The Book Shop

I can’t even begin to tell you when I first started coming to this bookstore. I love books – all kinds of books, but especially mysteries. Somehow esoteric and meaphysical books seem to find their way to me too. These are worlds that I can easily inhabit, that fold themselves around me and shut out the “real” world. But then, which of these worlds is real, and which is not? A good book, a good cup of coffee, and I can be lost for hours. Or is this where I really find myself, and the lost part is the day to day world? I don’t think that I want to know.

(c) June 2021 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Quite the thing, these trips down memory lane. We each have our own perspective of what happened. He keeps coming back and asking questions. Basically, he wants to know why. I am not sure why. I am not even sure that it happened. Well, he did disappear. We were at the lake, on the pier. It was a sunny day, but I can only see it through a haze. We were talking about moving to Paris. Then I found myself back home, but he wasn’t there. Yes, after I reported him missing I did go to Paris, where I lived for many years. On my own terms.

(c) May 2021 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

The Hidden Path

The hidden path is something that makes itself evident to us. We can look for it, but we will not find it. It has to find us. I hold the memory of my hidden path close to me. it mde itself evident in my early teens, and provided me with a place to go when I was feeling lost inside. I would go there, meditate, and write. I still visit there as an adult – and it always brings me home to myself. I started up the wide steps, in the middle of the forest. There was a small building at the end of these steps, not a falling down building, but a solid one. As an adult, I had purchased the property as a “placeholder”. There was no upkeep – it always stayed sturdy, waiting for me.

(c) May 2021 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author,

Winter Wonderland

I have always loved winter – it is beautiful, and one has the time to think. I have thought, and I have made my decision. The movers will be coming next Tuesday morning. Everything will be going into storage until I decide where I want to be next. My bags are packed, and I will leave as soon as the movers leave. The real estate company will bring in a cleaning crew, then they will place the house up for sale. The neighbors will be surprised, but I had to do it. They were getting a little too close to my secret.

(c) February 2021 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

The House On The Hill

Knottingham Hill – yes, this is the right street. That must be the house, right up there. It has taken so many years to find him, blockaded behind a corporate front. Yes, he left mother well off. Yes, he paid for our schooling. But he vanished … that is the whole point, he vanished. I am not sure that I want to know him now. We all paid a price for his decisions, but I am starting to see that he did also. I don’t need to know the reason why, I just need to let him go – to release him from my mind, and from my heart. He no longer exists.

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(c) February 2020 Bonnie Cehovet

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The Mask

 

So many masks – the streets are filled with them, the salons are filled with them. It is the time of the mask – even though the masks may not be there by choice. It is a mandated thing, these masks. So we put them on and venture out. However we feel, no one knows, because the mask hides our face, our emotions. So this “new world” that we are building, is it being built on truth, or on what we want other people to think is the truth. Design your mask well, my friend, for it becomes who you are. Salud!

(c) June 2020 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

The Year 2020

Stairway To 2020

Another decade passed. We begin the journey into the new decade, up the stairs into … what? Time passes … we have no choice, it just passes. Where we were once the youngest in our crowd, we are now the oldest. What do we want from the new decade? To live the best life we can? To protect our values? Is our best armour truth? Or is our best armour our personal truth, which grows with us. Do we need to slow time down, or do we need to simply march to our own tune, whatever that might be? You will find your answer in the mirror of life.

(c) January 2020 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibied without written permission from the author.

Jack-O-Lantern

I never have been good at carving pumpkins, at creating the “Jack-O-Lantern” to grace the table (or doorstep). I still do it every year, and I enjoy both the creation and watching the candle light flicker in the dark. I stick with simple faces – eyes, nose, and mouth. But I do admire the work of others, where the creative muse takes hold and a whole other world is created in front of us. It is magick on the Harry Potter/Merlin level, where the more you watch the candle light flickering, the deeper you go into that world.

So Mote It Be.

(c) October 2019 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.

Finding Me

Coming here was the best decision that I ever made. The house is welcoming, the cats have settled in nicely, and I have a place to write. That is very important – having a place to write. Yes, in one way or another I have always written. I kept personal journals, was secretary (by default, usually) for the childhood groups that I belonged to, and secretary for the groups that I belonged to as an adult. One of my fondest memories is writing up the meeting notes when I was a Camp Fire Girl, and walking them down to the local newspaper, which published them. (This was in a very small town.)

I worked in clinical laboratories as an adult, and found myself writing test procedures. That was just as satisfying as any other writing to me. As long as I was writing I was happy. It is starteling to look back, and to recognize that each part of my writing life reflected the part of life I was in at that time. It was telling my story, my personal story. As a child, I was very introverted. Any writing that I did allowed me to show my face to the world, to participate without really having to participate.

As my life expanded, my writing expanded. In high school, I loved the writing assignments. In college, I loved writing about what we were studying, taking writing apart to see what made it tick, and putting it back together again. But my need to make a living got in the way. My focus turned from writing to running lab tests. Even then, though, I liked reading all of the material that the pharmaceutical companies sent us, writing procedures,  and putting together lab manuals – the “rules and regs” for the labs that I ran. My formal “face” at that time was a scientific one – people knew me through my work. I validated who I was by understanding my work well. The psychology journals fell by the wayside, and lab journals took their place. For that period of time, this was who I was.

But then I changed. Well, I allowed myself to express another part of me. I had always studied metaphysics as an avocation, so I made the choice to segue into it as a vocation. Now I was writing about all kinds of things, doing blogs on the Internet, and sending out a monthy newsletter. All of that fell by the wayside. I kept metaphysics as a vocation, but dropped the blogs and newsletter.

Now I started doing book and deck reviews – first for a friend’s newsletter, then for a leading Internet review site. I was very happy doing this – and amassed a ton of books and decks! But that got old, and I slowed the reviews down to only the things I was really interested in.

I had moved to another state during that time, and was really not happy there. I won’t go into the reasons – they are boring. I stayed there as long as I did for many reasons, but I was finally able to cut those ties and move here. While I do have roots here – and yes, I do intend to stay – my decision has been to honor my need to be a loner. That perhaps is my true face – that of a loner. Am I comfortable in how I see myself? Yes. Does my writing reflect that? Yes.

So where do I go from here. Can I support myself with my writing? Do I dare venture into genres that I know little about?  I am going to take a gamble and say yes. How is that going to play out?

Ending Number One:

I am going to write a screenplay about my time in Atlantic City. I am going to paint the true picture of what goes on there, about who owns who, and why things are done the way they are. The surface of any big city shows ony what some people want you to see. I can tell you about going down the rabbit hole, about losing yourself in an environment that is so foreign that no one really understands it. An environment that supports whatever brings in the money, whatever makes the biggest splash. Where the best thing to do is to fly under everyone’s radar. Keep a smile on your face, and keep on walking.

There are doors that you do not want to open, and lines that you don’t want to cross. Big Jim found that out the hard way. I won’t write about him, though. He was basically a good person who got caught up in evil things. Now the Kelsey twins – I will write about them! Their story is a never ending saga of greed and corruption, hidden under expensive home, expensive cars, expensive cloths, and a gigantic black hole where morality should be.

My face here is that of the narrator – the one who tells the story. My story remains hidden.

Ending Number Two:

I am going to write a series of books reflecting life the way I wouldlike it to be. Where the people are not morally bankrupt, where life means something, and where small town america thrives, even in the big cities. Each person has a story to tell, a story that is intimately entwined in the stories of those around them. There is a beginning, middle, and end – and it all makes sense.

The people next door are the people next door, and  not terroritst, drug dealers, or participants in a witness protection program. Neighbors are there for neighbors, and people do the right thing. Their stories reflect life as it is – the good and the bad. People trying to reflect solid values into their lives,  people happy to be who they are.

My face here is one of the people next door – a neighbor reflecting solid values, happy with who they are, living in the present, and wiling to question that which seems to be a bit off.

 

(c) July 2019 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.

Gunshots

flash fiction

I hear the gunshots – always three shots, in rapid succession. I see the hand holding the gun, I see the bullet moving in slow motion. I am  an observer here. I hear a woman screaming “No!”, then I see the bullet hit her. Blood splatters everywhere. I lose consciousness. Someone lifts me up, and takes me back to my room.  The next thing that I know, the house is filled with whispers and movement. They said that my mother vanished – that she left the house one night and never returned. I am not so sure that is what happened. And the dream refuses to go away.

(c) January 2019 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.