive calls like memories echoing down narrow windowed canyon walls a slow whitened silhouette a blur above rooftops entrails across the smoke dark shroud of sky a lone seagull aloft in her weightless circles calling pleading our cause that carnivorous winter release it s talon grip on our weathered psyches this colossal metropolis frayed and weary along its steely margins holding a collective breath praying for relief for signs our resolve has slain the beast to be home and warm is a primal lure and cars have little patience for an inconvenient reverie but i have witnessed spring s first inland gull and believe her plea was not in vain heartened and invigorated now windows down i invite the viper wind to hiss his last stinging breaths on my skin and tangle my hair as i drive posted in uncategorized tagged 20 lines a day chicago faith first sign of spring home perseverance poetry resolve reverie rush hour seagull spring wind in my hair winter yearning 59 comments march 16 2014 by dear occupant in the wings a repost for my new friends from july 9 2013 and a special ty to my friend cindy knoke an incredible photographer for always rummaging in my archives a great big hug to my daughter on her 14th birthday for sharing this song which inspired this story poem please feel free to listen to it as a soundtrack in the wings they seemed to meet quite by accident but something in their eyes told them otherwise this wouldn t be their first conversation but it always felt like it could be the last like a patient who knows their time is near with so many faces yet to see and confessions to make and sunsets to end their now daily talks lasted for hours even after they left that little cafe feverishly texting on the bus back home sometimes through the hush of their night they would talk of paintings songs and poetry any silly thing as long as there was a reply the hold on each other so tenuous an undertow the pull of fear as real he not so accidently brushed her hand on the table she instinctively recoiled placing it on her lap she apologized quickly she was sorry but regretted showing him so much his practiced stoic reaction said little this time his heart tried valiantly to follow but isn t that how it always goes setting a few more bricks in the wall he was a little braver than she was or maybe his clock was just ticking faster than hers he said the words that they both feared and knew it was wrong the moment he spoke ...
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51-55 56-60 61-65 66-70 71-75 76-80 81-85 86-90 91-95 96-100
101-105 106-110 111-115 116-120 121-125 126-130 131-135 136-140 141-145 146-150
151-155 156-160 161-164


The site also has 1 references to external domain(s).

 cindyknoke.com  Verify


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Supplementary Information (add-on for SEO geeks)*- See more on header.verify-www.com

Header

HTTP/2 200
server nginx
date Tue, 11 Aug 2026 22:36:02 GMT
content-type text/html; charset=UTF-8
vary Accept-Encoding
x-hacker Want root? Visit join.a8c.com/hacker and mention this header.
host-header WordPress.com
link <htt????/public-api.wordpress.com/wp-json/?rest_route=/sites/whocouldknowthen.wordpress.com>; rel= htt????/api.w.org/
vary accept, content-type, cookie
content-encoding gzip
x-ac 2.ams _dfw STALE
alt-svc clear
strict-transport-security max-age=31536000
server-timing a8c-cdn, dc;desc=ams, cache;desc=STALE;dur=2.0

Meta Tags

title="who could know then |"
charset="UTF-8"
name="robots" content="max-image-preview:large"
name="generator" content="WordPress.com"
property="og:type" content="website"
property="og:title" content="who could know then "
property="og:description" content=" "
property="og:url" content="htt????/whocouldknowthen.wordpress.com/"
property="og:site_name" content="who could know then "
property="og:image" content="htt????/s0.wp.com/i/blank.jpg?m=1383295312i"
property="og:image:width" content="200"
property="og:image:height" content="200"
property="og:image:alt" content=""
property="og:locale" content="en_US"
property="fb:app_id" content="249643311490"
name="theme-color" content="#62595C"
id="bilmur" property="bilmur:data" content="" data-provider="wordpress.com" data-service="simple" data-site-tz="Etc/GMT-0" data-custom-props='{"logged_in":"0","wptheme":"pub\/dusk-to-dawn","wptheme_is_block":"0"}'

Load Info

page size162192
load time (s)0.067329
redirect count0
speed download578298
server IP 192.0.78.13
* all occurrences of the string "http://" have been changed to "htt???/"