SlobbsBlogg

Whodathunkit?

2012-01-25T02:08:00.000-06:00

5 months. Wow. 5 months since I posted to my Slobbsblogg. How bad is THAT? So much has happened, is happening and I get so bogged down in the drama and the worry and the day to day mundane, all other things pass me by. Including, I guess you my trusty blog. My whipping post. My deepest cut.
The sun comes up and the sun goes down and I grow older and still nothing is different. Why beat a dead horse? Why lament? Why cry over the spilled milk, I ask you? Who wants to know my inner workings? Who really gives a shit?
Ha, now thats the crux, isn't it? Who indeed.

Well as I type this I am trying to figure out where to go from here. More prose? Who Knows?

All I am is all I am and I am not you, and you are not me. These are things I have discovered. Another thing i have discovered Is that I have been programmed, like Data, or Robby the Robot or some other android. You push a button and I dispense help, advice, money, (fill in the blank)..I am also paranoid, distrustful and a downright bitch. But I haven't always been a downright bitch. I used to be nice. A nice lady. Someone called me that the other day and I looked at him slanted like to see if he was making fun of me. All he said was "hey, nice lady." But he was smiling like a snake so who knows if he meant it. He's sort of a bitch too.

Here is something someone told me today when I made a comment, perceived as out of order. " I accept your fear and worry as compassion."
Well whodathunkit? I never looked at it quite that way. I suddenly felt patronized for being a bitch. HAHAHAHA....

Ok...so moving right along, who is reading this? Lets see a show of hands. Have you all gone bye bye or are you still hanging around waiting to see if I croak and leave you some money. That's a joke. I have no money.

Love ya...

inferno

2011-08-03T12:06:00.002-05:00

A heart is
a center, a nucleus
a white hot core.
Pulsatile,
writhing
a seething mass.
Loathing implodes
going nuclear.
Shattered and
far flung
into the abyss.

And now,
cooling-
drops
of malice, like
blood drops
of Lucifer,
shine as
ghostly white orbs,
glinting reds and gold
a memory of inferno.

synaptic gaps

2011-07-12T09:45:00.001-05:00

Widened spaces slowly sealed
with the spackling
of senility.
Packed in tightly
filing in the empty spots;
leaving no solutions
or questions,
or worries,
only a delicious slipping.
Expectations fall away
Now free to glide the halcyon days.

Label People

2011-06-14T23:53:00.008-05:00

In the kitchen
when the lights are off
and the humans
lay a-sleeping,
There are many
wonderlands
hidden there,
Inside the pantry
keeping.

In the quiet of the night,
secret life comes to life.
(It's the people of the labels)
inanimate before,
characters we knew
from years ago,
and more.

You say you haven't seen them?
Why certainly you have!
While you sleep
they are there!
Hush now,
and be very, very quiet .
(don't let them see you stare.)

They party deep into the night
Until old Raisin bran sun
peeks in the window and says
“it's getting light!”
Then back on
the labels they go,
strike their pose
And no one knows.

Quick, Look!
over by the spices
It's the Morton salt girl,
trying to escape
bad weather
forever and ever.
She skips through the rain,
that only she can see,
spinning her umbrella
oh so aimlessly.
Always calling
for her pup,
and even though it rains all day,
she keeps her spirits up.

You know I'm
No rhymer
But there she is now..
Electric Aunt Jemima
in her do rag rappin'
and tappin'
and singin'
old time gospel songs,
that she was taught
in church.
She's a-mixin' up
some griddle cakes,
and hollers
“Ya'll chillen
come on now
and get you some
while they hot”.

Amigo Juan Valdez
and his donkey,
that burdened beast.
Bringing the delicious
hot coffee
to the morning feast.
Coming slowly up
from Columbia
bags loaded with
the magic beans.
He makes his way
through jungles
each day
hardly ever being seen.

Mr. Clean scratches
his shiny bald head,
some things
he just don't get.
He tries really hard
to keep up
with the Old Dutch chick
who hasn't scratched,
not yet.
She cleans and
she cleans
all night and day
and her work is never done,
and she's never, ever left a scratch,
no, not even one.

She told me once
She would sure like
to meet the lady
who wears the electric blue bonnet,
the very same one who always says,
“Every thing is better
with blue bonnet on it.”

Tap tap, tappity tap,
here comes Mr. Peanut,
toe-tappin' into the room
moseyin over
to the Morton salt girl
and sweeps her 'round
like a broom.

Twirling and whirling
like a Fred and Ginger routine
(A spectacle that this bunch has never seen.)
The label people whisper,
“They are the perfect pair”
For good old salty peanuts
make the most delicious fare.

Mr. Stay Puft
Marshmallow fellow
is with that gal
Swiss Miss
and she is in the family way;
you see,
they are expecting
chocolate baby
marshmallows
any old day.

Mr.Oscar Meyer
of the Wiener tribe
is busy getting in shape
and learning to speak jive.
Getting ready for
the big fight against
Ball Park Frank.
who plumps when you cook him,
and plunks when you hook him.

Not only will he win the golden sword,
The champion will win the big wiener award.
(Previously held by the Prontopup Mort.)

Chiquita Banana with her long shapely legs,
reminds us to
never ever ever
put our bananas
in the refrigerator.

Her ripe bananas jiggle
when she gives a little
giggle call
and suddenly the kool aid man
bursts thru the kitchen wall
to get at those, ahem...
thirsty kids again.
Over in the corner,
by the old wood stove,
a quiet game of chess
in progress,
between the
Quaker Oats man
and Old Uncle Ben.
They are talking about
the bad old days
way back when
people of color
weren't considered men.
Quaker Oats man said
he sure hoped humans
never make
that mistake again.
Uncle Ben said
'with humans,
prejudice never ends.'

The Keebler elves argue
about what to put in the
NEXT BIG SNACK,
and when the cereal gang barges in,
its an all out attack.

Snap, Crackle and pop get
involved in the fray
while the Irish Catholic Elves
and the Cereal Protestants
are having turf wars,
about the flavor of the day.

When they all get
too loud and rowdy,
Aunt Jemima gets worked up
when she hollers for them all to
'be quiet fools, or
them humans will wake up”,
you know you better stop,
(shes got that wooden spoon in hand
to give your ass a pop.)

Soon Raisin Bran sun peeps in
to remind them its time once more.
And if you are very quiet
some rainy day
you may see them again.

Revised Gift of 7

2011-06-09T22:23:00.002-05:00

The Gift of 7

The rain stops.
In the steamy mist
i spy 7 in that murder of crows.
And as I pass, they call out
as if expecting me-
awaiting my arrival-
bringing me the gift of 7.

A secret that's never been told.
A journey that's never been made
told in echo and caws-
then suddenly lift off squat and absurd, airborne
as if hurled into the the lifts by unseen hands.

Deb O'Brien

Revised Sylvia

2011-06-09T22:21:00.002-05:00

Sylvia

Like her, I know
the flatness of men,
the urgent sounds of beehives.

Like her, spiraling
down and down.
Falling like Alice;
the madness swirls
beneath me; and I,
always clinging
to a flimsy rope,
a lifeline;
yet ever closer.

And from the grave I hear her
whisper to
take the plunge,
finish the fall.
At the bottom is
the raging river where
I seek the language and
let the words go and go and go.

Hard won sanity shivers.

Deb O''Brien

Digging around in pockets

2011-05-27T00:25:00.006-05:00

Reaching into your pocket,
searching for clues
not wanting the answers,
not really, but fishing anyway,
I find a handful of fear and
alot of uncertainty.
No surprises there, I think.
I compare it to all of mine and drop it in the trash.

in that little pocket in front,
I find a ball of hatred,
so hard and intense
It was too hot to handle,
and better left alone.

finding many holes
where assorted dreams
and hollow promises dropped out,
left strewn about in the wake
of your stumbling steps.
I find harpoons of reality and
disappointments among the debris.

And in a back pocket I find what I am looking for.
I knew it had to be somewhere, after all.
In that back pocket i find a small packet of crushed spirit,
balled up tight like a cigarette package.
Gently I pull it out and fluff it a bit, giving it air.
It gives a little chirp when touched, a bright hopeful sound.
It trembles in my hand.
Weak and misshapen from lack of attention.
Malnourished, contractured.

I feed it drops of my blood, and it laps hungrily, tongue lolling for more.
It looks up with puppy dog eyes and nuzzles my hand.

The other things I put back into pockets.
This I keep to feed.

Party of the century

2011-05-24T22:00:00.007-05:00

This is from the workshop of Memphis Writers Ensemble. It is a group effort of several authors. A very interesting exercise with very interesting results....Thanks Valentine!!

Entangling!
Ah, the cultivation of virtue, of rotational motion executed.
Instantaneous changes in store for the soiree attendee
trainee.
Man's nature, inborn, fraught with assumption
and conundrum.
The voice of the body, a spiritual being,
coincides with freedom and security-
like an escapee of known matter.

Indeed!
This shindig, this bacchanalia
with vibrational patterns in a fixed exchange rate.
Imbeciles! The truth is before the eyes.

An acceleration, like rivers rushing to the sea,
it has become a spinning and nihilistic object de art-
confederacies of ladies in serpent skirts, their pointed toes dipped in white milk.
Private excitations of rushing pheromones, like rivers rushing and hushed and whispery.
Transvestite-like, five-star, clown suited generals worshiping man
while dancing the cha-cha with
"she-who-lives-in-every-cretin"
within every primal garden
where Juntas of erect stems
constantly shed blue blood.
like breathable air around gaudified innocence.
The cannibals chomp through pubic hair.

Entangled!!

2011-05-08T17:49:00.001-05:00

Bittersweet day
Hope peeps her precious head up
Enamel coated heart unconcerned
Another days useless energy spent
Shambling through the stickers
Wading into the ever thicker muck
But that damn hope comes back
Like a desperate stray dog
With nice eyes and big paws.

Our Ophelia

2011-03-06T09:33:00.007-06:00

Watching you unfold, slowly
a thing emerges, a hope;
one so dashed,
so shattered
upon the rocky shore
of my own heart-
jagged and edgy
and I know your heart
and when you look at me
i see you look through me
and you know my heart.
Once they beat as one
when you grew within
now you grow without
and dare not return
until it is too late
and my days are done;
yearning to sail home
to Ithaca.
Lost and alone
never knowing the way
with endless flailing
backtracks.
Eyes see nothing;
lost in a vision of seeking
Oh! the beautiful madness
such a righteous distraction..

Eyes see nothing, restless heart.
Endless red haze
To stop is to die.

Predictible Orbits

2011-03-06T09:07:00.005-06:00

Anywhere but here, and since that day seemed so long ago, strange that now it wasn't. And when she felt so radiant, like the sun had blistered away all the layers of skin and left her bare and exposed, secretly hidden away in the dusty rafters of childhood knowledge; many days had passed wasted, unheeded. Life, like an art film replayed in fast forward motion, like the visions that come at life's end, we imagine. Flickering in the dark, sitting alone in the theater; sitting for review.
Thoughts mumble low now, no longer shouting down one another for limelight, accustomed to being disregarded, they politely wait their turns. Assimilated, subservient.
Pain becomes part of the limbic landscape inserting itself here and there like scrubby cacti succulent and bristly.
Houses of doors slam shut screen doors sifting air and memories and breathy whispers and silky tongues bring discontent to orgasm, and it comes unexpectedly in waves of greens.

The Unwritten Letter (or keeping the dragons back)

2011-02-17T21:20:00.009-06:00

In your letter ....
the one you didn't write
you told us why.

Why you took
that old blue chevy
that road warrior chevy
that 78 blue chevy
and drove it straight
down to the dump
where you took your life
with your best friend's gun
back in 1988.
It killed him too, you know.
When he was told, you know.
He died himself
not too long after.
He would have given you
the shirt from his back
the 57 skyblue T bird
in his collection
if you asked him for it.

So he gave it to you
that day without
asking why.
That last day
when you came by
his house
that last day
when your own house
was in order
and your family house
had a new roof.
He did not know
we had taken your guns.
Taken because mother
was afraid of you
after 50 years
she said you were
different and scary.

He didn't know
we had your head
cat-scanned
and checked
for strokes
and tumors
because you walked
around behind
our mother
with your hands
in your pockets
acting so strange
and she thought you
had a knife.

So we took
your guns away.
But he didn't know
and he loved you
like a brother.
He wasn't in our tribe
didn't have the 411
so he gave you his 44
Why? because you asked
him for it.
And he gave it to you.
And in your letter
you didn't write
you told us why.

But we already knew;
we already had
figured it out
even though you never
left a word for us
or a thank you card
for him.

Becoming

2011-02-01T17:00:00.000-06:00

Pauses of pulse
feels an eternity
as the fall begins
it starts again
insistent and onward
(Inviting longer pause
in secret)
And only to slowly vanish
with each breath and surge-
erased and transparent.
Now only words are visible,
full of air and echos-
hollow tones and holes.
Death dances like
the edge of firelight
flickering warm, inviting.
Circles of gathering
fear and belonging-
all are joined in endings
for each pulse is wealth
and, with pockets turned out at the river
all is poor in death.

I am from .....part deux

2011-01-26T17:22:00.011-06:00

SCHZOID-DUH

BEFORE IT ALL FELL APART

I am from tittering and muffle it
and shut up, your bobby's gonna smell it.
Blum blum bluming to the house of the girl
with purple feet,
where it is running away weather.
Forever and ever.

I am from Unison-Venison
Note-the-bobbing-heads
ok-give-me-a-piece-of-paper,
And I'll note it.
From Pappa and Babba
and Mamba and Margarine
Little head and Ed.

From Cosmo Uriah Benzentine
And Alfie and Moon and Rocky.
From Its a Baby Cat, baby cat.
And Crane the Butler Set
Mitha-Migga Vaughn,
And Ehhlen Pins Burnette.

From globules and nodules
and fungus and yeast!
Why, Rocky should ring
like a phone, at least.
Brrrring Brrrring!
What did you bring?

From Note the Lips
to blue suede hips
And Skelly had a party.
For you, it may all be a mystery
But makes such perfect sense to me.

I am from...

2011-01-21T09:58:00.003-06:00

I am from Africa
deep in jungle love
with Tarzan of the Apes,
dreaming of swinging vines
and a tree-house of my own.

I am from a hazy fog of cigarettes
and shots of old medley over ice
of black and white TV
with vertical lines
and rabbit ear snow.

I am from survivors
and suicides wasted lives,
from martyrs and madness.
I am from rage and resignation
rape and redemption.

And now I am from down under
holding up the weight of where
I am from.

Walking at 3 am

2010-12-24T21:50:00.005-06:00

Northwind bends tree
hissing icy sleet
peppers the street.
Shadows flee
where feet
and sidewalk meet;
darkness echos
footstep in corners,
walking the brick
under the beams
around the corner
and back again.

Snarky Snorp.

2010-12-13T23:05:00.004-06:00

Truffles afoot and torn asunder
this parcel of hogs is out to plunder
and snuffle the truffle and hoof it about
then dig it up with a dirty pink snout.

The trick is to get it before it is ett.
(Piggys gets giddy with truffles i bet)
Would you reel him in like a fish on a hook
Or give him some slop and a really good book?

(Sorry, I just finished watching The Grinch)

Death in the family

2010-12-12T13:46:00.006-06:00

Waxy still warm-
recently deceased.
Lying quiet among
living towers
of ruddy inebriation;
Not of my tribe
the squat hearty sturdy
rooted in reality
mired in sobriety
sorrows not soaked.
Purposely unpickled
Sealed up-saved for later.
Sooner longs for later
and the last silent stag
slips into the shadows,
and the stage is set for change.

Chest of Drawers

2010-11-23T10:56:00.004-06:00

Between words and mouth,
is a vast wasteland
of dead space.
Heavy with heartache
and humility
filled with rage
and guilt.
A vacuum
of unspoken pain
and deep trenches
of resentment.

seven

2010-11-23T09:44:00.004-06:00

The rain stops
in the steamy mist
i spy 7
in that murder of crows-
as I pass, they call out,
as if expecting me
as though awaiting me-
as if to bring me
the gift of 7.
A secret that's never been told
of journeys never made
told in echos
and caws-

then lift off squat and absurd;
hurled into unseen lifts
and airborne.

Yams and Hatters

2010-10-19T15:46:00.006-05:00

I am what I am
my name is no matter,
I might be a yam
Or perhaps the mad hatter
measuring your noggin
Upon which i crown
A fun feathered derby
To wear around town.

But, if really, i am a yam
then cover me with butter
sprinkle on some cinnamon
and of course
some good old brown sugar.

Take up the delicious tuber
and bake it good and done
slather on the butter
and slice it like a bun;
offer it some cinnamon
and smother it with sugar.
Sweet creamy carotene-orange
with a fork she made her mark
tastes so good and good for you too.
And now she can see in the dark.

Sylvia

2010-09-21T16:46:00.003-05:00

Like her, I know the flatness of men
and the urgent sounds of beehives.
Like her, spiraling down and down,
falling like Alice; the madness.
Hold to a flimsy rope and heave up
again and again.
And from the grave I hear her
whisper to take the plunge
finish the fall
at the bottom is the raging river.
I seek the language.
Let the words go and go and go.
Hard won sanity shivers.

Thoughts on thoughts

2010-09-21T16:32:00.003-05:00

Thoughts
Flowing
Spiraling
Surging
slowing at a narrow
Flinging bits of self
Across the landscape of paper.
Words make a break for freedom.

There is a breeze moving the humid hot air
kicking ripples across the stillness of water,
And like this blank paper
it is filled with teeth and hooks
and nibbling lips
kissing the under-surface,
showing me they are there.

But the things moving under the green scum
are invisible to me.

A list of things that makes your heart beat faster.

2010-08-13T12:58:00.003-05:00

Icy patches in the road, sudden dips.
Dark corners, strange neighborhoods
strangers lurking.
Unknown dogs.
Being lost, alone on dark roads.
Phones ringing at 3am.
High fevers and fear.
Scary movies and
Shambling monsters.
Roller coasters and sex.
Supreme cuteness and surprises.
Caffeine.
Adrenaline.
Cocaine.
Chocolate.

Thoughts on a Friday afternoon

2010-08-13T12:44:00.003-05:00

Knowledge of what I know has a direct relationship to what I think I do not know.

For instance, the fact that I am an RN in a Cardiovascular Intensive care unit setting does not mean that I should have knowledge of foreign languages and music conducting. Lets examine this array of random thoughts.

The language of medicine has its own dialects and inflections as spoken by people of various cultural origins. One has to be able to read what appears to be Arabic instructions on how to conduct the care of the human being entrusted to one's care. A returned call in the middle of the night sometimes requires an interpreter, as it is most important to hear and understand what is being said and written.
Players in the orchestra of patient care gather to play their parts in the concerto. Consider the patient a beautiful musical piece and the medical staff, nursing staff, and all areas of the hospital, harmonizing with the rest. Nurses are the conductors of the music being played upon, bringing all parts together and focusing on the music.

The rhythm is provided by the life sustaining muscle residing in the center of the music.

Blinky things and Brain jogging

2010-07-15T23:39:00.003-05:00

Boy, have I got writers block or WHAT? I come here to my old slobbsblogg and look at the blinky thing on the blank screen and nothing comes.
I walk away and get involved with 942 other things, and it comes but then it leaves, It's like having writer's Alzheimer. I know it must be partially related to not being around my writing friends this summer, but come on. Nothing?
I have rewritten some of my old stuff that was carelessly jotted down in a notebook and put it into a beautiful journal. Not even that inspired me. But ok. I will be inspired by this perhaps. Just the act of typing and thinking of something witty to say maybe will jog my brains.
Nope. Nuttin so far. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I don't like my blog template anymore. I will work on that.

Let's just see what happens....

Absent without leave

2010-05-25T15:07:00.002-05:00

Life sure is funny, and to get thru all the ups and downs, you just have to take life on it's own terms, i have realized. There is no rehearsal it is strictly an ad lib kind of thing.
Improvise, you know.
Improvise and overcome.
Or not.
Succumb is also an option.

A little update is in order since you have been so kind and supportive of me and my crisis du jours.

The grand daughters are doing great, looking forward to a fun summer with Aunt Lindsey, who is home from her freshman year in college. My other daughter is doing great and has been accepted to UT chattanooga and is moving into her own place soon and completes the first leg of her journey of recovery. We are very proud and excited and happy. This time last year I was not so optimistic. Thank you Lex for that lightening of my spirit and saving your own life. You are on your way up again. Awe inspiring.
Gratitude is such a small word to express how I feel.

My writing has lightened up alot, and I will be sharing it soon, but I needed to update any who might be interested in the good things happening..
Because I was so low for so long and it was not a good time for me and my family, my writing was dark and reflected my grief and sorrow. I hope the lightness will be just as obvious...

Peace and happiness to all my blogg friends.

Small talk

2010-04-05T16:18:00.004-05:00

Greetings earth people.

As I sit here waiting for a "human" to answer my call to the Department of "Human" Services I have come to the conclusion that they play the most irritating music they can find to subliminally encourage you to hang up.

So I did. I don't have enough patience or hours left on this planet to be sitting on eternal hold. You know what I mean?

Took my grand daughters over to Chattanooga last week to visit my daughter, and it was a beautiful week and we have a lot of good time together with her and the girls. It all worked out perfectly and I really like the city and surroundings landscape; very beautiful mountains and valleys. I would love to go back in the fall and see the colors change. Memphis is so flat and blah. The trees greened overnight!
My car was covered in yellow green pollen and there was a yellow green cast to the world. My nose was itching off my face, so i know for sure spring has sprung.

It twas a long drive back home, though. Do you know it cost more to fly to Chattanooga from Memphis as it does to fly to Europe? Is that not insane? Something is amiss, afoot, aloft or asomething!
So that means we will be driving, not flying back and forth.

So the month of March is behind me. My muse is still on a mini vacation, and that's ok. She deserves a break. I did what Valentine suggested and I asked her what she wanted and she said she wanted me to get up and exercise and get the blood going to my brain again. She wants me to be inspired by happiness and be not so negative. She wants me to go on a retreat and get my head together. She would like for us to write some funny stuff and leave the memoir for later. We have decided on the point of time for the memoir, but it has to be later, sayeth she. Right now is time for funny and renewal. Not reflections on the times of controversy, not now. Maybe one day when my perspective is better, she said. So she said she was glad I asked, and said she would be back soon, and flitter-ed off.Said she would be back.

And that is that.
The rest, they say, is up to me.

Enough babbage...........have a great spring week. I'll be on the elliptical.

Feelin' Sorry for myself.

2010-03-25T10:55:00.004-05:00

Here we are at another spring season. The trees are all happy and ready to burst into green goodness. Little yellow flowers trying to get a head start on the show stealing roses and irises, trying to get their moment in the spotlight. I, for one, am glad that long winter is closing. I usually love the winters but not this time. My entire 2009 was a winter and I am ready for a renewal of spirit, hope and happiness.

The words seem to have dried up, however. With the lack of drama, angst or anxiety, my little spark of creativity seems to have gone out. Im hoping my muse is just taking a well earned break and will be back soon. I get the paper out. I read what I have written. I wonder about new themes and then i put it all back up. I read books on Writing Well, 100 habits of Great Novelists, The Constant Art of Being a Writer, You, Too, Can Write Childrens Books, and so on, and it occurs to me that I might not have what it takes to be a writer. I clutter, my usage is bad. I use cliches and other forms of naughtiness that "serious" writers shun and make fun of.

I miss my writing group, i miss the camaraderie and the support and the feeling of belonging to something. They make me feel better about it all.

So here we are at another spring morning. What shall I do? I need to vaccuum, and mop my floor. See how I sabotage myself??
Where is my muse at moments like this?

To Kafern

2010-03-09T16:03:00.004-06:00

You sure have been on my mind alot lately. Not that I haven't thought of you before, but you see, my heart was not allowing any more sorrow at the time of your passing. You couldn't have picked a worse time to die, unexpectedly.
You, such a vibrant being, your light blinding. Those who stood with you paled next to you, at best. And when that light went out I felt the shadow, but could not really acknowledge you were no longer on the planet with me.

My body was at your memorial, yet my spirit, my essence, was absent. Occupied else where, out to lunch. Pondering my errant offspring, no doubt. We always said you would be late to your own funeral and it was really funny how they started late in your honor, but in my opinion, for once in your life you were too early, damn it.

You were late to your wedding because you had to stop for 7 or 9 different "last times" as a single person. "The Last Time To Eat A Foot Long Slaw Dog at Sweeden Kreme as a single girl" we ate them in that car flying down Jackson Ave., as your wedding started without you..wiping mustard off your face as you threw on the big white dress, and sneeking "one last joint" in the bathroom, "as a single girl", of course.

And later, much later, while waiting on the baby (well, actually TWO babies) you shared your "secret worry" that the baby might not be Dale's, but a mixed baby. Well, you really got me on that one, I really believed that, and I had Dale so plastered by the time the TWINS came, they could have been lime green and he wouldn't have noticed. Plus there was two instead of one.

Why didn't we know there were twins in your massively huge stomach? Because you were the master at keeping everyone guessing. I know you knew, you must have...but you let us all be surprised when the two baby girls popped out. You just never knew any limits on your tricks, old trickster.

I knew it had to be you who put me on the incontinent supply mailing list, but all you said about that was, "well, it wasn't me, but it's a great idea!" Just like when you put me on Reverend Ike's mailing list and I was getting all of his prayer doo dads and his demand to "loose my money to him."

And you were the spearhead on the late in life pregnancy parade we all participated in, too. Megan was first to be born, and we teased you mercilessly about "don't you know what causes that?" and "we are too old for getting knocked up".
Then Michelle got pregnant.
Then Laura got pregnant.
Then I got pregnant.

So, here you are once again, the first to check out. Is this going to be another trend? Well, all I can say is, I hope you are there keeping a beer cold for me. Tell Janis hey for me, will ya?

I will see you again, old friend.

Moisturization and other matters

2010-02-08T22:05:00.003-06:00

It has come to my attention lately that I spend an extraordinary amount of time with skin products and emollients, moisturizers and conditioners, thickeners, smoothers and silkeners and the like. I mean, I know that father time is having his way with me and sucking the juices out of my body like a vampire leech so it's not really a big surprise, it's just sort of annoying for someone who really never has been (and still isn't) a make up-fix-up girl-doll-up kinda gal.

My skin over my hands is beginning to look a bit like parchment paper and what I used to call freckles on my hands are now leering back at me as "liver spots".
Liver spots? What the hell does that mean?
Not to mention how when you pinch up some skin on top of your hand it stays pinched up.....The blue veins are so visible I attract the attention of nurses and other medical personal who are itching to start IV's on me for practice.

My skin on my face was holding up pretty good until I lost the weight of another person and now my forehead is inching its way down over my eyes. Sometimes I actually have to hold it up to see something. Im thinking.....if i could just pull a poney tail up tight enough who needs 10 thou for a facelift, ya know?
Im even thinking about .........gasp..........Botox injections around my eyes because I have to conciously stop squinting them and frowning.

In other words its all going south. Gravity is winning.

Then there is this mole on my jaw that sprouts 4 white hairs every couple of weeks. I yank it out and then one day, just like that, it's back.
Also, When you yank them out, it feels like it is coming out of your neck.

Then there is all the foot and nail care. Nuff said bout that.

So, Let me sum this up. After 50, your body stops making its own oils, grows random hairs wildly, your hair falls out, gets thin, gets white, forehead slips down over eyes and then you go blind and deaf, get grumpier and grumpier then can't remember what you were doing. You may start to pee on yourself too.

Excuse me while I get my Oil of Olay.

Dear 23 followers

2010-02-04T23:00:00.002-06:00

I wondered if there was anyone out there still reading this thing or if I am alone in the world of slobbsblogg? My ego made me ask that, by the way. I had nothing to do with it.

Just give me some kind of sign...

Memphis Urbanities and other items of interest.

2010-01-28T16:38:00.004-06:00

I have been doing alot of writing lately and feel good about that aspect but feel like it may be time to try to pile some of it together for an attempt at publication. Now I have no idea if my insane rantings and ravings and ramblings are of any interest to anyone, but I have read some stuff that seemed random and disorganized, like mine. So i think I have a pretty good shot at it. A little book of poems and prose ramblings and so on.. What do you guys think?
Does anyone here have anything published and could maybe give me some advice?
I really have no idea where to start.

I have started a photo blog of my city of residence called Memphis Urbanity, and have been having fun taking photos of different aspects of my city. Please feel free to go have a look.

http://www.memphisurbanity.blogspot.com

It is very difficult to get good photos with my cell phone so I have started taking my digital camera around with me. It takes much better pictures, thats for sure.

Big bad weather is supposed to hit us tonight, and Memphis is trying to get prepared. I, on the other hand, am dying my hair. I guess I will get up after while and go to the store so I can say I got my bread and milk. What I really want is a generator. Now thats a good idea. We have had a few times where one would have been really helpful. Especially that time Hurricane Elvis blew thru here and left us without aircondtioning for 2 weeks. We had a big meat cookout and cooked everything in the freezer. I think we had just bought half a cow. After we finished up all the meat, we got in the car and drove to Detroit, Michigan to stay with relatives.

Day in the life.

Delicious Caramel Candy

2010-01-25T23:01:00.002-06:00

Delicious caramel candy.
Sticky, stringy,
perfectly burnt sugar.
Jaws achey with love.

Crunchy candy apples.
Yummy, sweet and tart
gluing teeth together
aiming for the heart.

Melting chocolate candy,
orgasmic for the tongue,
soothes the savage beast within;
bathes the brain like a drug.

The Zen of Laundry

2010-01-21T13:10:00.004-06:00

Women's work, she irons.
Smoothing the wrinkles
making limp now crisp
starches and sizing.
The smell of hot linen
like incense, is
balm to the nerves,
calm to her hands
that long to wring at each other
and reach for old habits.

Hiss of hotsteam rising, she presses down,
as seamless sleeves take on new store creases
and buttons spread wide for a hot metal penis
to smooth the wrinkles between them.
A cuff, a collar, minor details,
hems that won't lie flat.

A creaking wooden board stands
waiting at attention, its constant companion
cold and quiet now; but hot and hissing is
a thing alive.
A seeking, steaming intruder
Waiting for the call of the wrinkled,
the limp
and the woman with the restless hands.

Claws N Fangs, Chihuahuas and taters

2010-01-12T20:30:00.003-06:00

One month later after "shitfire and tarnation" I am coasting along nicely, I still have a pulse. In other words, I didn't die.
Daily life around here is hectic at best. My inner biznatch is closer to the surface than ever, and I have to beat her back continuously, at home and at work. I usually go to work to get some rest, but here lately, our laidback weekends have taken on a weekday persona.
Add to that a recent addition to the median age of 45 in our tight little group, a youngster of 23, who delights in annoying the old people. (us)
I have had to retract my claws and fangs several times this past weekend and once or twice snapped but didn't draw blood. She is like a yapping chihuahua. You know, the-little-dog-who-thinks-shes-a big-dog syndrome? I digress.

There is that, and then there is this cold weather that makes my bones ache like they never have before. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. It's not supposed to get this cold in Memphis..we are subtropical for gods sake.

So the Memphis Urbanity thing really hasn't worked out like I had hoped it would, mainly because my cell phone is not good for sneaky pics, and the quality is crap. So I need to carry my digital camera around with me everywhere. I think that is a winning idea, because not only will I get good Memphis URbanity photos, I will be able to practice with my camera, which I haven't spent nearly enough time with due to my current living situation. So Im thinking thats a definate thing I can do.

I have a lot of plans in my head for house improvements and yard updates, but not any money to back them up, so I have been working some extras for that plus daughter number 2's tuition....sigh.

Waiting on my husband to take me to the movies, I am full and sleepy. He made divine ribs for dinner and we feasted on that along with the slaw and beans he lovingly made. He has turned into quite a southern gentlemen. You rock in the rib department sweetie!

Not to be outdone, I made some kick ass chicken N dumplings last week, and they were dang good, too. I like not HAVING to cook everyday, but I still enjoy it when I want to do it. Beans and hambone sound good too......mmmmmmmm. Wonder what happened to that honey baked ham hambone? Hmm.

Well, keep your eyes open for more postings, I hope to get back to this on a regular basis, I have resumed my writing class with my friend and Muse, Valentine. I keep thinking I can do it on my own, but I enjoy the camaraderie of the group writing too. It validates me somehow. So does this blog, when people comment and say things about my writing, makes me feel like maybe I am a little bit talented. I keep thinking maybe I will start on that book but I keep getting locked up in rhyme and poetry. I guess I am working on some issues through abstract writing. It IS rather therapeutic.

Since we have a babysitter for one more night, Hubbster and I are going to see Sherlock Holmes. Maybe I can figure out how to figure out stuff.

Laters taters.

Well, shitfire and tarnation

2009-12-08T21:19:00.002-06:00

Life is always just full of surprises, isn't it? When you think you might be making a little bit of progress, WHAM! You get knocked back 4 places and don't get to pass go or collect the 200.00 or any thing even remotely like it. I just have to ask myself what did I do to deserve all of this drama and suspense? I know I should be thankful for certain things, but dammit sometimes it's hard to be thankful when it seems like the shit is falling out of the sky directly on to your head. I keep wondering what can I do to turn this karma bus around?
I have been trying to play house in an insane asylum for a lot of years. I am most likely the head inmate, the Chief Broom of this facility, if you will.

It's like Ellen said, "What if we were really in an insane asylum, and you are my toast. I would be talking to my toast." It makes perfect sense to me now. It made sense then too, but I kind of forgot it somehow along the way. We used to say if you don't get all the crazy out now (as a teenager) you will be crazy when you grow up. Well, now we know, right? I guess I didn't laugh and get it all out when I was a kid, because I am crazy as a loon now.
But I have been driven here.

Ranting right along, I would like to say that this comedy/tragedy will come to an end one day. One day this old slobblogger won't be here to comfort her offspring, offer them sanctuary, loan them money or otherwise offer her services. What the hell will happen to them then? I guess they don't really worry about it, so why should I?
I do believe my heart is becoming stone. I have no emotional outbursts nothing surprises me anymore.
I can tread on eggshells and mostly do not break them. Is this a skill that I should be proud of?

My heart is heavy is leaden. My face feels like it is growing longer, my frown lines deeper, and I also suffer from terminal slum-pucker. My favorite thing to say used to be, "don't expect anything, and you won't be disappointed." Well, I should take my own advice, right?

Right.

2009-11-25T20:12:00.005-06:00

Aloof, Adrift.
Pondering precedents
of quaking witches,
spells spoken aloud.
The stench of putrification
surrounds all, masking efforts
to wax normal.
We divine spontaneous combustion...
Rabid with needs and cringing.
Sinister, shadowed, unsafe
Awaken!! The day is no more

The games squirrels play

2009-11-10T14:09:00.002-06:00

What a beautiful and brilliant fall day!

Is like the sun and the leaves and the sky are all competing in a beauty contest. So much darkness and rain has surrounded my life this year but a day like today makes everything else seem so washed out and distant.
I love the crisp air of fall and the atmosphere of an impending... something. It's like you are waiting, but you don't know what for. I have discovered in my ponderings and reading that Autumn is when you say goodbye to the sun, prepare for the cold long dark winter and look forward to the greening of the earth and the new life of spring. So I guess we are waiting for the return of spring...I don't know for sure what it is, but I like it.
My friend Ellen and I used to call this "running away weather" because we would always plot our escape in the fall. And if we did run off, it was always in Autumn. Once we "ran away" on her minibike and was carrying my dog moon on the small scooter as well as my bag of clothes and treasures. A motorcycle cop stopped us for riding triple on a scooter, without helmets, going the wrong way on a public street. In fact, he said, we were breaking about 562 laws but he would let us go if we promised to go home. Ok, we said and tottered on our way, still laughting about it 40 years later. We were not scared at all, and we kept asking him did "he see Evil Kinevil jump all those buses on TV last nite".
I think we might have made his day. I am not making this up.

I love to walk along, kicking up leaves and crunching on the fallen pecans and acorns abandoned by the hyperexcited squirrels as they run to and fro getting everything ready for winter. Right now they are all fat and wild for nuts, dashing into the street without a clue as to what might be barrelling down on them. I always thought birds and squirrels played a game to see which group could get closest to a car without getting slammed by it. You know how birds dive bomb cars and squirrels dash out in front of your car? I imagine they have a point system, rules and keeping score and everything.
Birds and squirrels.

Sitting here thinking of birds and squirrels and leaves, I have an urge to write something poetic.
But I will restrain myself because I think I might be wearing out my poetic muse, and I might need to switch up and write something fiction-ish.
I have put off this children's book forever, and now might be the right time. My ten year old editor is living with me now and she is my best and worst critic. She has a fine eye for a story. I'm glad shes here. She is very light hearted and I need some light hearted-ness in my life. I hate that I have to enforce things such as homework, but oh well. We all had it. It has always sucked.

I also think about cooking soup alot on these fall evenings. Soups I would never even eat, like cold pumpkin soup or clam chowder. What's that about?

My newest obsession is eating ice. I can crunch through a Mickey D's sweet tea in 3o minutes flat. I suck up the tea then commence to chowing down on the thin glass like shards of ice mixed with sugar flavor until my teeth and mouth freeze up or Im done. Which ever comes first. And if my mouth freezes up, well I just wait until i get feeling back in it and then im at it again.

I have also developed a bad starbucks pumpkin spice latte habit. 360 calories folks. Everyday. So now I have to quit that, also my tea at McD's. That is about 300 cals too. That's alot of empty calories, folks.

Anyway, I just wanted to show ya'll I'm still alive and kicking in Memphis Tn and not dead after all.

Peace out.
Deb in Memphrica

Visceral Discomfort

2009-10-23T08:45:00.002-05:00

When the low notes flowed
from your soul
into the smelly brass.
Swaying, breathing
liquid brown eyes
closed in rapture.
Fingers reaching
for keys,
eyes fixed on me;
always waiting for
the encore.

Summer's End

2009-10-23T08:24:00.006-05:00

Air, crisp like the first bite
of a new harvest apple
whiffs of smoke from
a distant fire
A wispy memory of something primal,
urgent.
Smells like running away weather.

Flat sound of endless water
on pavement
the old timers say
"like a cow pissing on a flat rock".
Wetness like a woman's promise,
for new life in the spring.

Darker earlier,
days grown short.
Later longer.
Green turns gray
Light creeps away
before the end of the day.
And in the endless night
any ray of light
seems so bright.

Night lingers
with cold clammy fingers,
stirs old fears and dread
and sleep, as if dead.

An Ode, and an update..

2009-10-17T23:34:00.004-05:00

Watch for a new segment of blogginess soon. I finally have that great camera phone to capture the unsuspecting Memphricans and plan to add to the human interest story, along with our Philidelphia photo fiend, Lora of "Fever", "Oh the Urbanity" and "Jakezilla", whose brainchild this is.

The link is Memphisurbanity.blogspot.com. We will be exploring Memphis on a whole new never seen before light.

So, watch for it.

The writing has been slow, my grand children has taken all of my free time. But I am slowly coming back. Hopefully I still have an audience..

So until then I leave you with a parting gift:

Ode to Kippl-ishious Kit kat kipper

Ever was there a story written,
Of love in a 20 pound package?
With stripe-ity fur pajamas
white footies on front feet
Knee socks in the back.
Explosion of furfat belly
And big pink nipples
Eyes like an owl.
All catittude
except those emabarrassing times
when shes caught
rolling in dogfur tumbleweeds
or scooped up by the humangirl
who hunts her down to cuddle.

The Quietest Thing

2009-09-23T00:24:00.004-05:00

After all of the words;

the verbal victories and defeat,

the examinations, ruminations

dissections and assasinations.

The Taking Down

and Tearing Apart

dismantlement;

inspection, introspection

justification, reiteration

retaliation, annihilation.

After all of the the weeping

and wailing

thrashing, gnashing,

lashing and bashing

lying, crying, sighing

and dying.

After all is said done, signed, sealed

delivered, dumped and disposed of,

the only thing left standing

residual or real,

timeless and tangible

stiff with substance

silent and solid

judgmental, intuitive

unmovable, immobile, rooted.

Is the persistently quiet of Knowing

with invisible eyes closed,

hiding behind the veil

of delusion and doubt.

Waiting for the freefall

of faith and courage

into the abyss of truth.

In the Silence.

2009-09-14T23:20:00.003-05:00

In the silence, I can hear

whirrings of the gear

that is sort-of around my ears.

In the silence, I don't see

how anyone can't see thru me

and see the urgent need to flee.

In the silence, no chaos here

the existence of nothing to fear;

maybe is why i feel so queer.

In the silence, a pulse rings

thru my head and sings;

making me imagine things.

In the silence, seeking noise

joys and different toys.

It's the silence that annoys.

RANDOM DEB THE BLOG-REPORTER...TOPIC- OTHER PEOPLES BLOGS

2009-09-07T23:48:00.006-05:00

I have been catching up on my Blog Reading and trying to getting back in the swing of writing again. My writing seems to be turning the corner, I seem to be coming out of the very dark place that I found myself in for so long, and I am very happy about that. Lots of good stuff going on.

I am very excited about an upcoming event here in Memphis that I am proud to be a part of. Our writing group, The Memphis Writers Ensemble spearheaded by a wonderful woman named Valentine is going to have a booth at one of our local festivals, this year. The booth will feature a different writer every hour or so and if you would like a poem written about you, or a photo, or an animal or a baby or whatever you have with you, for $5.00 a little piece will be created for you on the spot, handed over and the money goes to a local charity. It seems like a good way to spend time with my co-writers and it will be very spontaneous writing. I wonder what It will feel like to give away my creative bites of spontaneity? I hope I can let them go easily. I get rather attached to my oh-so-random thoughts.

Speaking of random thoughts, I subscribe to a blog produced by a man who has advancing Alzheimers and his blog is fascinating to me. You may have heard of him If you watched HBO's special about Alzheimers disease. His name is Joe Pocotny and his blog is Living with Alzheimers here on blogspot. I believe he is very brave to get online and blog about what is happening to him on a daily basis. Some days he sits in front of the screen and can't remember how to turn on his computer. He has post it notes all around. He wonders when he will forget how to read his notes. Most of the time he is mellow and funny, but alot of the time he is very colorful and forthright in his anger of the toll his disease has taken. He is a very intelligent man and it shine thru his blog. Go check him out, he loves company. Joe's blog is awesum.

Some days I wonder If that is where I am headed. Some days I feel like there are blank spots in there, or a short circuit. People tell me thats normalwith age and stress, but I think Im pretty aware of it when it happens and its very uncomfortable. It makes you feel inadequate in some ways. Like when people catch you forgetting something, they think ahhhhhh....shes getting senile. I don't know. Maybe I am.

I did my share of partying a few short decades ago. Maybe I damaged my brain smoking all that pot. It's been a long time but I could maybe be a test subject for a new age propaganda film, "THE DANGERS OF SMOKING POT AND LONG TERM EFFECTS"

It's no secret I was a smoker, everyone who knows me knows it. But what they don't know, perhaps is that I never really liked it. It made me nervous and jittery and never all calm and laid back, like everyone else. And I don't know why I did it for so long. So don't ask.

Another blog I totally enjoy is one called Oh the Urbanity! by a cute little gal named Lora. I started out reading her Jakezilla blog and shes so funny and entertaining I naturally gravitated over to her other blog, a photoblog called, Oh The Urbanity.

What she does is she walks around town with her really good cell phone camera, and snaps pix of such random and interesting things, that every day I can't wait to go see what she has posted. One thing I have noticed, in her town of Philadelphia, is that the people there tend to wear entire ensembles of matching colors. For instance one lady was wearing a orange Fru Fru dress, orange head band, orange flip flops, orange bag, and the whole thing was orange. Kind of an orange sherbet orange.

She captures all sorts of interesting signs, and transvestites, and bicycles with additions such as a double fan apparatus across the handle bars.

She is encouraging me to start an Urbanity blog for my fair Memphrica...

I have one photo already I snapped while in line at the post office, but I felt so obvious and i felt like the people behind me were watching me take a picture of this lady who was dressed hideously. Our photojournalist Lora is a professional and can do it while everyone around her thinks she is texting, but she's probably taking your photo. Especially if you are dressed weird.

Go check her out. Oh the Urbanity! on blogspot.

More to come............

My first attempt at COVERT BLOG REPORTING on why fat girls should not wear ? bikini unders or maybe a thong thing.

I, myself, am a fat girl.

Luv yall

Light and Still-life

2009-09-01T13:24:00.015-05:00

-Life
littered with debris.
Stickyspots start out as
spilled sweet-tea
sugarwater,
drips and slops.
Conscience crumbs
collect on countertops.

Doghair tumbleweeds roll in;
gathering in corners, then
join together to make small dogs.
Organic brew in rubbermaid bin
Oldflys die of natural causes.
Time moves on and pauses...

Darkness dusty
with shades pulled down
no one is at home,
echoes are the only sound.
A heart like a stone,
Jaded and cynical
to the bone.

Light leaks in, lights up
fairy-dust webs dancing on air.
Pinpoints of tiny lights
illuminate the pall of night.
Now, arising from deep slumber
dreaming; dreading the thunder.
The light offers a ray,
a surge of courage.
a thing to hold to;
cling onto today

keep the night at bay.

Ancient crone with ancient broom
awakens, drunk with the light.
Gathers her mirth and
garners her might,
and battles the drudge
of the dreaded drama
from this tomb of gloom

allowing in the light.

Delicious chocolate candy

2009-08-17T19:33:00.004-05:00

Can I just say I love M&M's? What is it about those little jewels of chocolate? It is definitely my favorite candy, that's for sure for sure.
I love the plain ones, but peanut will do if I need a shot of protein. That hard little shell is like a little clay pot in my mouth. It cooks the chocolate to just the right softness right before it collapses with a papery pop that only a thin candy shell can pop like.
Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

Feeling the raised M with my tongue and squishing it between the roof of my mouth and rolling it between my teeth, feeling the little clicks like glass on glass.

Two, three, or six at a time, rarely ever just one. Matching is very important in M&M world, for instance 2 browns and 3 greens is a good combo, as well as blue and yellows.

Lay them out straight on a rolled up tongue, or pack your jaws full and suck the juice and squash the chocolate all over your cheeks and teeth. Then open your mouth and show your friends.

Of course you can always just sit them out prettily in a candy dish for decorationing. They look like lovely little buttons. But if I come by, beware, I will eat your pretty little buttons.

There is no such thing as a stale or old M&M.
If fact, when King Tut's tomb was opened, guess what they found in there? And that dude, Sir whateverhisnamewas....swiped them right out of that sarcophagus, and ate them before any photos were taken. He couldn't help himself because he, too, was an M&M junkie.
Not many people know that.

There was also M&M's found in the Aztec catacombs...apparently used as trail markers, but were so small and hard to see in the dark, that the poor Aztecs got lost and ended up in the jungles of Ixiltan and became Mexicans.

But I digress.

I bet there are even some M&M's on Mars. Oh, wait. Mars MAKES them...

Making my way forward.

2009-08-06T00:55:00.005-05:00

Ok People..
I know.
I have done what I said I would not do, and made too many references to morose and negativity and disappointments in my life, when this blog was supposed to be fun and an escape from the realities of life. But alas, drama and woe is part of me, part of who I am and what I am becoming. Ying and yang. Positive and negative. Black and white. Right and wrong, yes and no.
I could go on all day in this vein, but I will spare you this untested philosophy and justification of the situation in the nation of Deb.

On and on it goes. Round and round like a circle dance. Occasionally I have to dance in the middle. And, I don't much like it.

So here we are back at the keyboard, mending, healing, re-creating myself yet again to fit the needs of those around me, wanting to become a real person.
Molding myself into motherhood when I should be folding into cronehood.

As someone once said: To everything there is a season.
I guess we never know what season is coming, so we adapt. And become.

I am not sure what the future holds for me, that's for sure, but I have learned some things about myself the last few years, and they are mostly good things.
One thing I have learned is I love to write stuff.
The bad part is I don't make enough time for it. Seems like everything else comes first.
That, for sure, needs to change.

Look for it...

Smootches..and back to work....

Deb the dragyonfly girl

Pain

2009-07-17T13:14:00.001-05:00

God hath wrought a plaque upon me
Raging like a wind ripped fury
Tearing my heart up from all moorings
Flung about, contused and abraided,
lacerated.

Fevered with pain, a soul is bleeding
Bleeding to die, bleeding to live.
A pain I cannot feel, but mine
so constant a companion,
cultivated.

Beloved one so settled now,
Soon to be unquiet.
Beads to form
upon your brow
the yellow cast
of perfect skin
While the fire ants stir
your blood.

Slumber now my love!
All to soon you will arise
like a vampire.
Your cycles set to night
to walk with
the living dead;
A zombie yourself.
Shambling toward your victims
as they hold a green lifeblood
jingling in deep pockets.

Prick your flesh,
close your eyes
and it will go away.
For a day.

Safeheart

2009-07-01T22:39:00.004-05:00

Cherubim hover

awaiting a moment

unawares...

The heart's an empty house.

Waiting to be filled..

Needing; but knowing not what it needs.

Wanting; something unknown.

How can you miss what you do not know?

Mother's Hands

2009-06-23T21:50:00.010-05:00

These are my mother's hands,
old hands with blue ropey-roadmap veins
that other old nurses leer at, wantonly,
ready to insert a large gauge IV,
using no tourniquet.
Hands that flutter together like moths
when the urge to smoke intrudes.
Hands that are washed too much.
Hands with loose skin
like tissue paper
and weird brown spots.

Ten stubby fingers with nails,
too ugly to paint,
easily broken.
Just right to bite.
Hands decorated with 6 spinning
shiny rings,
too large for the spindly fingers
of a blooming old lady.

Hands with a life of their own
with their own ideas about things.
Reaching for babies
braiding long hair.
Stroking strange cats and dogs,
holding bristly insects and
the cool smooth skin of snakes.
Touching a brand new flat top haircut
and the smooth baby-soft skin
under my husband's beard.
Checking for fever, and pulses
Calming the fearful
the confused, the confined.
Reaching out
even when the rest of me doesn't want to.

Hands that have slapped and swatted
and spanked.
And stroked and sweated and clapped
and held on to other hands
trying to anchor us together
on this wild ride.

Hands that are in league
with the heads notion
of writing.
Not even concerned with
the continuous short circuiting
between them.
They sit ready over a white expanse of paper,
until the head produces a random firing of neurons
trying to regurgitate an original thought.

Tornadoes and Burger King

2009-06-16T16:37:00.007-05:00

Friday PM..one of the few times that I am actually completely alone at home, getting ready to go to work, while watching this red horseshoe shaped storm hurtle towards us on the doppler radar, Im thinking to myself, "I should have already left". My elderly dog who pretty much ignores me, was wrapped around my legs. Now, technically we should have had plenty of daylight left, but suddenly we were in the dark, as the electricity (predictably) went out. Our power goes out if you fart too loud.
So I gather up my candles and kerosene lamps and commence to looking for a lighter. In a house hold full of smokers, you would think lighters would be plentiful. This is not the case over here. You can never find one when you need it. Suddenly I notice the outside has turned a yellow-green color and the wind is howling, and my dog is looking up at me like, "Uh...can we like, take cover now?" So we head to what I like to think of as the center of the house, the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and hold my sage and citrus candle in the dark and Neelix, a fifty pound husky, is behind the toilet.
Now for you folks who don't live in Tornado alley, a yellow green atmosphere is never a good thing. Its not the actual sky. Its the air. Its what the world looks like right as the cold and warm fronts meet.
Hail is next and is pounding loudly on the metal awning as I waited impatiently for it to "blow over". Then a deep rumbling, thought something was just vibrating. So didn't worry about it.

Only later did I find out that that noise was a tornado going over my house. It picked up a tree around the corner and flung it into a house, ripped a branch off my tree and hurled it into my pool, bending the frame, but sparing our house.
It took a right turn and mowed over several utility poles at the corner and killed power in our neighborhood for several days.
It went a bout a mile and took a left and mowed down trees along a busy road in Bartlett.
I have heard Tornadoes referred to as "the finger of God" and I agree with that powerful statement. Just a touch and all is splinters.
I am grateful that we were not really affected, other than the slight bent frame of our pool and a few hours without power.

It seems like we are getting more tornadoes than usual lately. I guess it must be the global warming we are hearing so much about. Burger King here in Memphis was advertising on their signs that Global Warming is Baloney.
So I am done with Burger king. I really don't eat that crap anymore, but I'm especially done with them.

I guess everyone has a right to his opinion, and I have a right not to spend my money there.....It's all good.

We all live in a yellow submarine

2009-06-08T22:06:00.005-05:00

Ok, I admit it...

I guess I am having what is known as a "mid life crisis" or something. I read back over my worry post and had to laugh a little. Mainly, because the post didn't even begin to touch on all of my issues. I have discovered that life is not how it appears to be, sort of like that warning in the rear view mirror "object may be closer than appears." When you wipe off some of the layers of facade we pile up, you get a little glimpse of how it really is. Even as close as we are with our own selves, we tend to paint things to suit our view, and then we are genuinely surprised when we discover our folly. I think that has been referred to as "sticking your head in the sand, wearing rose colored glasses, etc." I have decided that all that sand and paint and wallpaper creates a wall around our hearts to protect it from the truth, and it takes a lot of picking and peeling, blood, sweat and tears to uncover even the smallest inch of wall (truth).
You think you got it all together and are set for life then one little thing can happen to completely toss you out of your little orbit. I have met so many people who this has happened to, and it scares me, especially since I feel like I have only a tentative and slippery grip on my orbit...We try to take can of our own, but the gravitational pull of all these planets are changing our elliptical shapes. LOL.

Another thing...
I find myself caught in what seems to be an endless loop of repetitive activity and this is beginning to seriously annoy me. I am bored out of my mind. I seek out things to do to keep from being bored.
I make crazy and compulsive lists and fill up every speck of spare time to keep from having to have any empty time. I am very uncomfortable with spare time. Some people seem to have an excess of it.
This leads to a discussion of my compulsiveness. I have to wonder if I am compulsive or if the others are just lazy as hell.

Hmmm....Well needless to say, Im not crazy. LOL...
Good nite....
End Of Rant

Grrrrrrrrrrr

2009-06-02T18:37:00.002-05:00

Most of my days are spent worrying. Why do I worry so much, I ask myself this constantly. How can I stop? Does anyone worry about me at all? Is this like some kind of genetic trait? My mother was a worrier. She was also very nosy. I am what I like to call, curious. But that just means nosy. My kids call me Nosy Nancy behind my back. Isn't every parent nosy? Nosy Nancy. Isn't that nice?
Well, I guess I resented my parents intrusion into my "life". I never saw the forest for the trees either. I wish I can remember when it all became so clear. When the curtain of delusional thinking lifted and I saw how things really were, and how it was going to turn out, if I didn't do something and fast. Thats when I decided to take my sister In Law's advice and my brother's advice and go to nursing school. I never wanted to be a nurse when I was small. I think I told ya'll before that I wanted to be an archeologist...but I just figured out that wasn't going to happen and I thought, ok, i gotta do something. So the rest is history, as they say.
But nobody warned me about this worrying thing. At least the part where you still worry about them after they are 20, 30, etc.
Now I get to worry about grand children, too.

Is there a pill to make you stop worrying? If there is I sure would like to get it prescribed.
For now, I guess I'll just have to distract myself. But when you wake up thinking about a thing and it stays with you all day, something tells me that can't be healthy. I hope I don't have a stroke over it. All my relatives died of strokes or heart attacks. Only one died of cancer and that was my mom, the worrier.
I am being really morbid, aren't I?

Oh well, just venting....nobody said this was just gonna be a happy poem blog. I have a rant blog too....but that is too personal to make public. People might find out how I really feel...LOL.

Ok, that's enough for now. I feel better.
Thanks for listening.

Joon first....Neurons are firing...

2009-06-01T22:27:00.004-05:00

Dragyonfly's Dreams

Peach Nectar sweet-like crystalline sugar
and thick ice water kisses...
Mermaid dreams in tangerine poses
amid night absinthe-asphyxia.
Pink milk and honey,
eggshell cotton candy-
icicle fractured
glass-eyed firefly.
Tranquil.
Languid.

Creative Workshop Grand Finale...for now.

2009-05-29T00:05:00.004-05:00

Creative Writing workshop public reading was tonight at a local bookstore. It was the grand finale of our Daffodil Series, as Valentine loves to name each series. I was sad to say I wouldn't be present for the Summer (woodpecker) series, but I have every plan to go back this fall.
This piece was one I have been working on for a little while...you might recognize the first few lines. It came to me while diddling and twittling around with my writing practice, that all the major bumps in my life could be seen as Lions that were trying to consume me. Big hungry Lions. Savage and ferocious Lions. Lions that travel in packs, gaggles, tribes or herds. All manner of Lions. The common theme was that they looked just like ordinary background, because they blend in so good, you never see them coming.
Some of my Lions I will share today, some I have already shared, and Im sure there will be Lions later on....

To all of My Lions

Lions, my lions.
Strong and yellow eyed
Muscled and maned
menacing
Jaws to bite
Claws to catch
The color of grass.

Lions, my lions
Hiding in plain view
measuring the distance
panting with hot breath
planning the pounce.

Lions, my lions.
Father, were there
too many hours lined up
on the clock for you?
Too much time to fill?
Bone tired, soul weary
Iron will worn thin
Rusted rooted wretched.
You took a side door we didn't see.
The epitaph reads wrong
Your reason was warped but
your reasons were right.

Lions, my Lions.
Mother, there is life in this pain, pain in this life.
In all of your suffering, you are becoming an angel,
earning your wings.
Breeder of family
Brooder of ties that bind
Tender of fires, of futures, and fathers.
Such mortal pain will surely be rewarded.

Lions, my lions
The head knows the truth but
The heart will not hear it.
It lays naked on the floor
for any who would look.
Yet veils cover the eyes
fog clouds the brain.
What the heart wishes to see is
the reality.
A mask hides the face
of a spirit unknown
Emerging as points razor sharp
Ripping the fabric
(draped as certainty of what is thought to be true)
into shreds of grief
for who used to be you.

Lions, my lions.
We breed glowing eggs in the
dreamscape of life,
We the victors, the virtuous women.
On our journey we take such translucent wanting
and
Our memories of water.

Lions, my lions.

Stuff and Junque

2009-05-19T17:48:00.005-05:00

Well all the excitment of the whirlwind beginning of May is over and I'm whupped. How can you get so tired from having so much fun? I need a vacation to get over my vacation....LOL. So to recap, a good time was had by all...Now back to work. My last creative writing workshop is looming and Im kinda sad. But I think I need to move forward now and either write that book or go back to school myself. I have been a nurse for 24 years and I would like to change gears, but I would like it to involve writing, reading or editing or something wordy. I know I am done with health care schooling. I just can't do that anymore. When I see my friends struggling with their studies as they go through various programs such as Nurse Anesthetist school or to become Nurse Practitioners, I know I don't have that stuff in me anymore. So here are some pictures of my little trip to Destin to prove I had fun. We visited with some friends who have a sailing business and they were so nice and showed us a wonderful time on their boat as well as had us over for dinner the next night. Thanks Chris and Rex!!

Graduation Celebration

2009-05-10T14:31:00.003-05:00

Well, she did it!! She got her diploma and we survived the week. I am so pleased and happy for my daughter, she has marked one of several big milestones of her life. I hope she can one day appreciate what she accomplished. I know some people don't think a high school diploma is a big deal, but when you think about what all lead up to it...12 years of commitment to a goal it puts it in a different perspective. How many things do people commit to for 12 years. I can't say it was an easy road for her, or us for that matter. There were obstacles and she had the expected bumps in the road, but overcame it all and became a self sufficient learner. She taught herself how to find resources and ways to seek answers that were not immediately available. That is one beautiful thing about homeschool, is that you don't always have someone there with the right answer, and one of the most useful things you can learn is how to find out what you need to know.

We had some great tutors, too.

As for me, I loved having her home so I could spend time with her and watch her grow and learn.

Graduation is the end of one thing, but the beginning of another so we are happy and sad at the same time. She is now a woman and has stepped over that threshold of childhood.

I look forward to all the next milestones in your life, my sweet girl.

My little baby girl Lindsey

2009-05-05T01:11:00.005-05:00

My baby graduates next weekend and I am so proud of her.

She is so smart and funny and bossy, Im positive she is going to go far in life.

She knows shes a "whoops" baby, but I wonder If she knows how much fun I had with her. She is 10 years younger than her oldest sibling, and shes also my late-in-life baby. My other two kids and me sort of grew up together, and I was very self absorbed and trying to go to school to be a nurse and make some money for us to live on....so we struggled alot.

But, by the time she came along, my nursing school was over and I was well established in my job working weekends, so I got to spend alot of time with her and we got to be pretty good pals. I really am glad we decided to do the homeschool route, because who knows how things would have turned out if she had continued to have to fight her way thru public school in the 2nd most violent city in the US.

As a veteran homeschool student, she is good at finding resources and being an independent learner and self starter, some really good qualities in a changing world.

I have enjoyed being at home with her, probably more than she has enjoyed me being here. This year has been very different because the rest of the family is home all day now, so that makes the time we had together even better.

So this week we are planning a graduation for Saturday, and then a barbeque afterward, then it's off to Destin, Florida to lounge around by the sea and rest. I hope to have some sea inspired writing to share with any who would read it. At least I know I will have some sun and a belly full of shrimp.....

I can't believe she is all grown up.... She will always be MY baby.

Writing Prompt....Is life getting better or worse as you get older?

2009-04-29T15:17:00.002-05:00

This little writing prompt caught my eye and I went past it, then came back to it, then went past it again.

So here I am back with it. I must be wanting to address it, huh? LOL.

I don't know about it being "better or worse", but it is decidedly more intense.

I attribute part of that to my wildly flutuating hormones, and partly to the people who add drama to my life.

I sometimes wish to be left alone and frequently daydream about leaving with no forwarding address, but then, I realize how utterly lost I would be. I would surely find someone else to worry about, some stranger. Because that is how I am. (Plus I would miss these misfits of mine. ) Because the other part of the equation is that I am a person who gives a damn. I can't turn it off, get over it, fageddaboutit, move on, put it on the back burner or blow it off.

As my darling husband so sweetly pointed out the other day, I'm like a bulldog when I get on to something. I don't think it was intended as a "dis". He was just being honest and I know it, too. I am also a "fixer". So combine "fixer" with "bulldog" and add in the variable of "equally stubborn children" and you get a volitile compound. (Ok, I know you didn't sign up for a chemistry lesson, I just thought was kinda cute.)

As I get older, I have noticed I am more critical and I don't like that. I have become cynical and jaded and I have a new tendency to gossip. I find I don't have time to volunteer. My world revolves around, well, my world.

As I get older, I insist on time for myself and my writing and exercise (even tho I can still BS myself out of it) . My weight loss has given me new energy and endurance, yet I have less tolerance of other people's shortcomings.

As I get older, my skin is dryer, my hair is getting grayer, my eyes are getting foggy, my memory is getting crappy and If something doesn't hurt when I wake up, I make sure and check my pulse.

As I get older, world events piss me off more and I get even more confused about politics. I never really understood all of that but now it's so complicated I don't even try.

As I get older, I realize the importance of a lifetime of learning and growing in all directions.

As I get older learning and growing are very difficult.

As I get older I feel my time clock ticking and a vague sense of urgency.

But Im glad to be older, glad that I am here and healthy, and to have a family. That is alot more than alot of people have.

As i get older, I realize that is all that really matters.

A little poetry 4u..

2009-04-28T23:59:00.004-05:00

A Haiku for you:

Bone tired soul weary.

Wrought iron will worn thin, rusted.

Rotting and wretched.

Formless Freeform Fateful furp:

Lions, my lions,

strong and yellow eyed killers

maned and muscled

soft with claws to catch

maws of death

The color of grass.

A Luc Bat (vietnamese poetry)

2009-04-22T22:51:00.005-05:00

Charon

In this darkness, I lie

if a shadow can, cry aloud

to mock the reaper's shroud

folly to be so proud, so wrong.

To disregard your song

I knew it all along, you see,

For it lived deep within me

My heart held the key, to unlock

the ever ticking clock

and to my utter shock, I died.

Soul Armor

2009-04-14T17:16:00.006-05:00

The head knows the truth, yet this heart will not hear it,

truth laid bare for any who would look.

A veil o'er the eye,

a fog clouds the brain

what the heart

wants to see is

the reality.

A mask hides the face

of a person unknown

emerging as points

razor sharp.

Ripping the fabric

draped as certainty

of what is thought to be true,

into shreds of grief for

who I thought to be you.

Second go round in creative writing workshop

2009-04-14T00:22:00.007-05:00

Our newest writing group is called the Daffodil Series, in honor of spring and it is an all women group, this time. Our leader predicted it would change the flavor of the group's writing, and it truly has. I am enjoying it immensely and am learning alot about writing styles and most of all LISTENING to others readings and being able to process it and have an intellegent comment, even though sometimes I seem to misunderstand the content, I think, but I am developing my ear.

Last meeting, the topic of "mother" came up several times during the session. I wonder if has to do with Mother's day coming up or we have a pregnant member, or if most of us are mothers. Whatever it is, it started out predictibly enough, with the writing prompt...."mother, is..." and the writings spanned from deep feelings of anger, sadness and joy, appreciation, awe and sorrow. Dr. Freud (or was it Jung?) could have used us as his control group, because "mother" seems to have shaped us in ways unimaginable.
I find that fascinating.

I never gave it much thought, unless I say something that she used to say, or if I find myself interrogating my children, as she used to. She knew what I was going to do before I did. Many times she was already where I was sneaking off to, parked and waiting to tell me to turn my ass around and just go back home. I never knew how she did this. My mom was just my mom. I don't think I ever really saw her as an indivdual, as I insist that my kids view me. I tell them frequently that I have a life and I intend to live it. My mom never said that to me.

I always viewed her as an adversary or something to avoid being like. I really wasn't a nice person growing up, I have discovered. I felt justified at the time, but I was very selfish in retrospect.

Of course, she is dead now, and hind sight is 20/20 as they say. I wish I had more time with her. We were good friends the last few years of her life, I got a small glimmer of the real person she was, not just the mom because, at last, I was paying attention.

Well, anyway...here is what I wrote...

Mother, I wish I had been a better daughter.

Mother, my questions are endless

Not enough knowledge I sought

Not enough answers I heard.

Without knowing,

How should I proceed?

Mother, my life is on the edge

Which way should I turn?

Toward comfort and the familiar?

Or the wild and unknown

at this halfway mark,

at this milestone?

Mother, my journey is rocky

So many expectations,

unrealized.

How do I work with this?

Where do I fit in?

Stuff about me

2009-04-06T23:33:00.000-05:00

My favorite word is..BRAWP..try it! Just say it out loud...You gotta emphasize the Br and the P..Your lips sort have to of flap around. My family "brawps" when something is funny, but not funny enough to warrant a full throttle belly bustin' laff.

My Least favorite word....."Nurrrrrse" said with a waver in the middle immediately followed by "I need a bedpan" or even worse, "I needed a bedpan, but couldn't find my call light."

Nasty teeth turn me off.

My favorite sound is John Hiatt's songs.

I hate heart monitor alarms and Iv pump alarms.

My favorite curse word is Bitch...but you gotta say it with your lips flapped out for the B and a drawl in there, and emphasize the ITCH part. Like Bitch Please.

I wanna be a writer.

I definately do NOT wanna be a Gastrointestinal Research Nurse.

When I get to heaven, I want God to say, "Girl, you crack me UP."

Sentinels

2009-04-06T22:23:00.000-05:00

Silently watching the world, I, the ancient sentinel, ever unmoving

see my world green, winter and die, then return to green again.
As I remain... Ever-Green.
Rare lichen nestle my skin

and at my feet, soft green moss and deep shade.

Deep silence.
Countless seasons pass, yet I am ageless.

My deep roots are tangled with the family that stands next to me.

And so entangled, when one falls so may the others who cling to it.
Generations of children and I, standing closely together as one.

Little ones that grow along in the canopy, rooting into my great wooden body.

And we are watching, we will endure.

Time is all we have.

Premenstral Self Portrait, Aka...oh woe is me.

2009-03-31T23:31:00.000-05:00

O! to be cherished and adored
and not dreaded and abhored!
Such a cynic eccentric,
cold, callous, calculating.
Narrow, bitter, impatient.
Manipulative, myopic,
opinionated and jaded.
Bitchy witchy wishywashy.
Not wise or decisive
but aggressive and derivsive.

Tell a story that has been passed down through your family. (If you do not have a biological family, tell any story you remember hearing as a child

2009-03-27T09:41:00.000-05:00

Well, my parents had a weird sense of humor and since I was the last, late in life, whoops baby, I got alot of that good old "one on one" since my 2 brothers had moved out and were married and stuff.
One thing I distinctly recall was whenever my family were talking about something that happened before I was born, and I would ask, "where was I when that happened," they would always tell me "you were still in Africa." So I naturally thought I was from Africa. When I started first grade(I never had to go to Kindergarten, it was not required back in those days) my teacher asked everyone to say their name and where they were from. Ok, you already guessed it, when it came to my turn, I blurted out in my little white girl southern accent, "I'm from Africa." Well, that got quite a response from the kids who thought it was hilarious, but my teacher did not find it amusing at all and accused me right off of lying. The kids teased me for 6 months everytime I came to school.
And so began my journey through school. I have to tell you It didn't get much better. I was either making stuff up, lying or trying to figure out how to stay home. School was a big headache for me, actually.
Another story that I have heard was the story of an old maid Aunt, can't recall her name. She was somebody's sister and was very eccentric. Im not sure which side of the family tree shes from but I'm pretty sure she's a blood related because I have some more family that is sorta like her. (For future reference, all my people come from Arkansas, and you should know that up front.) Seems this old aunt would gather dust up from all over the house, to stuff into the rag dolls that she would make and then sit them around on her beds and furniture. She also wallpapered her house in that thick brown paper they give you to wrap up parcels and meat. All except the ceiling, which she papered with the funnies section of the newspaper, because she was sick of looking at the blank ceiling all nite. (Well, hey, here's an idea, go to sleep you weirdo.)
Then there was another Aunt who rented out rooms in a boarding house, and had a side business of raising worms. One time, she ran an ad in the newspaper which read, "rooms for rent, 25 South Main. And don't forget, I have worms!"
My Uncle Earl worked for the railroad, and once, when a train derailed, he ended up with a boxcar full of scorched jars of peanut butter and he would give everyone tons of peanut butter. He also had acquired a Strativarous violin. (I don't know, so don't ask.) Uncle Earl asked me once If I enjoyed my trip (to visit them, I assumed) and I said Yes. He asked me "well, was it an acid trip or a grass trip?" Now I was a teenager in the 70's so you can imagine the reaction, I thought he was the coolest Uncle ever. He thought he was pretty funny too. My peoples liked to drink a little bit so there was always an intoxicated adult around to make fun of.
I actually had another old Aunt who lived in a place called Locust Bayou, and she had about 13 kids, of which none came to see her in her nursing home when she got sick. I do not know those cousins and don't want to. She was my mom's and aunts half sister, and also their cousin. It's a long story.
Ok, I'll just tell you.
Seems like back in the day, it was customary that if a man died and left a widow with kids, his unattached brother should step up and marry her. So that's what happened. My granny was married to brothers and had one child with the first hubby, then the rest of her kids with the brother of the first, or her second husband.
(Yes, those are banjos you are hearing)

Ok, enough of the straight up family tree of me. We do have a few branches, but our gene pool is murky and a little shallow.

But we have fun.

Strangers

2009-03-22T22:17:00.000-05:00

The Strangers in my skin
lurks around corners
whispers to me.
Wears a dark coat
Stands in doorways
always about to turn away
gives sidelong glances
casts long shadows in
my confidence.
Echoes of snickering,
sounds of wet pavement
and footsteps on empty streets.
The strangers move in the smoky dark.
The faces never revealed, but I know the shadows.

Spring in the air

2009-03-18T18:13:00.000-05:00

Well, spring is around the corner and we are looking at renewal once again. Much to look toward, much to look back on. Very few regrets so far. I am slightly distraught over a family member who is causing me much worry, but I am learning to let go as much as I can. It is difficult to watch someone fall over and over again. But there is nothing to do about it, so I must help myself adjust.
This spring I am going to start putting the Childrens book I am messing around with on my front burner and get 'er done.
I have been taking a creative writing class that has helped me immensely with motivation. Thanks Valentine!

I have big plans for the yard, as well, starting with a new fence and flowers and a coat of paint here and there. Don't want to get too motivated and forget to write.
LOL...

105 pounds ago

2009-03-15T00:15:00.000-05:00

then

now

Some ruminations, preop Lapband....

Going backward. Backing up, doing it in reverse. That is the answer to the question. In seeking how to begin this memoir, where to start has been the main stumble bumble. So I will start here, at the now, instead of the beginning where all good memoirs start. Who cares anyway?
My most current obsession or the obsession closest to the cerebral cortex is the losing of the blubber-suit. I have accumulated an alarming mass of fat on my body. I have no idea where it came from or when it arrived, I only just noticed it. (Now everyone who believes that stand on your head, as my dear departed mother would say.) But for “memoir’s” sake, lets just pretend I just noticed it. From this moment forward, my existence will be to get rid of it. To shed it like the layer of insulation it is. I have become 2 or 3 people and its getting rather crowded in here. Now I always thought that I was preceded by my breasts but now a days I have to look around them to see my feet. Im not happy about that or the fact that I wear a size 26 in pants, 34 in shirts(this is huge) and a six shoe. I look like a pear on stilts with these litttle bittty feet. People do love me in spite of my fat and I know they do. I think they would love to see me in better shape, so I go forward with the blessings I know they send me. My outspoken friend Laura, never stopped telling me how concerned she is. I would get really mad at her but I really know she is right. So as I sit here and make plans and such, I am avoiding exercise. That is how I sabotage myself. I think I am so slick. Walking is how I will begin to move, but when? In the morning? Evening? Afternoon? Morning and evening? With or without dog? With or without child? Before or after the coffee? See? I am doing it again.
Ok...where to start? Ok, I had a baby about 15 years ago and it has been easing up on me ever since. Of course I was a fat child and teenager, then later a chubby adult. Never have I been “thin” but I have been less fat. There are pictures of me to prove it. Some observations I have had include breast feeding and weight loss. I got rid of a lot of immediate baby weight breast feeding. No if I could breast feed all the time, I might be thin. Do any of you have babies you need breast fed? Is that gross? I guess maybe it is. When I was nursing my last baby, I got right back in those pre-pregnancy pants, but as soon as I stopped, bam!! I burst right through them. So I just found some bigger pants and went on. That has been my legacy ever since. I have finally reached the end of bigger pants. I am going to go the other way now. I don’t think they sell clothes any bigger anyway.
I am going to have surgery, one way or the other, im getting rid of it. Wait and see. My sweet husband seems sad to see it go, but he soon perked up and said he was cool with it as long as I didn’t find some sexy Mexican and run away. Now why would he say such a thing? Lindsey, my last child who is also overweight, is way out in the lead and has lost about 20 pounds on phentermine. I am very happy for her. She seems to be on her way. Now its my turn. Im nearly 50 and it’s a turning point for me. Halfway somewhere.
There is a bright and sunny day in my past where I was happy and carefree. No children to worry about no bills, only fun and laughter with my best friend, Ellen. She was and still is always nearby for me to call and chat with. I am pondering those easy autumn days as I ponder my future too. I remember blazing reds and oranges and crisp cool breezes and long walks home. Lurking around on the fringes of my memory, there is also things like cinnamon bread and eggs, with sweet, sweet tea and spaghettios. Bar-b-que chips and chocolate cupcakes, Dr. Pepper and 16 oz cokes. Candy and cokes and chips were the main part of my diet and that set the stage for the first act of my fat play. I liked to eat mustard and pickle sandwiches and mayonnaise sandwiches and Hawaiian punch fruity juicy red. On Saturdays I would make a pizza and eat the whole thing by myself. Strange thing is that today, my favorite splurge junk food junk food is chocolate cupcake and bar-b-que chips. I still like real cokes, but I drink diet cokes because I know that I should. We are what we eat, that’s for sure.

Oceana's cradle

2009-03-11T12:20:00.000-05:00

Oceana's lover

Bits of ancient life ground down by time, now a salty mist
a mist that clings.
Clings to wet skin, clings onto dark and secret places.
Gritty, grainy, crunchy, crystalline-
She cradles the sea, holds the sea, loves the sea.
Is created by the sea-
synergy.
So Soft and cool at night.
Hot and hard at noon.
Packed down so solid by the feet
of the flocks
That find their way there.
These are Sounds of Ancient Seas-
Surf and shore collide in a chorus of constant motion, churning, arching.
Yearning only to be one.
Unchanged by Millennia or Man.

A bedtime story

2009-03-09T21:23:00.001-05:00

We are taking a break from the Froggie who would a wooing go, and his friends Fluffy Bunny to bring you this important announcement.
No, really, this is not that important. I just wanted to do some bloggie stuff, living life stuff, like others do on their blogs. Except I dont make cute paper crafts or cake decorating. I am an amateur photographer, and definately an amateur writer. So I don't have any colorful web designs to show you, but I do have horror stories galore.
Here is one you are sure to enjoy.
As most of you know, I am a nurse in an urban hospital. I work weekend nights with some of the greatest people I have ever met. We are a top notch team of nurses who have over 150 collective years of experience.
How we all ended up on the unit and the same shift, I will never know. We work in the Cardiovascular surgery ICU, and we have some really sick people come through needing various surgical interventions. Most make it. Some do not.
Of the ones who do not live, the ones that really get to me are the young people and when I say young, I mean the 20-60 age group who like to smoke crystal meth and crack cocaine. Two of the most wicked drugs in the world.
See? What happens here is usually the patient is hypertensive anyway, and instead of buying their blood pressure medication, they buy crack and crystal. Now why in the hell would a 60 year old hypertensive smoke a rock of crack, you may ask? Well, we ask that question all of the time and really don't really know, but if you look at the medication history provided by his/her "shocked" family, you will see things on there like... aspirin, plavix, lopressor, and sometimes viagra. Way too old to be smokin' the rock and getting crazy on viagra.
Ok, I admit it. I'm being judgemental, the first "no no" of nursing.
Well sorry but after pouring countless gallons of blood into people who we try to save, after their aortas dissect from stem to stern, I can't help but be a little judgemental. Once or twice we were able to pull them out of the icy grip of death, or the grim ripper as we like to call him. (Not reaper, ripper), only to have the dumb ass go home after 4 or 6 months in the hospital (usually without insurance), and smoke some more crack. Guess what happens next?
They come back in dissecting all over again..For those of you who are not familiar with the term dissecting aorta, it is when the inner lining of that really big artery that carries blood from your heart down to the rest of your body, rips the length of the vessel, it usually starts in the Aortic valve and makes its way to the iliac arteries. That's the ones that feed your legs. In between it hits your renal arteries and sometimes the coronarys. All of this is caused by a violent rise in blood pressure beating the inside of the arteries and eventually, they begin to tear along the inside or Intima. Usually the outside wall holds, but this is not a comfort, because it won't hold for long. When that happens, it is called a rupture and you can pretty much kiss yer own ass goodbye.

So, the moral of this story is, if you smoke crack or crystal meth, you are on a hellbound train. You will wind up dead. In other words, it will kill your ass.

If you know a smoker of crack, please print this off and give it to them.
You can tell them we will be seeing the insides of them after their insides explode. This cannot be overexaggerated.

By the way, this is where alot of the blood supply goes.
And not one of these humans ever has insurance, so guess who's paying for all of this excellent nursing and medical care?
You and me: the taxpayers and insured.

We pour it in, and out it pours back .
All for the love of a rock of crack.

(Sorry I had to do a little rhyme.)

I hope I could shed a little light on the state of our medical situation in my little corner of the world. I know we are not isolated.

The news isn't all bad, though. For those of us who care about our bodies there are so many wonderful and new drugs as well as procedures to keep the surgeons away.

Take good care of your body. Don't smoke crack.

Cracked fairy tales- revised

2009-03-03T04:01:00.000-06:00

A Frog he would a-Wooing go. This is The Original.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This book is a recreation of the original picture book by Randolph Caldecott. This one has a 1988 copyright by New Orchard Editions, Link House, West Street Poole, Dorset BH15 1LL, UK. It was printed in Purtugal by Printer Purtugesa.

The picture on the postcard illustrating this rhyme is the first picture in Caldecott's book. Here are some other pictures from the book. Front cover, Back cover,
The text in this book is similar to that in The Funny Froggy Bubble Book, with the same chorus. However, there are some differences. The frog meets the same demise as that in both The Funny Froggy Bubble Book and in the cloth book.

A Frog he would a-wooing go

A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho, says Rowley!
Whether his Mother would let him or no.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigho, says Rowley!
And on his way he met with a Rat.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

"Pray, Mr. Rat, will you go with me,"
Heigho, says Rowley!
:Pretty Miss Mousey for to see?"
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

Now they soon arrived at Mousey's Hall,
Heigho, says Rowley!
And gave a loud knock, and gave a loud call.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

:Pray, Miss Mousey, are you within?"
Heigho, says Rowley!
"Oh, yes, kind Sirs, I'm sitting to spin."
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

"Pray, Miss Mouse, will you give us ginger beer?"
Heigho, says Rowley!
"For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer."
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

"Pray, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song?"
Heigho, says Rowley!
Whether his Mother would let him or no."But let it be something that's not very long."
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

"Indeed, Miss Mouse," replied Mr. Frog,
Heigho, says Rowley!
"A cold has made me as hoarse as a Hog."
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

"Since you have caught cold," Miss Mousey said,
Heigho, says Rowley!
"I'll sing you a song that I have just made."
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!"

But while they were all thus a merry-making,
Heigho, says Rowley!
A Cat and her Kittens came tumbling in.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

The Cat she seized the Rat by the crown;
Heigho, says Rowley!
The Kittens they pulled the little Mouse down.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright;
Heigho, says Rowley!
He took up his hat, and he wished them good night.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

But as Froggy was crossing a silvery brook,
Heigho, says Rowley!
A lily-white Duck came and gobbled him up.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

So there was an end of one, two, and three,
Heigho, says Rowley!
The Rat, the Mouse, and the little Frog-gee.
With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Rowley!

And Now, My Reply....

A FROGGIE, HE WOULD A WOOING GO????????

A frog go woo?
Who WOULD he woo to?
Some old widder-woman frog, or a
frisky tadpole, new??

(what is to woo anywho?
What a weird word “woo”is, too.
Does it mean to court, date or just to screw?)

Can you see the old hopper
In his red dapper vest?
Clutching a bouquet of weeds
to his chest?
Trying so hard to find a
woman-frog
to clean up his nest.!

Bein' all friendly and charming, too
He covers his warts with a cover-up goo
Trims his froggie toenails, sticks his
wide foot in a shoe.

And for all of his trouble
he finds no one to woo.

After seeking and searching he sits
on the road.
His emerald green fantasy... well
she never showed.
He NEEDED someone to share
his load.
And a thought came to him,
“Maybe I can find a toad.”

The Arrival

2009-02-28T17:06:00.000-06:00

Swerving, weaving, racing, speeding
Tires popping on gravel.
Dizzy Drunk in the backseat
Gripping, grabbing, groping
Wipers slapping, water dripping
Engine ticking like the wombclock.
Tidalwaves of pain slamming my shore.
Pushing, panting, pressure.
A small cry: wailing, wobbly, weak.

My father's hands

2009-02-20T11:43:00.000-06:00

His big knobby knuckles, greasy and dirty splayed out fingernails. Lava soap with pumice and an old timer's knife were his only manicure tools. Hands that could race cars and fixed trains and could weld and make something out of nothing. Bloody scrapes with flaps of skin pulled back and old grease filled cuts were no big deal. Those hands seemed too big for his small size. Hands that held my hand. Hands that tickled my knee and hands that helped with math. Hands that frightend me, hands that sometimes hurt my mother. Hands that gripped a whiskey bottle. Hands that petted a bird and dogs. Hands that could build or rebuild anything. Hands that broke the table in half and hands that gently picked up my children. Hands that could caress and hands that could hurt.
Later, sparkling clean fingernails and liver spots and and a growing tremour and restlessness. Hands in deep pockets jingling keys. Hands that wrung against each other and hands that held his head in despair. Hands that took the keys and droved away. Hands that gripped a gun. Hands that took his life.

Some things I am truly afraid of

2009-02-17T18:28:00.000-06:00

This one is fairly easy..one thing comes to mind that I get a total body reaction to and that is arachnids. AkA spiders. Consider the spider. It is as close to an alien on earth as we will ever see. Eight legs,not six like a normal insectoid. This creature has 5 or more eyes placed randomly around its "head". A large bulbous abdomen and all that freaking hair sprouting out from the whole thing. They can be fast or slow, spin around and face you before LEAPING at you. Then there is the fang things. Hideous. And all that is just the OUTSIDE. Inside the spider, a creepy factoid is that its stomach is somehow between its brain. It sucks up the poor victims juices and it goes past its brain, into a weird spider stomach. I think they poop from their mouths, too. Its just too much for me to wrap my mind around, yet I am literally fascinated with them. Its like a bad car wreck, you don't want to look, but you do it anyway. I will look them up, especially the huge ones, those Arkansas tarantulas, and the camel spiders of Iraq...I love getting the hooblie wooblies. Or you may know them as the heebie jeebies. I get all icked out and have to quit looking. But then I will go back and look again and again, what's up with that??

Clowns are another creepy thing. I think I used to like them, but as I grew older, their creep-a-zoid factor became very apparent to me. O.K, let's review. Grown men painting their faces in various grimaces and wearing big baggy pants, in order to hang out with little kids. That grease paint can't hide what is evil in their minds. Well, at least that's what the adult "me" says. The little kid "me" says, chill out, it's ok, he loves little kids. I wonder which one of me is right?

Another thing I am terrified of, is public speaking. I had no idea I had stage fright until I took a communications class in college. I have always been the class clown and funny guy in groups of people I know or am comfortable with. But make me stand up and try to be serious and focused and I start to feel like Im about to throw up. Or bolt and run. I was shocked and surprized to learn this about myself.

Lastly, I am afraid of deep water. I am a very insecure swimmer and was thrown in a pool before I could swim, and that affected me in a way that will probably stay with me forever.

So, spiders, public speaking and deep water are my terrors. What are yours?

Journeys and soujorns and pilgrimages.

2009-02-12T15:52:00.000-06:00

"A pilgrimage is a journey to a place where the human soul encounters the sacred. Churches, cathedrals, shrines, temples, mosques, holy cities, these are spaces designed to ritually separate the sacred from the mundane. They are known and felt as centers and sources of spiritual power, charged with an energy that can redeem human life. These places moor the drifting human community. They are the bridge between heaven and earth, the still point on which rest both time and eternity." This exerpt was taken out of the book, Writing from Life.
I really like this definition but it is followed with this:
"But because cathedrals, temples, and the like are seats of political power and because patriarchal religions have refused to all owe women to participate, in that power, many women and men have begun to seek their own holy places, some celebrate the holy places of the earth, mountains, deserts, rivers, groves of ancient trees"

Groves of ancient trees in the Avenue of the Giants in northern California. I can't really tell you what I felt standing in that forest of ancient coastal redwood trees in Northern California. There is a sense of awe and wonder. Of God and spirit.
You feel very small there. You feel a real sense of timelessness. You know these are living beings you know they are not dead or "just trees".
There is something there for every sense. The smell is indescribible, and stirred something wild in my heart. You must touch them, you must weep for the ones who have fallen, and taken their grove mates down with them. They stand very close together because they are family. Sometimes, when one falls, several fall. The rangers say they have never seen one fall, for they fall in private. But they can hear it.
There is a hush when you walk through their groves. While walking amongst these giants, you know there is a bigger design than you can imagine. These sentinels of the earth, they sprout new trees up high in their branches. They provide homes for many animals and insects, and lichens.
You can leave behind your mundane worries and concerns here. Nothing matters but the trees.
Breathe deeply the scent of the sequoia.

Happy Birthday, Lexie AKA the wildest ride of my life.

2009-02-04T12:17:00.000-06:00

29 years ago today, and around about this time of day, I was getting highly pissed off because the nurses at the "hospital" where we landed would not bring my brand new baby girl to my room. Instead, I had to get my sore and tore up ass out of bed, hobble down to the little "isolation" room and nurse her every hour or so. Oh, and I had to take my own pillow to put into the hard plastic chair they so graciously put there for me. I called the beautiful doctor who was supposed to help me deliver her in a hospital 25 minutes up the road, and I bitched and howled and cried.
Ok, I must stop here and tell you that I had a major thing for this doctor who was so caring, so tender and knew all the right things to say. He was fresh from school, a brand new family doctor and he was built like a lumberjack, had hands the size of baseball mitts and a black beard and long hair and a pot belly. But I would have been his for the asking. He was the sweetest, gentlest doctor I have ever known, and I have known tons of docs.
Ok, back to the story of Lex.
So I was sobbing into the phone to my sweet doctor, and he said, "I will call you back." So just a few minutes later, he called and said that I should get my baby and go home, and come to see him tommorrow morning. He teased me and asked me "You couldn't wait for a few miles so I could deliever her?"
You see, she was my second child. My son, who was and is 21 months older than her, was many hours of hard labor getting here, and he put me through the ringer and just was stubborn as hell about escaping the womb. I expected tha same from her. She, on the other hand, was in a huge ass hurry, and still is. What I thought was an upset stomach, turned out to be labor pain. But did the young dumb me ever wake up enough to consider it? The answer to that is no. So by 8 am I woke up to see my husband off to work and figured it out. By then, the pain was coming on about every 15 minutes. So I called my doc and he told us to meet him at his office in the next town in 1 hour. So i got my whale-like self out of the bed, walked to my dresser and BAM! The heavy duty labor started. I immediately knew I didn't have an hour. As we would find out later, I didn't have but about 15 minutes.
We got about halfway down the steps when my water broke as we headed to our Volkswagon Bug, (i know you are asking yourself VOLKSWAGON????) When my neighbor across the street came to get our small son, told her husband to take me in their CAMERO (also has a small back seat.) I told them to take me to the closest hospital, which turned out to be just up the hill and a few streets over, but the problem was it was a Community hospital, and more like a nursing home than a hospital. Every bump we went over her head popped out a little more and by the time we pulled up into the parking lot, she was crowning. For those who are not familiar with childbirth, this means the top of her head was popping in and out. I also was still wearing my underwear.
So we screeched to a halt in front of this "hospital" and h e ran in to get help, as my husband was trying to get me to do all that Lamaze we had learned to keep from having my baby in that Camero. I believe my neighbor was about to have a stroke but he was able to stick his head in for a close up of my crotch and exclaim "the baby is coming" and then he disappeared to get help. There is a lull in my memory here, but then I remember someone bringing a wheelchair and I just laughed hysterically. Like I could sit up, or even move, at that point.
So finally some doctor, I think, showed up and stuck his head in the car and just told me to go ahead and push because she was nearly out anyway. I have never heard any sweeter words. One or two big pushes later, she slithered out of me and into the waiting hands of the doctors and they ran inside the hospital with her and then somehow I was put on a stretcher and wheeled into a room to get my vagina looked at some more. They declared me to be ok, and wheeled me into a room with one other lady who had HER baby in the room with her. When I asked if I could have my baby now, please, I was told NO. My baby was born "outside hospital conditions" and was "contaminated" and in "isolation" and that I would have to go to her.
So that brings us back to the beginning of this little tale. To make a long story short, or a short story long, I took her home the same day she was born, in the little wicker basket my friends had bought for her, and we celebrated her together with our friends. She is a wonderful woman now with 2 kids of her own, and I am proud to say she is my daughter. She was in a hurry then, and is still in a hurry today. But she gets that from me, I guess.
A little side story. A few weeks after the happy occasion, my neighbor who drove us to the hospital said something was stinking up his car and maybe I left some placenta in there. I was horribly embarrassed and had no idea what to say to this.
After another week or so he came over and told me he had found the source of the smell, and it was some old bait he had in the trunk of his car and not placenta.
Thank God for that.
So that is the story of how Lex came into the world. Every year I have to retell that story to her 10 year old daughter.

Now You know.
Happy birthday Lex. I love you.

Stuffy Nose and Dust ...Achoo!!

2009-02-03T12:13:00.000-06:00

I have waged war on my motes-turned-dunes of dust. Dog hair and dust is taking over and finding their way into my nostrils. My eyeballs even feel swole up. When I talk it sounds like its coming from somebody else way off somewhere and at the same time my ears are like wide open but muffled.
I really try to keep up with all of these offending things that make us sniffle and snuffle, wheeze and sneeze.
I used to have to take allergy shots as a kid. They used this thing that I envisioned looking like a old car cigarette lighter (remember those? You pop it in and it popped back out when it was all red and hot.) Anyway, they used that thing on my back to see what I was 'lergic to. Turns out, Im allergic to every thing that floats, spores, seeds, weeds, flowers, walks of four legs or even THINKS about shedding, pollenating or folliculating. I kind of got over it when I grew up, but every now and then, it gets pretty dusty around here and I am reminded.
I don't know how we got along without some things. Take, for instance Swiffer Mop and Swiffer Duster. Talk about AWESUM.... I would not go back to that old string mop now if it sent me a bouquet of flowers AND a Mercedes Benz. That Swiffer Juice that you spray out is the best crap in the world. I hope they never stop making it. The duster is amazing because you can throw it away, full of dust. AND my cat likes it. Yes, I said cat. For some reason, she doesn't bother me too much. But I think she probably adds to the build up and sends me over the edge of 'LergicLand.
But i don't put her in my face and inhale either...LOL..
The other thing I don't think I can do without is my electric screwdriver. I distinctly remember putting up curtains with my mother, using the old timey kind and my arms cramping up and the hardware being loose and falling down, then you get mad and put the curtains up anyway and they fall down or sag........and you arms are so tired you can not do anything about it. I will never be without my electric operated screwdriver. Well, I say electric but really its battery powered. Same thing to me. No wrenching and twisting and reaching up at the same time. Just aim and squeeze.....bRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT. Yer done.
Im done.

Keep blogging and slogging...........................

What do you hope is around the next bend in the road?

2009-02-03T09:41:00.000-06:00

Good Morning! I have been absent from my blog for long enough!! I am going to do a mass posting...starting with the One Minute Writer prompt noted above....Then I will move on to more hopefully entertaining topics. Some time or other today, I will clean my house.

What do I hope is around the next bend in the road, eh? . Good question. Since this past year has gone by, I have realized many things about myself and my relationship with my children and other family. I still do not have the good 20/20 vision of it yet, but I'm getting the basics. Here is what I have learned, in a nutshell.
1. Things are not always as they appear to be. (learned)
2. Don't expect anything and you won't be disappointed. (learned)
3. You can only change yourself and how you react to things. (learned)
4. You cannot change anyone else. (learned)
5. Control is just an optical illusion (learned)
6. Life moves fast. Don't waste time on regrets.(still working on it.)
7. Hold your true friends close and do not neglect them. (working on it)
8. Get rid of negative people and drama. (working hard on it)
9. Do what you have always wanted to do, don't put it off. (will work on it..LOL)
10. Money ain't everything, but it sure does help. (always working on it)
11. Grandchildren change everything.

So in saying all of that...I hope that the next bend in the road brings some positive things for my children, some good luck and fortune. I hope it brings me the courage I need to do what I must do to cut them loose to make their own way. I hope the next bend in the road holds for us all good health and that our country makes a rebound and the economy gets better. I hope the next bend in the road is smooth sailing and clear skies and happiness and health for everyone.

If you could pick any famous person to live next door to you, who would it be?

2009-01-30T09:14:00.000-06:00

Well, my first choice would be Emeril Lagasse..Of course he would NEVER live next door to me. I would have to live next door to HIM. I don't think he would like living in the 'hood. But I have always said I wished I lived next door to him, because I would be over to his house everyday watching him cook and sampling all his goodies. (LOL. No, not those goodies, you perverts.)
He always makes cooking look like such fun. When I do it, it is tedious and I can't wait to get done. I would just "pop in" with some wine and see what he has cookin' or maybe just sit around and listen to some music and talk about the weather. I just think he would be a nice person to know. Of course my negative friends say he is a womanizer and an asshole, but do they know him? UH, NO!!??!!.. They just want to ruin my little fantasy daydream.
I just want somebody to feed ME and entertain ME. It seems like I am the only one who feeds anybody. How do I sign up for that train?

The Darkling Thrush, by Thomas Hardy

2009-01-27T21:56:00.000-06:00

I have been reading some poetry this week and happened upon this jewel that I had forgotten about. It rustles something primitive in me. To read it today, of all days, so cold and gray outside gave it extra punch. Today I looked at the distant barren trees and wanted to describe them, no words came to mind, but when I read this, "The tangled bine-stems scored the sky like strings of broken lyres." I knew he had seen the same thing..........

Enjoy!

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate
Where Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon the earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
And aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
Thomas Hardy (1901)

If you have tattoos, describe one of them. If you don't, what would your tattoo look like if you ever got one?

2009-01-26T15:27:00.000-06:00

It has spreading blue edges and fading colors. It perches upon my shoulder, my companion these 35 years since the day my friend, Ellen, and I wandered into that little shop in Cotati, California. The wait was about one hour, so to stoke up some courage, we went to a little dark bar across the street for a beer or two. As a testament to our lack of observation skills and total self immersion, it was only as we were leaving that we noticed we were the only girls in that bar. We finally noticed we were very much out of place in there, as the men danced together and sat close together, whispering and stealing worried glances at us.
Giggling, we paid our tab and stumbled back out into the summer sunshine, so it had to be in the afternoon, since the sun didn't blaze until it had burned off the day's blanket of fog.
The burly artist was waiting for us to make a choice of design, we both settled on a free flying flutterby. (We had an imaginary friend named Emerson who looked alot like the one he would apply as a skin illustration. We were 70's kids, OK??)
I bravely went first, and had the image of Emerson etched into my right shoulder. He was beautiful and very colorful and I barely felt it (except when he went over my bone) and slapped down my 20 dollars.
She was next, wanted her flutterby on her hip bone. She exposed the skin canvas for her inking and waited anxiously for the first touch of the tattoo needle to her skin. He dipped his pen in the ink, poised it over the tracing, and touched her with the tip at the same time she was leaping out of the chair. To this day, she carries the tattoo that almost was. One big blue dot on her hip bone.
She actually shows it to people proudly, "see MY tattoo?"

I have actually thought I would get a cover up for my old faded flutterby, but I am rather attached to the memory of that day. I don't believe I ever will.

2nd creative writing ensemble....even better than the first

2009-01-23T10:10:00.000-06:00

Ok, I have to tell you, that last week, I was sort of uncomfortable with the beginning of the session, because I am not used to "relaxing" especially in a group of people I don't know. This week I knew what to expect, so when our leader hit the little gong to signal us to focus on our insides, I was ready. I felt like I was relaxing, however, I couldn't make the sound aloud she asked for, upon exhalation, because I am still very self concious. I guess I have some hang ups...
But I digress, the point is, I felt as though I was ready to write some serious stuff. I always FEEL ready. But I always end up writing goofy stuff with no poetic-ness. I believe it has merit, It is my morbid, off kilter humor at work, as usual. But sometimes I want to write something beautiful and flowing and poetic. Why does everything have to be satire-ish and sardonic? I don't know. So, It probably sounds like I did not have a good time, au contraire.
It was revealing and I unpeeled a layer of conciousness or something. I struggled with the prompt for about 5 of my 15 minutes...then just let my hand go. Of course it ended up making my mates laugh, which is what it was supposed to do. But I wanted to try my three words given to me in a serious tone.

See? The exercise was this: Tear off a scrap of paper and write 3 words. Any words. Then pass it to your neighbor on the left. Write for 15 minutes, using these three words, as if you were a piece of the furniture in the room. Any piece. Choose one.

My words were Vulgar, Vulva, Endometriosis.

Well, i wont go into details, but I will tell you It had to do with bad smells, non hygiene and a sofa.
I wonder what other writers or aspiring writers would have written. If any one wants to take a shot at it......please feel free. I would love to see what others would come up with. It does not have to be 15 minutes...just use the words.

I would love to see how you would respond to this.

Go for it.

Writing prompt...What information or skill would you like to teach to others?

2009-01-19T15:32:00.000-06:00

I am really behind on my one minute writer series....I pick and choose at random, based on what catches my eye. This one did, even though I don't have a ready answer, I want to tackle it anyway.

The first thing that comes to mind is I would like to teach certain people about stepping outside of themselves for awhile to embrace others and truly care about someone other than "self" and "selfs issues". What is that called? Empathy? Commitment? Love? I know we all have to attend to "self", but how about coming out now and then and seeing about "others"? It's not always about self. Find out how someone is DOING and really LISTEN and don't just wait for them to stop talking so you can tell them YOUR problems. Take some of your precious time out and go visit someone and help them out or just be an ear/shoulder/whining post. Whatever.

People don't live forever, you know. And you are not always right.

Something else I would like to pass on is encouragment in education. So many young people that I know do not see the use of going to school for 4 more years, when they can get this here 10 dollar an hour job. Well, thats fine and dandy if you are living at home with mama, which most of them do. Trouble is trying to LIVE on that out side of the comfort of mama and daddy's house. How come these kids can't see that?

Once again, people don't live forever and your safety net will be gone some day.

Ok, that was easy, I was thinking this would be a difficult topic. But get me started on something and watch out.

Reporting on My First Creative Writing class

2009-01-15T12:56:00.000-06:00

Well, I must say that I was a little scared and nervous when I got there, but soon became very comfortable in my new circle of friends. I like the way she established rules of confideniality right away, saying that all of our work was fresh and new and vunerable and not open to critisism. Only positive stroking allowed. That put me at ease at once. We started off with a meditative exercise and opened up our creative channels. As the creative juices flowed, I became aware of just how open I was allowed to be, listening to others read their innermost thoughts. It was like being present in the very private chambers of other peoples mind.

Ok..so I liked it alot. I learned about sonnets and iambic pentameter.

My favorite topic thrown out there was: I am from...

Here is what I wrote...
I am from my past, emerged from chaos and disorder, into the here and now, into chaos and disorder. Damaged? Sure, but intact and whole. I am from fire, air, water, earth and spirit, and I have a center, a warm, beating, pulsating live thing that keeps me here. I am from seasons, from the summer of my youth, thru the spring of my step into motherhood and the fall into the winter of my crone-dom. I am from my ancestors, who watch me from the thin veil of life and death that separates us from them and the DNA that joins us, the stuff of life.

That's it. We had 5 minutes to write it. It just sort of rolled out of me after I got started.

There were several more opportunities to write and we were there for 3 hours so needless to say we got alot done.

Alll in all, it was excellent.

Handsome Devil

2009-01-12T16:18:00.000-06:00

Ain't he a handsome devil?

This is my friend Mr. Neelix. He is 13. He loves whatever you are eating, except ketchup. He will not eat anything with ketchup on it. He likes lettuce alot and goes nuts over Pupperoni. Basically he will go for any food group. He is not too fond of his dog food, but will eat it in an emergency. He has to go outside alot these days. He likes to wear his kerchef like a babushka. He's a perty good dog.

I just wanted you to meet Mr. Neelix.

If you could hire someone full-time to make your life easier, what would their duties be?

2009-01-11T06:35:00.001-06:00

Easy one.
Take all this stress away. Does that count?
Or how about doing my laundry? Definately the cooking part and cleaning up afterward. No, wait...the vacuuming, swiffering and lemon pledging. Or maybe chasing the constantly shedding husky around with the dust mop? Maybe reminding my teenager to clean out the cat box and clean her room.
Also, this person would be able to do remodeling and odd jobs to help "fix up" the place.
No, wait, if I could hire somebody full time to do all this......well, my place wouldn't need fixing up. Maybe somebody to take over for me in the worry department.
Yeah, that's it. If I had somebody to worry for me, I would have lots of time.

Writing Prompt: "What are you waiting for?"

2009-01-06T22:44:00.000-06:00

I have had a horrible day, starting with a rainy, cold morning funeral, and then I can't even verbalize the rest of the day. I don't think they make words for that level of frustration and disappointment. I wanted to blog and get some stuff off my chest, but I refuse to make this into a wall of whining. I wanted something positive something that I can feel good about something I can look forward to. So I looked to the faithful "One Minute Writer" prompts, going back a few days I instantly found the topic that I wanted to blather on about..."What are you waiting for?"
Of course this will take longer than one minute, as usual...

No matter what happens tommorrow, no matter what drama unfolds, I am going to attend my first Creative Writer meeting tommorrow evening. I don't have any idea what to expect but I am going. I decided in December to do this and I have procrastinated until the week of, to register. The leader has graciously given me permission to come even thought I have not paid for a spot yet. I have waited because I was unsure of myself and my level of committment to myself. I have waited because I'm not sure I have any talent. I have waited because I allow my family to dominate my time and my mind and keep me in a constant state of worry and frustration.
One of my promises to myself was to make sure I take better care of myself. I find my resolve is slipping away. So I am re-commiting to the goal of self care. My children will have to find their own way.
My only New Years resolution this year is one word. F.U.N.

If it isn't fun, Im not doin' it.

I Know there is more I can say, but I won't because it would cease to be fun.

Thanks for listening..................

New years day

2009-01-02T16:29:00.001-06:00

My granddaughter and I spent the day together making cookies and photographing horses and bufflo and canadian geese napping and floating...
It was quite a relaxing and nice day...By the way, these are the first pictures with my new camera.......Not too bad, but I still don't know what I'm doing 100%...LOL

New year, Old year.

2009-01-02T13:19:00.000-06:00

Years have a way of slipping away when you are not looking, or rather, while you are living in them. I will be happily anticipating spring when suddenly Christmas is looming. All kinds of things emerge in the interim. The thing I have noticed the most is my own reisistance to change. And while change is occuring, it seems as though some things stay the same. Such irony and double standards are nothing new for me. I have become a spectator in my life.
I think many middle aged women can relate to some of this, maybe even understand it but some are thinking..."what the heck is that nut talking about?"

I want to embrace this part of my life but its a little like hugging a rosebush. Im not really fond of this phase. It is prickly and draws little specks of blood and tears my flesh and heart.

I have had much happiness this year, and some disappointment, some grief and alot of unsure-ness. Im not sure where I stand in the big picture anymore. When my children were small, I knew my place exactly. Is this part of the "empty nest syndrome"?
Except my nest isn't empty..LOL.

The new year has lots of promise. And also alot of uncharted territory, "The final frontier", you know, kind of like space.

All I know Is I exist, therefore I am.

Feel free to chip in here...........

Graham Masterson's guidelines for writing.

2009-01-02T13:15:00.000-06:00

I found this treasure on the internet somewhere, and I am a rabid fan of Graham Masterson. I wanted to post them here so I can study them closer every day...Hope any aspiring writers find these helpful.

LESSON ONE: Don't write, talk, and use your natural voice, as if you were telling the story out loud to a group of friends. If there is a knack to writing it is to tell a story without consciously 'writing' about it. So many amateur writers have a good tale to tell, but are too concerned about making an impression on the page. Forget the fancy similes and the impressive metaphors, just tell it like it is. But do learn your grammar, syntax, spelling, etc, otherwise your amateur status will really show. Just like a motor mechanic's amateur status would show if he or she didn't know how to fix an alternator.

LESSON TWO: Don't describe, be there. Create a virtual world inside your head with weather, wind, noises, background music, smells and tastes. Forget about your PC ... let it melt and walk through it.

LESSON THREE: Never use cliches (except in dialogue where a character might reasonably be expected to talk in cliches). I recently read a new horror novel by quite a respected writer (well, bits of it, anyway) and he described total darkness by saying 'not even my hand in front of my face ... only darkness in its inky totality.' I mean, please. That's like saying night 'was like a coal-cellar ... only night in its nighty nightness.' Later he says 'a mental alarm bell jangled faintly deep inside my head.' Where else does a mental alarm bell ring except inside your head?

LESSON FOUR: Be surprising. Use metaphors and similes that nobody has ever thought of before. This requires thought, observation, and a sense of poetic rhythm and above all simpicity. Don't make the metaphor or simile so complicated that the reader is brought to a halt trying to work out what you're saying. I described a pretty but dumb girl as 'a small-town beauty queen who looked as if she had been hit in the head by half a brick.'

LESSON FIVE: Be rhythmic, and sensitive to the balance of your sentences. That's why the study of good poetry is so important. It teaches you how to rearrange a sentence so that it reads more easily and yet emphasizes the words that you want the reader to pick up on. Read some Rupert Brooke:
'In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky...'
Hear that brilliant repetition of 'Were'? And at the end of the poem:
'O infinite deep I never knew,
I would come back, come back to you,
Find you, as a pool unstirred,
Kneel down by you and never a word,
Lay down my head, and nothing said,
In your hands, ungarlanded;
And a long watch you would keep;
And I should sleep, and I should sleep!'
Do you see how much emotion is conveyed by those repetitions and re-statements?

LESSON SIX: Do your research and then throw it away. Unless your readership is of the Tom Clancy/Clive Cussler type, who relish reading about 3455 XY-cluster missiles, tell your story secure in the knowledge that you know where it's set and what your characters are like ... give them expertise in what they do ... but then tell the story.

LESSON SEVEN: Give your characters complete consistency. Don't twist their motivations to suit your plot. Even if it gives you a headache, try to think what they would actually do. Writing fiction is acting out a play on your own. As Ivor Cutler said in Turkish Bath Play ... 'You're going to do a play with just yourself?' 'Yes, there are 345 parts and I take all of them.'
I write with only the loosest of outlines since characters take on their own personalities and carry the story into all kinds of unexpected directions. With thrillers like Condor and Ikon I deliberately started writing several disparate plot-lines in order to set myself the challenge of tying them all up at the end. With Outrage, which I finished earlier this year (2003), I had absolutely no idea how it was going to end until the last 25 pages.

My friend Kim

2008-12-30T00:16:00.000-06:00

I lost a friend this week. She was one of the funniest people I know. She had lived an entire lifetime in 27 years and carried the burden of responsiblity for everyone in her family. I loved to hear her talk and imitate her father's voice, because he is a character too. She was a daddy's girl all the way, they loved each other but argued constantly and then she would come to work and share their life and humor with us. She was a beautiful person inside and out. She never failed to make us smile.
Rest in Peace, Kim. We will miss your funny heart and smile.

New writing prompt: Is our world today a better or worse place than it was when you were a kid?

2008-12-29T17:41:00.000-06:00

I don't know if it is better or worse, but it is for sure different.
If there is one thing I CAN remember it is some of my childhood and I believe we had more fun than these last few generations. And I am not saying that because I think my generation is better or anything, we just had more fun. We made stuff up to do, because that was the only choice we had. We had 3 channels of TV, but the only time kids got to watch TV was maybe Saturday morning before the parents got up, because they had to watch racing, baseball, soap operas, or "stories" as my mom called them. and whatever Jack Lalaine was doing. Lawrence Welk was a huge favorite at my house. Of course my dad watched every war movie known to man.
We would actually GO OUTSIDE in the summer and during the school year if we could get away with it. I remember getting a spanking because my mom had to call me more than once to come in. I remember getting in trouble for writing some unsavory words on a neighbor lady's screen door with a hard boiled Easter Egg. We would stand on the corner and wave at cars, and if it rained, wait for them to come by and hit a big puddle of water and splash us. We ran around barefooted and cut our feet to shreds. We rode bicycles everywhere and trolled the streets till way after dark. There was no creepy men lurking around trying to kidnap us. We didn't know about sexual predators (but they were there), we were blissfully ignorant. No one talked to us about "appropriate touching" or "just say no to drugs".
I know that stuff was out there back then, but I am now aware of how naieve we were then.
I feel sort of sorry for alot of today's kids. They are so electronica and gadget oriented, that they have no imagination. I think they are being short changed.
I'm trying not to generalize, but many young people I know, just don't have any. They are one dimensional and sad. If there is any challenge, they have no idea how to find their way thru it, they wait for someone else to change it.

So, maybe I have tunnel vision and maybe I don't. I am not anti technology at all.
I love gadgets myself and have lots of them. I especially love my computer, Ipods and digital cameras.

Our generations will always evolve or devolve. Depending on society.

That is all............

More (positive) thoughts on holidaze.

2008-12-27T12:01:00.001-06:00

All that ranting and raving and woe, and Extreme Grinchiness.... and whod-da thunk it? I actually had fun. After all the shopping and wrapping frenzy, I actually got to hang out and relax. The best part was getting to see my brothers and nieces and nephew, who I haven't seen in a long time. We really did some catching up.
Santa brought me a beautiful digital SLR camera, so you know what that means...Im gonna be posting some of my attempts at photography for your perusal along with my "blatherings". AFTER I figure out how to use it. Hell, it does everything but drive me to the location. I haven't even figured out how to load the battery, much less all the bells and whistles....

So, Onward and Upward to the new year. Here's hoping that our troops come home, our new president stays safe and sane and is wise and honest. Let him pick advisors who can help him lead us out of this mess and stop the corruption. Here's hoping that we can get some of our people into good jobs with some health benefits and retirements that dont get swallowed up by greedy wall street devils.
But I digress.....

Here is hoping your New Year is rich and rewarding and healthy and prosperous.

For me, my personal goals are simple. To be the best person I can be, and to get back in the habit of daily exercise.

Peace and Love and Happiness to all................

Queen Mamma D

2008-12-23T23:37:00.000-06:00

Well, here it is...Almost Christmas. This is Scrooge reporting. As every year, I have a hard time at Christmastime for a number of reasons. I have a hard time getting into the "spirit" of things, I have a hard time with the whole idea, really. Sometimes I really resent it, right up until the week of. I will angrily go out and buy useless gifts for my family, who really HAVE everything they need already, feeling really hateful and resentful. My husband and I have never really done anything for ourselves so that thought bubbles up and keeps things stirred up in my heart.
But its my own fault. I created that monster who sits in my head and says, "you didnt get enough for child number 2, or wait, number one has more than number three" And don't even get me started on the grandkid who just asked for a ball of string and some paper bags this year, so she can "build a treehouse."
She's getting the most "stuff" of anyone, PLUS the ball of string.
So, basically it boils down to guilt. This weird guilt trip I put myself on.

This year started off the usual way, but I had vowed to keep it simple and just give some of those groovy Simon cards so they can do the shopping for themselves to the grown kids, and spend my energy on the grandkids.
So it was okay, until that guilt critter kicked in. So I said, "okay, clothes PLUS gift cards". And it went from there, you can imagine the rest.
So the crappy feelings started up again, getting all pissy and angry and being really impatient and hateful to my grown kids, who test me on a daily basis.

Then suddenly my heart piped up and told my mind to hush. "Stop questioning everything and just go with it. It's just money and stuff, the important thing is our family is intact, healthy and we care about each other, we support each other and we love each other and there is no room for all that pessimism now. Something about unconditional love and devotion and celebration of all that is good in humanity. THAT is what we need to focus on." That is what my heart said.

Ok, so maybe I didn't come up with that all by myself. I think It is an idea that started a couple of thousand years ago.
I'm not necessarily a religious person, but I know that we are creatures of some bigger design than we can imagine.

I may have bought into the whole "buy stuff till you puke" mania that grips the country several times a year (Christmas, Valentines Day, Easter, Halloween, threat of snow, sleet, or year 2012)
BUT if we can keep our spirits alive, our hope and our joy. If we can recognize our blessings and our good heartedness, then buying "stuff" isn't so bad.
But next year, we are cutting back and giving the extra to shelters and we are working next year as volunteers.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

2008-12-22T19:47:00.000-06:00

Ok, I'll bite. Why DID the chicken cross the road?
Well, I think she did it because she needed a change of scenery. She was fed up with the same old same old and saw something new and amazing over that road, where she had to brave the cars and trucks zooming by at obscene speeds. She had enough of the life of drudgery she was living, tending to chicks and scratching in the dirt for any bugs or food she could find. She wanted some of that new action over there where all the strange young pullets and youthful fluffy chicklets were. Her friends told her she was nuts, that she would be killed trying to get over there. She didn't care, she had made up her mind to change her situation.
She had to crane her neck to be able to see much at all, but it sure looked like they were having fun, milling about, pecking around and flapping at each other, doing young chicken stuff. She had so much to look after on THIS side of the road that she was actually thinking about making a run for it. She stood on the side of the gravelly median, her skinny chicken legs posed for a quick run, a mad dash into the unknown, from which she never intended to return.
Suddenly a large truck blasted by her and she was nearly sucked beneath the wheels as it passed by. She flapped frantically back to the safety of her side of the road. Wing over her heart, she gasped in panic at her near death. When her little chicken heart had slowed a bit, she eased back over to the median, looked both ways this time and half ran, half flew across the road, and made it safely with plenty of time to spare.
When the dust settled and she could see again, she saw a crowd of chickens going about their chicken business. Why, it was the same over here, as on her own side of the road. They were scratching around in the dirt, too and tending to their own chicks. No one came over and greeted her or even looked up. The only difference was that she didn't know anyone...She looked longingly at her side of the road and decided that somehow she had to get back..............

To be continued.

Think of the last movie you saw. Write a review...

2008-12-19T11:05:00.000-06:00

Well, the one movie that i want to talk about isn't the last movie I saw, it's the movie before that. So Im already cheating on this writing prompt...plus the actual prompt sez" In ten words or less". Hahaha...like I can do ANYTHING in ten words or less.

Since I am a rabid fan of the book, Secret Life of Bees, I had to go see the film. Now I love that book so much I have read it multiple times, and I know that the movie is never like the book, so I really didn't expect to like it.
I loved it.

Queen Latifa was the most perfect August Boatwright I could have imagined and no one but Dakota Fanning could have played the part of Lily Owens.
I took my teen aged daughter and niece and they also loved it. My daughter had read the book already, but my niece, who isn't a reader, said she wanted to read it now.

I just really enjoyed this chick flick and recommend it.

Gurning: What a weird sport.

2008-12-18T23:14:00.000-06:00

Those UK folks are kinda different, aren't they? I mean, blood pudding??? EW!!!!
And frickin' haggis, what the hell is that about? I can hear it now..."Hey guys, I have a good idear, here's a big leftover sheep stomach...c'mon, let's stuff it with barley and boil it..." Gag me.

Then there is the sport of gurning. According to Wikipedia.....

"Gurning contests are a rural English tradition and were once common at travelling sideshows, fairs and freak shows. They are still held regularly in some villages and the contestants traditionally frame their faces through a horse collar - known as 'gurnin' through a braffin'. The World Gurning Championship is held annually in Egremont, Cumbria as one part of the Egremont Crab Fair. Those with the greatest gurn capabilities are often those with no teeth as this provides greater room to move the jaw further up. In some cases the elderly or otherwise toothless can be capable of spectacular gurns covering the entire nose."

CRAB FAIR?
GURNIN' THRU A BRAFFIN'"

ALRIGHTY THEN!!

Now for your viewing pleasure..And in no certain order....
(Ellen, this one's for you)

The first one...I couldnt resist putting on here, is a camel...I guess you might have guessed that, but might have thought the guy who is "gurnin thru a braffin" might be a camel too...He is this year's champ, by the way..
I personally don't think he is gurning, he is just butt ugly. Or as my hubby sez..."fugly".