Cruel Crypt House

"Trick or Treat" at least that's the game
You come to this house, you'll have no one to blame
Walk up to the door and knock if you will
There's the light of the moon and a stick on the sill
The woman who answers the door is quite green
She died long ago in 1916
If you expect candy you're crazy indeed
You'll leave with your body, it's your heart you'll still need

Wha...Haaaaa Haaaaaa
Happy Halloween!

While Walking Alone

The shadow came first
stretched out on the sidewalk
distorted and larger than the truth.

Right above is the authentic appendage
dripping with their slices of red, like blood
begging for attention and going
out on a limb.





















As you can see, I have been using this time of year and the close observance of Halloween, to allow the gruesome corner of my writing mind, to indulge in some scary poems. No, it is not my most favorite subject matter, but I have never allowed myself this indulgence. I don't consider any of these past few days good writing...but I have been giggling a lot :D (hee hee)

Sundays Scribblings ~ Scary Campfire Bedtime Story ~

"Blood Forest"

below my feet the dirt is dry
above is darkening midnight sky
ahead the forest waits in patience
for a victims lonely cry

around me there is no one seen
just whistling wind throughout the trees
alone I step, no trodden pathway
or proof of past survivors deeds

my steps deceive me underground
branches reaching, turn me round
trunks like bodies stand there waiting
for a victims entrance sound

dead men buried, long time past
grave stone markers bare their last
full moon glowing, casting shadows
legs to carry, running fast

coming closer smell the dead
standing still in fear and dread
am I dreaming, nightmares creeping
rolling slowly off, MY HEAaaaad!~~~~

Halloween Haiku

~*~
Halloween is here
poor little scary goblins
need protection too.
~*~

***How utterly generous of ADT...but, who answers the call?

Autumn Haiku

~*~

Falling down to Earth
my last display of beauty
until you saw me.

~*~

Approximately 3 Seconds

It only takes a moment of time for the brain to organize a thought, the thought to form into words and the words to come tumbling out of our mouths. It takes approximately three seconds.

In 5th grade I was teased by the 'popular' girls because I had physically developed early. I became self conscious for years. In my twenties, a trusted person made a casual remark about the very same body part. Then my self consciousness turned into loathing. Tiny spaces of 3 second intervals caused me hours of pain. That was such a waste of my time.

Now, I'm older and wiser and I no longer care about the 3 seconds, I care about the hours. And when it's my turn to have the 3 seconds, I want to say one word for each second I use, to say: I Love You.

We are born
meant to bloom
then change our minds
because of 3 seconds.

The mass is benign, it is external and not even invasive. More tests are going to be done to give us some understanding about some symptoms, but today...today is new and relief does not even describe *huge pause*

I'm so freakin tired right now...I have cried, hyper ventilated, screamed, thrown up, boo hoo cried, laughed, cried, been scared, angry, confused, elated and now I have come crashing back down to earth! (and did I mention that I have not slept for 48 hours?)

What would I have done without you, yes you! So many of you said prayers, sent positive healing love and said hope giving comments that our Doctor said he would not rule out a miracle in this situation! Yes, he said that, and when he did, as we sat there is his office, I thought of you...and you and you and you. When I was at my lowest point, oh...somewhere around 3 a.m. in the morning, I was re-reading your comments and emails, asking God for strength and pushing away all of the dark fear that was working overtime trying to discourage me, and it didn't work. Never underestimate the power of your words, thoughtful support and the time that you take to give into another human being. I feel so full :)

I humbly thank each one of you. I am grateful...so so grateful and when I finally get some sleep, I will be doing a lot of intense thinking, returning emails and (writing) about just how much all of this has touched and changed a very tender part of my life.

Thank you, not just words...true gratitude!!!

Frailties

Life feels So Fragile today




But strength

Is very

Necessary




And positive

Thoughts

A must





He needs

Me

This time


After years

Of

Carrying me

And this is how very small I feel. But, that girl he reminded me of who doesn't bare the scars of any physical frailties, is going to have to rise to the surface and somehow be strong enough to take care of the both of us. I am not prepared to share the details yet. We are still gathering, both information and courage.

Can I be scared of having this responsibility? I'm not sure? But screw that...I'm scared half out of my mind! ~*~ He's my penguin~*~

This Face

Journal entry : Oct. 23, 2006

In times of desperation...I talk. Some people talk to family, friends and Therapists and I talk to 'The Face'. If asked who the face is, I would probably tell you God. But you know what? If I am talking to God, I mean, THE Almighty, then I am being rather disrespectful these days, because in all honesty I have a load of frustration, grief and anger. Not words I would choose if I suddenly received a surprise visit. We have some pretty strong crap going down in our house this week. The marriage is fine, the kids are healthy, living on their own. But, in this big house with just the 2 of us living in it, it suddenly feels small, confining and a bit empty. I can't come right out and blurt the situation for my own personal reasons, but it's some heavy scary crap. Tomorrow J (hubby) goes for a check up, actually a test, a scan and then we wait for the doctors call. Waiting sucks! I've spent my weekend crying here and there, praying (while being pissed off and you know how sincere those prayers sound (*#*) blah blah blah.....And, I'm going on week 5 of being the sickest I've been in months. This damn stubborn flu has increased the activity of the lupus and they are fighting each other in MY body (and I have no say in the matter...that sucks!) And in bed tonight, J turns to me and says, "Honey, I really need you to be strong right now."

I'm exhausted, in level 7 pain, head full of congestion, feeling hopeless, weak and I am told that I need to be strong. Not "nice" strong, but STRONG for 2 people, strong.

I cover my face with my hands, shake my head no, start crying and say, "I can't, I'm just too battle weary right now!" ~~ He grabbed me from behind, enveloped small me with his big strong body and said, ever so softly, but with undeniable conviction,
"I need you to reach way down into yourself and take a hold of that girl that I first met, the one with all the stubborn determination and drive, who no one could stop, and I need that girl to be here for me right now! Can I count on you?"
(blowing my nose like a sumo wrestler) I said, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"
And I turned in his arms and we stayed like that for a very long time, both listening to the silence surrounding us and smelling each others necks.

"Sunday Scribblings: ~ Good

I'm way too grumpy to write something decent, let alone
good. Now, I could easily write something about being in a bad mood. but then
good would not be the subject. I'm hoping that you'll understand, and that would be a
good thing. Or, you could care less, and that would be bad. But, you are all so
good and kind, I think you'll understand, let me have my grumpy day and that feels
good. Thank you, this is
good of you. Oh...
good luck with your scribblings about the
'good' theme.

Good...now I feel better
Good-Bye for now :D

~ la pleine lune ~

Someone taught the Moon to be charming,
an embodiment of love,
falling hopelessly under its spell
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Another told the Moon to light up the sky,
to guide lost hearts,
and make skin glow iridescently
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What about the Moons mysterious traits,
shape shifting circles,
playing hide and seek with black clouds
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Other's explained that it had Lunar phases
waxing and waning
while women's bodies follow her timing
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
You skyward pearl
a luminescent orb
worshiped and adored
your ego must be enormous
as you are a nightly ritual

"A Trains Constant Visit"

Train tracks crossed behind my small house in p-town.
The long stranger who came and went by a strict schedule.
No need for clocks, just the ability to add up 30 minute intervals.
A low distant rumble that slowly creeps closer until the ground
shook beneath your feet and the dishes danced in the cabinets.
Pictures on the wall were askew and display items out of place.
Eventually, they would right themselves every 3rd or 4th visit.
One day I stood high up on the cyclone fence only three feet away.
Hearing before seeing, the train rushed passed and the hot brown air
slapped my skin and I forced my eyes open to see the sparks fly below.
The conductor waved a warning and I raised mine to greet him.
I waited until the caboose passed, my loud shout goodbye
swallowed up by the receding pound of metal.
Guests would cover their ears and miss the soothing sounds,
a constant rhythm of smooth round wheels against thin tracks.
Night falls and we all end our day, but the long stranger never sleeps,
working twenty four hours that bleed right into the next repetitious ones.
Lying still, I hear the loud reminder that this is home and I am
being hailed once again by the piercing sound of it's horn.

A Small World

"It's a small world after all"

"He's got the whole world
in His hands"


"The world is right at you're fingertips"


"I feel now, as never before, that a poem is the condensed power of all human abilities, and that its ideal lies in the power of language to transcend itself." ~ Edvard Kocbek ~


The three quotes above most of us have heard at one time or another, but right now, like never before, have I felt that this world truly is a smaller place. Just the fact that I am in close personal contact with people literally all over this world, is an amazing concept to me.

The forth quote is about the power of our words in their creative form. How something can be written down and actually impact someone's life and that's power with a force. We share our stories, sorrows, dreams and hopes in this space, our little carved out community. And whether we realize it yet or not, we need each other, more today than yesterday because this world has been made smaller through tragedy. Think about this for just one moment, if life were simple and easy, if we weren't all born with that empty space inside longing to be filled, if we knew what the future held, then we would have no need to seek. It is because we seek, that we write and writing is just one of the ways to analyze our lives. And because we seek, we find each other and we say things to each other because we want to make connections. I don't think we all expect to connect with everyone, but if we can connect with just a handful and we say, "Hey, I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but whatever it is, I'm here to encourage you." Then we make this world a better place and that's worth protecting. Our connections, our friendships, are worth protecting. So, I choose my words carefully and in doing that, I hold this world very respectfully in the palms of my hands.

Magic Flowers

It was hard to believe when I first looked at it. I had leaned back too far when I shot the picture and at a quick glance, I thought I had put my camera on the sepia setting. Transferring it over to my computer is when I saw the bright orange petals on the right side peeking over. The image was actually the shadow of the two roses I was trying to photograph and the stubborn wrinkles of my white sheet background became the roses delicate petal details.

I've had a weepy day today as my health is being stubborn and I haven't had a decent day for 3 weeks now. Before taking this picture, I came across this 15th Century native Aztec poem, by Ayocuan Cuetzpaltzin,

~ Friendship is a shower of precious flowers and the Earth is the region of the fleeting moment. ~

It really made an impression on me and basically said that the Earth is temporary, but relationships last forever...Specifically said, people who are showered in friendships. That is how I feel in this blogging community...showered in friendships.


So, when the wrinkles in your life resemble roses that symbolize friendships, well, that is a very wonderful life, regardless of the circumstances.

What is your photographic magic mistake?

Self Portrait Challenge

Today my body is weak

and my face is struggling

so my pretty toes wearing

my very most favorite shoes

will have to "stand in"

for my self portrait tuesday.

love and granted wishes

to you all today

Compartments

~
tiny squares all filled with bright colors
big and small, each with a separate compartment
light and dark mingle and create their own rainbows
neat arrangements that always stay the same
four walls that divide all the ingredients
eyes that look, seeing everything in order
a melancholy parallel to this world
remove the spacers, witness what can happen
blending
jumbled
mixture
of
confection
~

In truth, if I removed all of the spacers and the beads really did get all mixed up, sadly my type (A) personality would explode into a huge anxiety attack. Today, I realized just how important consistent order is to me, when I caught myself staring over this container...and smiling as I caught a rebel bead not in its rightful place and plunked it where it belonged. I once went to a teachers convention and they had us follow this picture exercise where we were supposed to draw big lines "outside" of the box. It was a trick the main speaker was playing on us, to see if we would actually follow the directions, or manipulate them and complete the picture while remaining "inside" the box. Guess who manipulated the directions? I have siblings and children who love to be spontaneous and I admire them and people like Leonie who enjoy painting with their hands, roll their artwork around in the grass, and come up with a Masterpiece! Amazing! Life is unpredictable, lines that can get drawn way outside of the box......and this can be a very good thing ;)

A Cyber Hug

I just spent my Friday night reading someone's archives. After reading their post today, I emotionally emptied myself into their vast space of grief, and I felt like a mother with empty arms that longed to hold her child and it was overwhelming. I had to read more about her. I couldn't stay satisfied with just knowing what she was going through on just that day. I needed to know August, and September, that was all she had for me to read, she lost all the other months when she switched from one server to another. I'm not going to say who she is because that is not the point. Many of you already know her, some of you might not, but I will say that she lost her Mother to cancer and it was as a mother that my knees buckled at these words, "Why is it that I think one hug from her, the one thing I can never have, would fix everything." I wept, no, I bawled, because I have an adult daughter of my own and I imagined that these words could easily one day be hers and it tore my mother's heart. My daughter reads my posts and she told me that I often make her cry silent tears from her desk at work, so I'm glad that today will be Saturday, otherwise I would not post this knowing she would read it and her tears would not be able to be silent on this day. Grieving is a very harsh emotion to live with, we all will end up living with it eventually, but the pain is tangible and sometimes it feels like it could actually destroy you.

When my daughter was in High School, the doctors said there was nothing else they could do for me and we all looked death in the face. On my worst sick days, the days when I was pale, lifeless and my eyes were orbs of fear, my sweet daughter would collapse at my feet, hold on to me tightly and weep saying, "Please don't die momma, please, please don't die. I can't live without you, please don't die!" I would pick her up and wrap my arms around her and I could not tell her that I wasn't going to die, at that time I could only say, "I love you, I will always love you." It never felt like it was enough and we still live one day at a time, one month, one year, and we cherish time now like never before. Our lives are not a cliche, it's our truth and we deal with it.

When I chose the picture that I did, I thought I looked pale and my eyebrow is raised up, like I'm saying something with a facial expression, instead of words. I make this face, I own that look, it's mine. It's an, 'I told you so' look, or, 'You know what I think about that' look. It's the face of a mother who wants her child to make the right choice, but also believes enough in her child that she will. I also chose this picture because if I get to look down from heaven, that will probably be the face that I'll have. I'll raise my eyebrow and smile just enough to let my lovelies know that I expect them to do the right thing, but love them no matter what.

Godmother was right honey, we are all born with a space inside of us that needs to be filled. Sometimes we do need some 'extra' love and that is nothing to be ashamed of. When you can't get to sleep, it's okay to imagine that someone is spooning you and if you need help, please just ask for it. If you feel like you need to be hugged, held tight until that space feels a little bit more bearable to live with and mommy isn't here with her arms held out wide for you to enter, then go find other arms. Go on with your life, you have permission to live.

When doctors can't guarantee a Mother of how many years she has left, we have to have 'the' talk with our children. I had to have 'that' talk with mine. And even if it pains them to hear it, the last thing I want my children to do is to waste big chunks of their lives grieving over me. I said, "You can make it without me, you're brave and smart and there are a whole lot more people out there that love you and will be here for you, so live. Be happy, don't stop being you, life is short, it really really is, so don't waste it...live" ~ And we cried and held each other, our stomachs hurt as we allowed ourselves to feel that pain, but then we wiped our tears and I kept reading my book and they went back to doing homework. And.....I'm still here, for now....and today I read her post and wanted to reach into that screen and pull her into my Mother's arms and hold her so tight, I wanted to lie down with her and spoon her, stroke her hair and tuck it behind her ear and hum until she fell asleep. I wanted that space inside to shrink just enough to make it bearable, I want this post to make you feel cared for and I want you to live. Fight for it, you're worth it, take my cyber hug, click away from 'a walk in my shoes' and feel loved. Take it from me, a mother, she wants you to be free......so fly :)

Last

An exert from the sting of long experience by the poet Blaga Dimitrova,

Ars Poetica

Write each of your poems
as if it were your last.
Send each of your words
like a last letter before execution,
a call carved on a prison wall.
You have no right to lie,
no right to play pretty little games.
You simply won't have time
to correct your mistakes.
Write each of your poems,
tersely, mercilessly,
with blood-as if it were your last.

~ If I wrote each poem like it was last
I would be delving very deeply into past.
There would be anger, some hate and heavy strife
because each trial has stripped me of my life.
And then what about the many years of pain
with no one here that I can really blame.
Now I stand alone with my regrets,
what sorrow comes from all of my upsets. ~

I love the idea of clothing yourself with a "last words" attitude every time you sit down to write. Doesn't that sound like a romantically intense writers state of mind? Unfortunately, my brain doesn't work that way. I get inspirations at the darndest times. I have to grab envelopes at bank stops, old receipts sitting at the bottom of my purse, and I've even been known to jot things down on Kleenex, which is really messy and hard to read later on. I've written while driving, (sorry daddy) standing in a grocery line, bathroom stalls (sorry reading friends) and while I'm in the middle of just about every kind of housework. I have these precious pieces of paper everywhere and my family knows they are not to throw away ANYthing.
"Where's that napkin that was sitting on the counter!"
"What napkin?"
"The brown one, the one that had writing on it!"
"I don't know what your talking about."
"You threw it away...I can't believe you threw it away, it was the best poem ever and you threw it away!"
"Well, used napkins usually do end up in the garbage can.....you're not actually going to look for it, are you?"
"It was the BEST poem EVER! Don't you understand?"

No, they don't understand, after all they're just random words scribbled on a variety of paper goods, right? Hmmmmm...I wonder how many garbage trucks are insensitively mixing and discarding our hard earned works of art, right into the dump.

I don't usually talk much about the great love of my life, but yesterday as I was sitting on the Doctor's examination table, swinging my legs, waiting and watching my husband's furrowed brow as he read a magazine, looking 'O so fine' in his suit and tie, I thought, "I wonder how many women's husbands come to the Doctor's with them?"

I guessed probably not many and just at that moment, he looked up from the zine and said, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He said it in that way and you know it wasn't just an ordinary compliment. It makes you blush and feel warm all over. He makes sure that I get them regularly, but sometimes, they're just a little more colorful than normal.

Having a chronic illness is hard on everyone, especially for those who live in the house with you, which happens to be just him and I. He sees me at my worst. He takes it when I get scared and lash out by being either grumpy, or a tearful mess. He keeps up on all of my medications and knows my symptoms better than I do. But the thing he is the best at, is making me feel cherished.

When the Doctor told me that I had an ICD, an incurable chronic disease, I felt like he also handed me a blank coloring book. I could see the pictures of all the fun things, but they had no color...no meaning. My love, gave me a great big box of Crayola Crayons, the ones that have so many colors in it they have to make-up the names. He colors my life with his love and his sacrificial giving. And when I'm too sick to color the pictures, he gladly colors them for me. I am a lucky girl, indeed.

Self-Portrait Challenge ~Imperfections~

I ask you to value...


Oh, I had so many plans, plans that no one knew about. Yes, I was a dreamer, I got in trouble all the time in grade school for day~dreaming. One time in college I had a professor walk right up to me during his lecture, while still speaking, he stopped right in front of me, glared me down and then cleared his throat. Where was I? Somewhere else making history.

Marrying young, having children right away, neither of those things discouraged me from dreaming and making new dreams. Everytime I learned something new, "I want to do that, hey, I'm going to do that!" and I would. Ask any of my family members how aggressively I attack learning to create, picking up a new task, or saving money for something I want. Nothing could douse my love of being a dreamer, except for one thing, my health. I lost it in 1995 and for many years it stole the essence of who I was and I'm still not the dreamer I used to be, tragedy does that to you. I'm slowly figuring out who 'limited' me is, but this process has taken years to figure out. I lost my career and a whole lot of abilities that used to make me feel invincible. Slowly, I'm gaining ground...very very slowly. And I'm making peace with this process.

When I heard the portrait challenge subject was imperfections, I groaned. I'm working hard to perfect the lost area's of my life, so I thought I would take this opportunity to ask something of you that is the opposite of living with an incurable decease....and that is to value your good health. Be grateful for it and be a dreamer and after you dream, then do whatever your heart desires. Take a chance, jump off that cliff, shut out the doubters and the unbelievers that say, "You can't do that?" Oh yes you can. Where there's a will...there's a way. I don't get to have good health, but you do and I get to read about all of the amazing things you do, all of the cliffs that you jump off of and I smile and laugh and genuinely feel so happy when you accomplish a dream goal. I was on that bike riding challenge with bek, I live in the UK with bb and I'm writing that novel with Susannah. So go out and do something wonderfully crazy and then come back and tell me about it....I love all the stories you tell me and I feel them too....so, thank you :D

Autumn is Official

This is my yarn. As a matter of fact, this is last years yarn. Last years yarn that never even got made into something beautiful. I have yet another terrible fetish to confess to you...I love yarn, especially the expensive ones that feel like silk and are dyed with colors I've only dreamt about. You see, scarf season is right around the corner and broaches...Oi, don't even get me going about broaches. (They look gorgeous on jean jackets) Tis the season to start knitting scarves for friends, my friends friends and finally, myself. It's such a cozy, domestic, wintry thing to do. Like many other things, they are specifically tied to the bringing in of a season and to me, Autumn isn't really here until I'm assessing my yarn situation and planning to buy more. So, regardless of the calendar, or the weather outside today, it is official...these warm, fuzzy balls of color have an announcement to make...Autumn is official and Winter is just around the corner.

What makes Autumn official for you?

Fade ~~~~~ to Color

"A poem is a verbal artifact which must be skillfully and solidly constructed as a table or a motorcycle." ~ W.H. Auden

"It's not enough that poems be exquisite. Let empathy prevail and lead the listener's heart. A face will smile to see a smile, or weep at tears. If you would have me grieve, then first feel grief yourself." ~ J.D. McClatchy

"Command your audience or to smile or weep, whiche'er may please you~anything but sleep. The poet claims our tears; but by his leave, before I shed them, let me see him grieve." ~ Lord Byron

How do you feel about your writing? How do you feel about the subjects your heart chooses to make into artifacts? Why do I see apology after apology when I read your posts that may contain some of life's bad days, months, or years for that matter? Do you feel bad for making us read the downside of your life? First of all, lovely people, I am not forced to read anything you write. I go there willingly, wanting to know, with concern, how you are. And if you are feeling down, I hope that I can say a kind word of encouragement, or let you know that I will breathe a prayer on your behalf. So, no more apologies, unless starting with an apology softens your entry into difficult subject matter :) ~ Enough said about that *smile*

I have been studying people who have spent a lifetime studying poetry and the people who write it, or wrote it, and then they have written books about these poets and that is what I've been reading...their books....Whew, I think I lost myself on that one. Anyway, I'm seeing a recurring theme.......grief, tears, crying and then laughing and then crying again...grief. Raw emotions that force us to feel, embrace passion and fall down, only to find the strength to get up again. Writing historians tell us that these emotions (mainly grief) produces great writing. We know that LOVE stimulates a good read, (s'cuse the pun ;) and guess what? Your stressful, dull, sad, heartbreaking life pushes out some of your best stories and poems. So please, grace me with the artifacts of your life, good or bad, up or down, make me feel. ~ I need you.

So, you may be experiencing a little black and white right now, but don't forget that what we do best is fade to color...and then write about it.

Sunday Scribblings ~ Outdoor Assignment

It was getting late and she was very tired, but no one would know by her stance that she was eighty five years old. She held her back ramrod straight and her stride was steady and determined. Passers by tried to make eye contact, but she would have nothing to do with commoners. She always found the people in this country simple minded and lacking in social graces. Bound for home, she increased her pace and breathed a great sigh as the key entered the lock. Closing the door behind her, the weight of her back leaned against it and she was sure to bolt it tight before removing herself. No one knew just who she really was and she wanted it no other way. Her life was a memory and sharing her story would force her to accept that she had grown old, was alone and a stranger in this foreign land. Years ago she was cherished and adored by her own people as their Princess and the heiress to the throne of the blessed country of her birth. Years ago she was young, beautiful and secretly in love with a man not of her standing, but wonderful beyond any dream she could imagine today. Her Father would have killed her had he known of their affair and if it were her decision, she would be dead, because life without her lover was a miserable existence. She was alive because of him, alive and the only member saved of her slaughtered family, thought dead herself. She was here, in this country, breathing, eating, sleeping and living because of him. And

all she had left was her smallest crown that she placed at the top of her ancient bed to guide her dreams and the last note that was handed to her by a stranger right before she fled from her home, her love, her life. Every night she took out the letter that she read by candle light, worn with time, tears and travel. She carefully placed the weathered paper all alone in the drawer by her bed, blew out the candle and laid her weary head on the silken pillow. She closed her eyes, still seeing his written words that were memorized and seared behind her lids ~ My Darling Grace~ Though the leaves are turning~ never will my love change for you. If I should die, let it be while holding a shield over your heart. Forever in Your Service and in your arms ~ Richard. She lay there wondering if he knew that as he was writing such endearments of love, he was also sealing his fate and her future forever.

Why a Fire Hydrant?

My husband is shouting from the kitchen table, as he reads the weekend newspaper, about Amish women, major gang issues in Las Vegas, the soldier death count and various other atrocities around the world. He's loudly announcing these tidbits of information (do all men do this?) for my benefit, in which I'm supposed to respond, "OMG" and other shocked reactions. I don't read the newspaper anymore and I rarely watch the news either. I know that's probably horrible of me, but my life is hard enough to live without having the additional debilitated information of this world that one day my (God willing) grandchildren will have to live in. Usually I get quiet mornings with you, which subject we covered this week, and I dearly love my husband, but now I'm supposed to have a great weekend like I wished all of you. And I will, but it's a hard way to start my day hearing all of that.

I realized that I shelter myself. I truly want MY world to be somewhat lala-ish and I don't know how healthy that is. Does anyone else do this?~~~~Okay, so why the fire hydrant? On my perfect weekend, what I'd really like to do is to hose up and turn on some really big hydrant and give this world one heck of a cleaning! I envision all the bad yuck blown away into the atmosphere and what is left is....well...a dripping wet world that needs a humongous towel. With my luck......we'd probably all catch a cold! Hummmm I need to go to Starbucks :)

"For the Hopeless Romantic"

and.....there's more......

















First of all, I love that this was written by a woman and the fact that it dates to 120 B.C. Sappho lived on the Greek Island of Lesbos and only fragments of her writing exists today. I hope you enjoyed my presentation and if you did...let me know, maybe I will do it again and I welcome all suggestions.














Have a romantic day :)

Poetry Thursday ~ "Morning Rituals"

I can remember just...a few weeks ago, when morning consisted only of my tea of choice, but now I have tea with friends all over the world. I can't just drink tea anymore, now I have a cup in my hand and my laptop sitting in front of me. Your faces, photographs and words share my morning time rituals and I feel so much companionship, that only those who understand won't call me crazy. I no longer drink tea by myself, because I know that at that very same time, someone, somewhere is also having their tea and reading my words too. It's all very comforting.

There is such joy in mornings hush
when nature sheds her evening gown
and I get out my largest cup
swing wide the special cabinet door
and smell the mingled spices there
choosing which one to start my day
lifting closer to my nose
breathing in the bags and boxes
open contents gaze inside
flower petals dried, freckled spices
looking like a forest floor
and twisted dark leaves
holding in their secret
until the submerging heat
the blowing whistle announces
morning rituals may now begin

The Vain Girl with a Jar

"I must have that light" the young girl cried, "I must have it now!" So, she captured the light of the Moon that dances on the edge of the waves and put it into a glass jar. She held it up high to let the beams guide her home. On a shelf it sat, illuminating her small boring dwelling place and it would not let her sleep, in her little hard bed, because it sang the whole night long,
"Peace is a sea...whose waves....will carry us far." So, she shoved another pillow over her head to shut out the voice. It did not work and the young girl was awake the whole night through, listening to Moon Lights song of Peace. Daytime came and the shimmer faded, all the voices were silenced except for the one inside the little girls head, scolding her for taking something that did not belong to her. That night, the higher the Moon rose, the brighter the jar became and the young girl was awe struck with it's beauty.
"Make me like you" said the girl, "I will have your beauty" she demanded.
"You must bring me back" said the light "and I will grant whatever you seek." So, excitedly she carried the jar right up to the oceans edge and poured out the shimmering light, anticipating the magic of the sea. She stood very still waiting for her beautiful transformation. Closing her eyes, she held out her hands to accept the gift. After awhile, she opened one eye...then two eyes and her dress had turned to gold and her hair was soft as golden spun silk.
"I'm beautiful, beautiful, no one is more beautiful than I."
Then the melodic voice began to sing,
"Peace is a sea...whose waves....will carry us far"
"Peace!" the young girl screamed, "Nothing is greater than Beauty!" she yelled back.
Tired, the girl spun to leave, kicking the sand all the way back to the road that led to her house. She flopped down on her bed and lay her weary golden head upon her pillow and she smiled, as the distant sound of exploding bombs lulled her to sleep.

The song sung by the waves is a poem written by Barbara Goldberg, "Peace"

Today is not a good day...

I am recovering today from a Lupus flare.
It is not a good day for a challenge of any sort.
I need the warm healing oil to wash over
my body, spirit and mind.

Sunday Scribblings "Skin"

I had the best weekend ever getting to see my daughter who came down for the weekend. She has the most beautiful skin and one of my favorite 'Moma' things to do, is to smell her and touch her. She was in her jams last night and I came up from behind her and wrapped my arms around her and buried my face into the back of her hair and neck. I took a big deep breath and smelled the little girl that used to be super glued to my side. I took another one and just one more before I let go of her. And I said, "I'll never get tired of that smell" and I meant it. Each time, my mind floods with memories, a fast speed time line of her life, which is filled with many kisses, night time cuddles and various girlie moments that involved bows, dresses, dolls, bathtime and constant affirming love.

And here's a funny thing about the fingerprint like nature of each persons scent, my daughter and my lil sis's smell is just alike. Especially their heads. They share similar physical attributes, mannerisms, likes, dislikes and the way they smell. It's almost freakish because when you spend time with one, you are constantly reminded of the other :) which is never a bad thing. They share a special bond that I am proud of and my nose actually misses them both on a regular basis, with them living some distance from me. How lucky am I? Two of the most beloved people in my life share the same body odor...geez, a nose can only take so much! ;)