The end is dear...

I run my fingers through the tattered pages my latest journals. I lovingly re-read my words. A review of emotions from this past year.

I read of the highs and lows. My eyes hone in on the scribbled out phrases which were replaced with finer ideas.

I giggle at some of the things I expressed. The verbal painted pictures spring to mind and I remember why I put them down on paper in the first place.

It's been quite a year. I read my thoughts and realize that this was a good year for me.

It was not an easy time. God, I wish it had been.

It was a year of accepting myself and my faults. I see the scars and am no longer afraid of showing them.

I have been horribly wounded but somehow I survived. I see it now.

I have survived.

I've been his favorite pillow for years...

We watched with a comfortable silence the fire dancing in the hearth.

The warm glow illuminated the room we were relaxing in.

The Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner. Silently twinkling in a soothing pattern. It's heavily laden with ornaments from years gone by.

I stretch out on the couch and invite you to lay beside me.

A quiet moment spent together. It's not about sex. It's about intimacy and closeness.

You move a pillow on to me and rest your sleepy head.

I am quickly mesmerized by the fire and the stillness of the house.

I feel your body relax on mine and I hear your breathing become slow and even.

As you drift off to sleep I rub your neck.

There you find what you're looking for in my arms.

You are safe.
You are loved.
You are mine.

All mine.

Merry Christmas, Baby!

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song,
As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say: Are you married?
We'll say: No man,
But you can do the job
When you're in town.

Later on, we'll conspire,
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he's a circus clown
We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
Until the alligators knock him down.

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Easier said than done...

I look at you and present my piece.

My eyes search your face for your approval. A hesitation or questioning look can send me on a downward spiral.

My apparent inferiority complex rears its ugly head again.

I know it's good, but I want you to like it. I need for you to like it and I am crushed if you find fault in it.

What if it's not interesting or clever enough? Do I lose my sparkle?

I wait impatiently for your approval. Hoping to see a smile and nod.

What's up with that?

Pissed off rather than pissed on...

I was screaming with rage in my dream. I was furious at people I know and was letting them know about it.

Once awake, the fury dissolved and I realize exactly how I felt.

Used
Manipulated
Pushed aside, and
Ignored

Not a great feeling, but it was a step for me. A big one.

Now, when I encounter those people in real life, I won't scream at them. I will walk away and remove the power I had foolishly laid in their hands.

It's a new day. Watch me conquer my insecurities one dream at a time.

Warming the cockles of my heart...

We walk outside hand-in-hand. Our steps have become in-synch. We move as one. It is not forced. It is comfortable and easy.

Your large hand holds mine firmly, but not too tight. There is a sense of protection behind your grip. I know you will pull me close if you sense some sort of danger. Whether it's from an outside source or generally self-inflicted.

The wind blows us from behind and we know that winter is nipping at our heels.

I pull my collar up just as a cool draft slips down my neck. I shiver and you laugh.

You pull me close and I feel the warmth of your body against mine.

We stop walking and you hold me tight. You wrap your arms around me and kiss me gently.

The chill that had run down my shoulders fades away as my body and mind respond to your touch.

I inhale your aura. So familiar - almost like mine - but still smells so welcoming to me.

My eyes close and I start to melt in your strong arms.

"Get a room!" a voice booms from behind.

The spell is broken.

I turn around and answer, "We did. That's how we got you!"

My son feigns disgust, "Ew, Mom. Gross. TMI. Blech. Can't you skip that part?"

I kiss him on the cheek and wink at him, "Nope."

Smartass.

No rest for the weary...

A blanket of silence has settled over the house. The last guest has left. I breathe a sigh of relief as I look at the minor mess left in the wake of weekend entertaining.

I love people coming to visit. I love to cook huge meals. I love the laughter around the table after everyone has had their fill of tasty morsels.

I'm the hostest with the mostest.

I guess what I love the most is taking care of the ones I love - whether it be through food, shelter, drink, song, or laughter.

A blanket of silence has settled over the house. The last guest is gone.

Now I prepare for the next wave of visitors.

Gardener Gone Wild...

The garage door opened and the sunlight came onto the concrete floor. Dust and cobwebs moved simultaneously as if they were taking a breath of fresh air. My nose tickled as the haze blew past my head.

As my eyes glanced over the primary occupants of the cold room - assorted junk and gasoline powered sharp items - I felt the urge to purge.

That, and make something pretty.

Various bulbs of flowers with names I can't pronounce were waiting to be planted. I remember going to the store and seeing them. Thinking, "Oh, I know where the purple should go. Right next to the white puffy thing."

My intentions were clear. Now, where did I plant the white puffy thing? Or, was it pink?

Damn, I suck.

No matter where the white or pink thing was planted, I have found a home for the purple thing.

I gather my gardening gear and head to my new spot that needs my "loving touch." I use the term lightly because I tend to kill everything I attempt to nurture.

I dig in the cool dirt. After each carefully dug hole is made, I gently place the bulb inside. In my mind I see these flowers coming up in early spring. A bright color sprouting up in the midst of slush, browns, and greys, but before the grass has a chance to turn green.

I cover the holes and wish my good intentions on them.

Something pretty.

A reminder to me that when I see it in the spring that even after the harshest winter, it can sprout up and push the cold away. Ushering in a new season and another chance in being beautiful.

Separation Anxiety...

His shaggy hair hangs over his face as he looks at me. I can barely see his hazel eyes, but I can tell they're rolling up in his head as if to say, "Here we go again."

The typical teen having to deal with a parental unit.

His phone rings and he bolts away from me. He doesn't move this quickly when I ask for help, but when his friends call he becomes a blur.

He closes his bedroom door and I can hear the murmur of his voice. Laughter and then hushed.

I am no longer welcomed in his conversations or his world.

He is cutting the cord, as he should, and it's killing me.

As he goes about his evening preoccupied with whatever is going on in his head, I try to give him space.

He sings along to music and he sounds happy. When I ask how he's doing, I get the standard answer, "It's great, mom."

Getting any answer other than that is like pulling teeth.

I sit on my couch and wonder:
* Did I hug him enough?
* Did I kiss him enough?
* Did I tell him "I love you" enough?
* Did I do everything well enough that he knows I'd die for him?

I don't know if I'll ever get that answer. Maybe when he's older and past the eye-rolling phase.

Maybe not. I still roll my eyes at my mom...

If only...

As I hurtle to my dreaded destination, I find myself scowling at the passing scenery.

I am the passenger for a change. A good decision on his part as my thoughts are not focussed on the road and other cars.

Several times I wished that I could just grab the wheel and have us rocket onto an exit.

We can't. We have "obligations."

I have to suck it up, ignore any jackass remarks, and be good.

I don't want to play nice. I want to do my own damn thing. Screw everybody else.

Yeah. That would be nice.

If only...

All Fired Up...

The wood was stacked neatly by the hearth.

"Do you want a fire tonight?" He asked me.

"Yes, please." I reply.


He arranges the logs in some sort of geometric pattern. Kindling poking out and discarded magazines twisted into colorful origami in between.


He heats up the flue and I hear the air get sucked up the chimney.

The paper is lit in no time and I have a roaring bon-fire in my fireplace.


It is so hot we can't sit too close for fear that our eyebrows will be incinerated.

So, from afar I enjoy the fire blazing in front of me.

I curl up on the couch and let the warmth envelope me. My cat joins me in appreciating the golden glow.

As my eyes close, I listen to the fire speak it's language. Pops, crackles, and hisses.

My mind welcomes the new nature-speak and I feel myself drift into sleep.

Oh, I do love to lay by the fire and do nothing.

Static in the Attic...

I move the antennae and clear thoughts come through. I rush to put them on paper. I can't write fast enough.

Sometimes they are clean and unfiltered only waiting until I have time to acknowledge them.

Other times a storm comes through and move the antennae for me. those ideas tend to be cluttered and jumbled. Fragments of complete thoughts pop out. I must wait for the storm to pass before it is safe for me to get a clear picture.

I write and write and write until the signal fades and the static returns.

It's always the same for me.

Get it out until the soothing white noise fills my head again.





we now conclude our broadcast day....


pshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Verbal Ebola...

The words churned in my mind for a week. I couldn't figure out what pissed me off so much and then it hit me.

"Um, that would be a no."

Your flippant reply was the last straw. It's one thing to tear me down bit by bit (Something you seem to either take great pleasure in doing or are so oblivious you don't realize the callousness of your actions.)

It's quite another when you let your mouth loose on someone I love. Someone who's not used to your mouth being engaged before your brain has a moment to shut it off.

What. The. Hell?!

You could've said "no" so much nicer.

Don't you realize your words are killing the people around you?

Open your eyes.

Look at the corpses. We're piling up.

The fastest way to my heart is with an arrow...

I try so hard to not think of him, but it's nearly impossible.

Past wounds - some fresh, others just nasty scars - remind me constantly of what he's capable.

His name is not spoken often so I may move on from the latest train wreck that has now become our relationship.

Two months is not nearly enough time or space for me.

If he wonders why I never call, he doesn't mention it. Maybe he knows and that's why he never calls. I don't know.

The latest insult action has once again hit the bulls-eye.

Somebody needs to disarm him.

It can't be me.

I'm still on the floor bleeding and trying to pull the arrow out of my heart.

And I didn't even kill the messenger...

You took the responsibility and placed it in your capable hands.

I don't envy you one bit. The task you took on was going to hurt me in no uncertain terms, but somebody had to do it.

Did you pull the shortest straw? Lost a bet? Or did you know how to soften the blow for me? My guess is the latter.

You were right in telling me. I know it wasn't easy. I could tell in your eyes you didn't want to do it, just to spare me.

I was brave and took it like a, um, like a... Well. Like a person who was taken by surprise and not really surprised by it all.

All I can say is thank you.

The message sucked but you didn't.

I am too much (sometimes)...

He wakes up with a sunny disposition. Why, I ask, are you so happy in the damn morning? There's really no need for such cheeriness that early in the morning.

I grumble and roll away from his smiling face. A snarl emerges from my lips as I attempt the impossible - returning to my slumber.

He rolls with me and wraps his arms around me. I can feel his face nuzzle my neck as my body stiffens.

He knows me well enough to know that he's treading on dangerous ground, yet he continues to snuggle me.

I try to scootch towards the edge of the bed and he is stuck to me like glue.

He kisses my bare shoulder and asks me, "Am I too much?"

"Yes!" I bark at him, "Sometimes you are too much."

My answer elicits a giggle from him as he starts to sing.

I am too much.

I am toooooo much!

I am tooooo muuuuuuch!

With that I get out of bed and glare at him.

"Yes, you are too much!"

I head towards the bathroom to put a door between me and my singing husband.

As the door shuts behind me, I hear one last time.

I AM TOO MUCH!

I guess there are worse ways to be woken up...

It's not easy being me...

I love being a woman. Even when I was a child, I looked forward to growing up and being able to wear the pretty dresses and killer shoes.

I love slipping on the gorgeous undergarments and hiding them with my wardrobe. A secret just for me.

I love wearing subtle make-up and putting a hint of perfume behind my ears. A secret just for him.

I love the jangle of bracelets on my wrists as I walk down the stairs and the click of my heels on the tile announcing "girl on the move."

What I don't love is the maintenance. I hate shaving but nobody wants to see a gorilla in a dress.

I also hate panty hose. The moment I put them on I begin to feel suffocated. Like I'm being strangled. I'd rather staple my tongue to a table than put hosiery on.

So, today I enjoy being a girly-girl, but tomorrow I just might really enjoy the non-frilly side of me by putting on a broken-in pair of Levis and a comfortable sweater and some kick-ass boots.

It takes one to know one...

I tapped my fingers to the music on the steering wheel while waiting for the light to turn green. I get stuck at this light nearly every day going to and from work. I don’t mind so much. It’s not a long light and the intersection is actually fairly pretty. Go figure.

This particular morning the light seemed to be stuck in a red holding pattern, which gave me time to look around. Same trees on this corner, leaves piled up on that corner, students laughing and walking to school on that corner over there.

Then I noticed her.

She was a solitary student on the last corner. It was so obvious that she was not part of the group ahead of her. That group all looked the same – kind of like lemmings. Pretty hair. Pretty smiles. Pretty clothes. Pretty, pretty, pretty with a ton of confidence thrown in for good measure.

By contrast, she was none of those things. Her unkempt hair (maybe she brushed it with a blender) flying wildly in the wind, bright purple shirt with some decal on it, baggy bluish-black pants, and beat up Chucks were nothing compared to the gigantic glasses that hid her small face. Her book bag looked well worn and held together by dirt, tape, and safety pins. She was not smiling, nor was she having any fun. She did not exude that, “This is me, deal with it” attitude. She was trudging for yet another day of Hell at school.

Immediately I knew we were kindred spirits. When I was her age, my entire walk to school was spent in my head trying to figure a way to get out of going to school that day.

I didn’t have the cool clothes, I had the knock-offs. My mother cut my hair. My shoes were bargain basement. To top it off, I was weird. I spent a lot of time trying to figure things out in my head. School was just another lump in my pile of shit.

I didn’t know I was going through my awkward phase. I thought I was in one of the seven circles of Hell. I didn’t know I would eventually pull myself together - get a boyfriend, wear the clothes I wanted, dye my hair crazy colors, get married, have a kid, kill plants for fun, cook almost edible food, be happy with myself and my life.

The light changed to green and I headed through the intersection. As I passed the girl, I smiled at her. While she may think I’m some sort of freak, (and at that age I would think I was a freak too) I hope she received my good thoughts: “This too, shall pass.”

Here comes trouble...

The slow death of a season is surrounding me. What was once green and lush has turned into gold, rust, and brown. The trees lose their leaves at a faster pace than I realized they would.



The smell of a summer storm on the horizon has been replaced with the damp earth scent. The smell of decaying leaves turning into mulch.

I love the fall. The beauty of the trees showing their last hurrah for the year pleases my eye. The wind picks up and I find it bites at my skin. My cheeks and tip of my nose become rosy.

The rustle of the golden fallen leaves blow past my feet at a hurried pace - as if they are running just ahead of the coming winter.

Even though summer has been erased from the landscape, I find myself eyeballing a fresh pile of leaves and smiling.

They are just right for me to jump in and scatter in the wind.

With quick steps, I head towards the large mound. One foot kicks into the pile and I start to giggle. Always the inner-child appears when it comes to Autumn. I shuffle my feet and hear the sound I was searching for:



shhhhp
shhhhp
shhhhp
shhhhp

Looking behind me, I see the trail I made. Now it's time to play. I blast color everywhere as I kick at the pile.

What was once neat has now become a mess. A big mess I made.

I grab the rake to bring it all together again. To make it back how it had been. One big pile of color.

I am sweaty and tired with leaves in my socks and hair, but I look at this cleaned up stack and feel the urge to play again.



One foot in the pile and I hear the rustle.

Here we go again...

Coming Undone...

Slowly, I step back. The tethers that had once held me so tightly have loosened their grip and I am able to free myself. As strong as my bindings had been – made of leather and bound tightly as to hurt me – they are now but a memory lightly grazing over my skin.

At one time, I thought breaking away would cause such pain that I wouldn’t be able to bear it. The complacency of being held too tightly was doing more damage than protecting me. Offering the chance to others to tie the knots tighter and tighter, I didn't realize that I was the one harming myself. I envisioned that when I was finally able to rip myself loose, that scars would remain from the struggle of separation.

The tethers kept me from being who I really am. What I really am.

Present day shows the ties that were there are no longer holding me. I was just in that position for so long I didn’t realize that they were gone. I didn’t know how to look for the signs of freedom. Now I see it plain as day and I wonder why it took me so long to figure it out.

Quietly, I set myself free and slip out the back door. No questions asked.

Unbound
Unnoticed
Unbothered
Unencumbered
Uninhibited
Uncomplicated, and
Untouched.



Ps – It was the neglect and games that set me free. “I told you so” is not really necessary even though you were so right. Sometimes you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.

Tricky Treats...

As a child I loved Halloween. It was my favorite holiday. It wasn't because of the candy - although I do like candy.

I loved it because it was the one day of the year you could be somebody else and people didn't look at you funny when you were dressed like a pirate or a princess. You were allowed to growl at people or you could be silly.

I never went for the scary or gory costumes. Maybe I wasn't allowed to dress that way. I don't remember.

What I do remember was putting on the make-up or mask and enjoying the anoniminity it brought me.

It was as if my hidden mask was allowed to be replaced by a real one - with sparkles.

I still feel that way.

No Strings Attached...

The strings attached to my arms and legs make me dance involuntarily.

With each jerk on the tethers, my movements represent the wishes of the puppet master.

I twist and twirl around becoming dizzy in my actions. Unable to stop, I am weary.

The master also becomes tired of my uncoordinated movements and decides to hang me up for the night.

My limbs get a chance to rest, when a thought pops into my head.

What if I cut the strings?

How did I get tied up in the first place?

I realize my blunder. I readily handed out my arms and legs and gave the okay to be toyed with.

It's my fault and now here I am being manipulated. A play-thing for somebody else.

I chew through the strings on my wrists and then untie my legs.

I am finally free.

Where do I go now? What do I do with myself, now that I'm in control?

Why is it that I also worry about the puppet master?

Will they miss me? Or, do they move on, like I should?

Summer Sets...

In vain I try to squeeze the last drops of summer onto my skin.

There won't be many more days like this were I get to laze in the sun and read a book.

Perhaps even next week I'll wind up putting away the lounge chairs and side tables. I put them into hibernation as summer drifts into Autumn.

I'm not ready this year.

While my summers are really busy, they are also the times when I can really relax.

The sun and beach soothe my soul. The white nose of the ocean's roar blocks out my frazzled thoughts.

Once fall begins, I will resort to the pops and crackles of the fireplace I will lay next to. Providing a scene I can slip easily in to. Another comfort zone in a safe haven.

Until then I hold on to summer with both hands knowing it will break free of my grasp all too soon.

In the attics of my life...

With rings on my fingers and bells on my shoes, I danced in the parking lot. We traveled like one large hippie gang up and down the coast to see the band we lived and breathed for.

We were young enough that our part-time jobs allowed us to go on frequent spring, summer, and fall tours. We were never looking for a miracle of "one ticket.' We were professional concert goers. We relied on mail-order tickets.

We lived on peanut butter crackers and Snapple. We sold tie-dyed t-shirts at shows to pay for our tickets, gas, and food. For years we would see the same regulars all over the country. A smile and a nod to each other acknowledged each others deadication to our favorite band.

We were light in spirit and welcomed those of like minds.

Patchouli, incense, and marijuana were the smells that wafted through the air in a potent mixture. Drums, guitars and tinkling bells were always in the background. It was my traveling home away from home.

There was a kinship in the hardcore crowd. Peace, love, and sharing.

I knew I could be clothed, fed, and entertained for free in an emergency by complete strangers. I would've done the same for somebody else.

It is a lifetime away from me now, but I look back on my time well spent and I thank God for the Grateful Dead.

It's all Greek to me....

I inhale deeply and glance at the scrolling pictures before me.

Yes, they are beautiful. Yes, it is interesting - to him. Yes, my head is starting to not pay attention to the constant blathering next to me.

I feel like I'm back in college with a lecturing professor talking at me about a subject I'm not interested in.

My mind wanders.

I look across the table and see you smile and roll your eyes.

My giggle is quickly muffled. Funny how we think the same thing.

A pompous windbag unaware that we are not impressed with his never ending show.

I can only acknowledge that his lecture is more interesting after a few martinis are under our belts.

It is sad that he feels the need to try and impress us with his skewed knowledge, unaware we are sleeping with our eyes open.

He should just let the silence between friends suffice.

Spiders = 1; Me = 0

I lay back and soak in the sun. The late summer sky and warm rays from the sun relax me. I try and decide whether to read a book or do nothing.

What the hell was that tickle on my leg?

I look and find a tiny spider running over my leg.

*SMACK*

That bug's a goner.

I settle back in to my nothingness and serious bellybutton contemplation when I feel another tickle. This time it's on my shoulder. Again I find tiny spider.

*SMACK*

That one's a goner too.

I fluff my towel and lay down again. Daring another arachnid to cross into my personal space. Didn't all the creatures outside see me cream those two other bugs? Don't they know I'll squash them too should they get on me?


Yeah, well apparently I'm not too threatening looking as 4 more spiders decided to roam on me.

As I decide to pack it in for the day a dark thought entered my mind. One of my biggest fears that could actually happen...

Are there spiders in my hair?

The panic starts to unfold itself neatly in my mind. My breathing starts to quicken and I can feel the tears well up in my eyes as I realize that I may have been laying on a spider nest or some other hell I could only imagine.

I can barely speak the words, "Please help me. I think there might be spiders in my hair." Panic makes me unable to function as I start to shake uncontrollably.

He pulls my head down and tells me to calm down. He weaves his fingers through my hair and finds nothing. Not a hint of any cootie.

I slowly start to calm down but the fear remains. What if he missed one?

I shudder at the thought.

Thank God I didn't have a blowtorch on me or the entire backyard would've been blackened.

Rebel Yell...

A. Laughs at inappropriate jokes, would be the one to run down the street on fire. And naked. A handful from the get go.
B. Type A personality. Eager to please. Well behaved. A real go-getter.
C. Still waters run deep. The quiet one. The watcher. Laid back and easy to roll with.

Guess which one is me? (I'll give you a hint - not B or C)

Imagine someone describing your personality to somebody else. I laughed when I first heard it, but it sticks with me today.

My sister had a daughter. And bless her, the girl has the same personality as me. I was pleased to hear somebody else will keep people on their toes in my tiny family.

"Why me? I was the good one!" Was the cry I heard when she realized the observation was true. I'll have to admit that stung. What's wrong with being a trail-blazer? What's wrong with being an independent thinker who's not afraid to take it on the chin?

I can only hope she can't break my nieces spirit in any way. I hope her zest for life is never quenched by the monotony of being "just like everybody else."

Maybe, when she's older, we WILL run down the street, naked and on fire telling the most appalling jokes...

Hell on Wheels...

I babysat for months.

Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Every week, without fail, I was employed. Usually by the same families but sometimes I got new clients to add to my list. I was well known and reliable.

I saved my money as best I could. Money burned a hole in my pocket. Sometimes it would flow through my fingers faster than I could grasp.

I found an object of my desire - a bicycle - black.

It was beautiful. Every week I would pass by this want, knowing the countdown had begun. It was only a matter of time before it would be mine. All mine.

I finally saved up enough money - $128.50. That was the most I had ever had saved up. It was mostly fives and ones. When I got to the store, I was so excited I could hardly pay the cashier.

There it was. Shiny and new. It was my first major purchase in my young life. I was so proud of myself.

My first ride on this bicycle I had an epiphany. The harder I pushed my legs, the faster the peddles pumped. The wheels moved faster and I was out like a shot.

My home became smaller as I rode away. I could feel the ties that held me so tightly rip loose.

I had purchased freedom. Freedom to roam. Freedom to scream. Freedom to think my own thoughts. Freedom to be me.

As the wind whipped through my hair, I couldn't help but smile. The rushing air helped to blast the daily worries and awful school days off of me.

I would race through the neighborhood like a bat out of hell sometimes with friends, sometimes by myself. But by the time the street lights came on and I was rolling towards home, I was centered and ready for another day.

My trusty bike took me everywhere. Some places my parents knew about, some places they didn't. It took me on adventures. I laughed, cried, and bled on that beautiful thing. Most importantly, I got a taste of freedom at that point in my life and I never looked back.

Barefoot in the park...

I'm not dating, per se. I'm married. I date my husband. I've been married for a long time and have been with him for half my life.

Half of my life. Damn! That's a long time.

It hasn't always been sunshine and roses. I'm no walk in the park.

The social butterfly married a virtual hermit. An odd combination, but it works for some weird reason.

I went to a picnic and someone asked if I brought my boyfriend with me. Usually he doesn't go with me and at times I feel the old ladies think I'm making up an imaginary husband so I don't appear to be an aging spinster.

He and I were off in the distance enjoying the mountain air. Laughing at private jokes and people watching (a favorite sport of ours). We have fun together. He appreciates my odd sense of humor and I like how he gets me. Not many people do, so it's a rarity when it actually happens.

In hushed whispers my mother was asked if the man I brought with me was my boyfriend.

"No. That's her husband." She replied.

"Newlyweds?"

"No. They've been together a long time."

At first I thought the observation was funny. I was unaware I was being so closely watched by the mother hens.

Later that night I thought how sad is was that the general assumption was 'boyfriend" and not "husband."

Aren't you supposed to have fun with your spouse? I have fun with mine. Maybe that's a rare thing in today's world and that's just sad.

Sunshine Daydreams...

The last leg of summer is upon us. The days slowly become shorter and the nights are getting cooler.

My love affair with the sun and water is almost over as we head into my favorite season of all time - Fall.

Every year I feel as if I'm cheating on summer when I get excited about Autumn being just around the corner. there are times when I love each season equally and wish for the best of both worlds. Heat and sun during the day but cool nights for sleeping well. Earthy smells and the colors of all draped on the landscape.

Too soon I will kiss summer good-bye and welcome fall with open arms, but until then I will continue to paint my toenails, drink fruity drinks, and daydream in the sun.

Twilights Last Gleaming...

My favorite time of the day is upon me. I sit outside with you next to my side, yet we enjoy the twilight in solitude.

Periwinkle is the color of the sky. My favorite color. It's neither here nor there with the definition of day or night. It is that brief moment of in-between the two. A blending of the most beauty the day has to offer and the magical hint of night.

The bats come out now and we watch them do their arial dance. At first, the flight appears scattered, but then I see a pattern emerging.

I would imagine that if the bats had ribbons attached we would see them being braided together. I don't know much about these flying creatures, but I can't seem to stop watching the intricate dance above me.

At this point, the trees have become silhouettes against the changing sky. I am losing my twilight to darkness.

I wish it would last longer. The brief moment seems to pass all too quickly for me, yet I don't seem to miss many.

Tomorrow I will wake up and I know that if I time it right, I will be able to catch another fleeting glimpse into pure beauty.

As simple as that action seems, it makes me smile.

It always has.

Grin and Bare It...

With my defenses down, I let the mask slip away. Gingerly I untied the ribbons behind my head and let my face be naked.

It had been such a long time since I let my guard down. Usually I let the perfunctory glimpses show to open up. Depending on the response, I either tie the deception on tighter or I let that person get closer.

"Eyes are the windows to the soul." I was told to trust the eyes.

How do you do that when they have no soul? How do you do that when they believe their own deception?

I'm left feeling exposed and vulnerable. Not something I am used to nor enjoy.

Don't worry about me - it's just another brick in the wall.

When all else fails - eat chocolate...

Anonymous - I won't do that again. At least, not in the near future. Is that ok? The fact that you're here patting me on the shoulder is enough. Thank you.

Andrea - You didn't want to see what happened. It was gross. And yes, today's a new day. It's Tuesday, my least favorite day of the week. I guess I'll have some chocolate to console myself.

Martha - it's been a long while and I'm glad you stopped by. I was taking to someone at work about you last week. They're big Dr. Who fans.

OP L - thank you for the support. I may take you up on the email offer. I know I belong there, I just choose to avoid the negativity for now. Who really needs that kind of crap anyway?

Gnothi - It was ugly, but thanks for stopping by. I've missed your name around the blog.

Mustard - I opened up and got burned. Over the last few months, my faith in humanity has been shaken, this was just the last straw. I find that less is more. To answer your questions:
1 - no
2 - yes
3 - don't care
4 - correct

But names will never hurt me...

Their words circle around me like vultures honing in on carion.

As the circle comes closer to me, I can't help but feel the nips at my psyche.

This time it doesn't hurt. I'm not saying it's a comfortable feeling, because it's not. It just doesn't hurt. I am aware that they circle me and are waiting to see the pain flicker in my eyes. They won't find it anymore.

I guess that if I gave a shit, their words would hurt, but I don't care anymore. I let it go.

Just loud enough for me to hear yet soft enough for me to miss the good stuff. At least I truly know where I stand with them.

I'm a threat.

I've done nothing to them. I rarely speak to them because I know my words may come back to bite me in some distorted version.

Maybe they have PMS.
Maybe they're just nasty bitches.

I don't care anymore.



ps - yes, it bothers me.

No need to get my hands dirty...

"She was a gold-digger, Mom. I had to cut her loose" was what he told me.

Ah the beginning of firsts again:
- first date
- first kiss
- first girlfriend
- first break-up

I was so excited when he came upon this rite of passage. He was ready and trained to be a gentleman first and foremost.

I was also worried about his heart. What if she broke it? Would I have to hunt her down and bury her in the back yard in my macabre pet cemetary? Because I'd do it in a heartbeat.

I was prepared for the worst and I knew where the shovel was.

As it turned out, he has a good head on his shoulders. Much more logical than me. No need for any shovels. He did the breaking.

Now I feel bad for the girl.

Ridden hard and put away wet...

With twitchy movements and wild eyes, she plays with another cheap cigarette. Nicotine stained fingers from chain-smoking flicked the ashes away nervously.

Much to my disappointment, time had not changed her. Addictions and poor life decisions have played havoc with her looks and mental state. The gap between our worlds was just as apparent as it was 12 years ago. Huge. It's the difference between night and day, cat and dog, vanilla and chocolate. Sober and not sober.

She appeared to be more nervous than me. Her speech was slurry and erratic and was unaware that the stories she told had no beginning or ending. She started everything in the middle.

She is drifting aimlessly through life and is reaching out to me to be her anchor. How can I help her? I barely have a grip on my life, let alone helping to keep her stable. It's the past playing out before me again.

How do I help her when I don't even know what language she's speaking?

Diggity...

I am nervous, but I'm not really sure why.


A blast from the past dialed my number and found me speechless on the other end. An impromptu meeting with short notice at my house has me frantic.

I am nervous. The thought runs through my head again like a broken record.

It's been 12 years since we last met. We were close at one time. When we were teens we shared our secrets and lies. Her stories always shocked and amazed me. She was the one in our group that I envied. The boys wanted her and I wanted to be her.

I am worried.

How have I changed since our last get-together? How has she changed? Did she change?

Why can't I just let it flow?

Forgotten, but not gone...

Its official - you forgot.

You forgot and I’m an idiot.

It’s not like this has never happened before. It has plenty of times.

For years I wondered what my problem was. Why not just give up and walk away? It finally occurred to me what my problem is. It’s called hope. I have hope and therefore I am screwed.

Every. Single. Time.

Don’t give me that bullshit story about you being sorry and loving me. Blah, blah, blah. Excuses after excuses. Your behavior produces the same effect as if I was being shoved in front of a speeding bus.

*Splat* go my emotions.

You never called.

You never called.

You never called.

And you should have.

It was the least you could have done.

Doesn't Remind Me...

By Audioslave

I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
With a graveyard tan carrying a cross
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like studying faces in a parking lot
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like driving backwards in the fog
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything

The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget

I like gypsy moths and radio talk
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like gospel music and canned applause
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like colorful clothing in the sun
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I ilke hammering nails and speaking in tongues
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything

The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need

Bend and shape me
I love the way you are
Slow and sweetly
Like never before
Calm and sleeping
We won't stir up the past
So descretely
We won't look back

The things that I've loved the things that I've lost
The things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need

I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like playing in the sand what's mine is ours
If it doesn't remind me of anything



Yeah Willie, that's the song

Fluff n' Stuff...

I could watch clouds float by all day long.

I am mesmerized by the way they drift and fold upon themselves towards one another shifting shapes all the while. Some days they appear whipped cream looking, but today their texture hints and sheared wool.

Today they are the whitest of white against the blue skies. My parents call this a "high sierra day." A reminder of days long gone and extreme camping.

The clouds drift slowly above me and I can appreciate the beauty of each and every one as if it were a parade from the heavens and the clouds were floats for my own amusement. Their shadows play along the lines of the hills and roads. The air cools when I'm under the shadow but when it passes the sun, I am once again in the warm sunlight.

They pull and swirl up there so far away. I don't bother trying to see faces or animals shapes hidden in the fluff. I just like to watch the changing view above me.

I only see their enormity and realize how small I am in this big world.

Mazed and Dazed...

I get lost in what is the labrynth of my mind. I always start out leaving bread crumbs on my journey within, but somehow I lose myself on the way out.

Olive Hue...

Green is the color that draws me in these days. I look at the clothes I've purchased this year and see two predominat colors. Black (which goes with everything) and various shades of green.

As each year passes by, I see the different color attractions. Last year I couldn't get enough chocolate browns and soft pinks. The year before it was blue and black. One year I enjoyed purples. Each color displays the mood of that year.

This year is clean and cool. Sharp lines and contrasting shades. A more solitary combination versus last year's warm and inviting colors. I guess I'm in that solitary mood.

Although, sometimes a happy pink dress is in order for the day.

Black Thumb of Death...

The flora that I had so excitedly planted in the spring has suffered from neglect.

Crispy leaves and sticks are remnants of what once had been lush vegetation. The sad little flower faces droop in the strong sun.

I can only hope that the water I finally sprinkle upon them can be soaked in and replenish their dried roots.

My lack of horticultural skills and apparent curse doom my plants to the same fate every year - a slow death.

Even the cactus and wildflowers suffer under my nurturing or lack thereof.

The only thing I can't seem to kill are weeds, which seem to thrive around me.

I want my flowers to live. It's not that I don't try. I have the best intentions.

However, when September arrives, my backyard resembles a barren wasteland of empty pots and withered, unrecognizable plant life. Brown and black replace the once rainbow selection.

Oh well, there's always next spring.

Toxic Moron...

The slippage has begun. I can hear the voice grow thick as the alcohol takes hold. In an attempt to drink down your sins, you think I don't notice.

The verbal firecrackers never cease to amaze me. Bold obscure statements conflict with reality.

Our conversation is one-sided. I stand no chance in trying to be a part of it, so I sit patiently and listen.

I hear horror stories of your life, yet I'm not interested. I try to divorce myself from this verbal barrage to no avail. You do not hear my quiet pleas to be released. You only leave when you're done spewing vulgarities.

With a quick, "Gotta go." You blink out, leaving me bewildered and trying to make sense of what just happened.

How do I explain why I still love you?

I can't.

The Riddler

I read another's words carefully written from the heart. Meticulous care is taken and each word chosen has a specific meaning. Even the tense has a purpose.

I am so bold to take those words to heart and apply them to my own world, knowing that they truly have nothing to do with me or my own reality.

Because those words are not my own, I am just an outsider getting a glimpse inside another person. The application of those words to my life is probably very different than how the words were meant.

Either way, I am forced to look inside myself. Sometimes there's a connection - an understanding. Sometimes I like what I see. And still other times it is dark and dreary - hoping for a spot of sunshine to burst on through the dark side.

I kick those words around in my head and try to figure out the meaning of it all.

Most of the time I'm still puzzled and lost.

It's Raining, It's Pouring...

The low rumble of the thunder chases me out of the yard and back into the safety of my home.

I close the door to protect me from the violence that the sky is hinting at.

The thunder is far enough away that each time it roars, it is not the sharp crack and deafening sound. It's more like the sound of someone bowling from up above.

With each moment the sound gets louder. My entire house shakes from the rolling rumble.

I can feel the temperature drop as the stifling heat wave is pushed aside and a cold front moves in.

The winds starts to blow the leaves of the trees over - an indication that much needed rain is on it's way.

CRACK!

It has arrived. Batten down the hatches. This storm is going to be a doozy.

Pathfinders...

The side yard is so ugly it makes me cringe. I don't usually look at that part of the yard because it's such a mess. Huge slate slabs haphazardly placed in odd angles. I can't seem to tell if it was done on purpose or if it's a piece of yard art gone wrong. With that in mind, I look at you and get ready to dig.

We pull up pieces and lay them out. I watch as you dig flat spots in the ground to make a pattern that my mind can easily process. I don't do abstract very well.

The sun-baked slate is hot and heavy in our hands. One by one, a new spot is dug out and the slab is placed in it's new spot. Side by side we work to make this happen.

Very few words are spoken. A few gestures here and there, and a bit of grunting as large, odd-sized items push their weight against our bodies.

Large. Small. Large. Medium. Small. Large.

The pieces start to fill in the puzzle we try to figure out.

The small rocks are difficult to move, but we try our hardest to lay the best foundation for our design. A bridge and a path.

A bridge to go over the bigger rocks. Ones that can turn our ankles if we aren't careful enough. A path to take us easily from one spot to another. Something pretty to look at. I'm tired of tripping over obnoxious thistle in the dark.

We finish our new walkway. It is clean and sparse. but in time, the grass will grow in-between the slate pieces. A softness will envelope the crisp lines and the side yard will look as if somebody cares.

It took all afternoon. We were hot, sweaty, dirty, bruised and dehydrated, but the path was solid. Sometimes that's what it takes to make your own path. Remember to have a friend help you, otherwise you might get lost.

Stinky Peaches...

Her chest was puffed out as far as it could go and her belly was sucked in the best she could. She preened in front of the men sitting around us.

I sat on my chair and stayed in the background. I became extremely aware that I outweighed her by 30 pounds. A fact that was more obvious in our bathing suits.

She posed and primped. Her body screamed, "Look at me!" with every action she made.

A dog whistle from behind me gave her what she needed and she smiled. Her body relaxed a bit and she was able to once again breathe.

She moved slowly and attempted the seductive strut back to her chair. It was interesting to watch until she wobbled.

Her steps were unsteady as she sat down next to me again and reached for her cigarette. As she lit it, I realized how harsh she actually looked. Make-up smeared around her eyes and her lips were twisted up in a grimace. Her hair was a rats nest. Unkempt and fiddled with by her drunken fingers.

She is like a Monet painting. From far away she looks nice, but up close she's a big mess.

Loose Lips...

I watch him as he lifts the flared glass to his lips. A smile upon his face appears as he listens to the idiotic conversation.

The liquid he drinks is deceptive. Jolly Rancher in color and flavor hides the high alcohol content.

He sits, watching and listening. His movements are slow and deliberate. He is the picture of sobriety amongst the drunkards.

The others around him are obviously loud and sloppy. Their drinks splash onto the patio as movements get wide.

We beg him into conversation. Alcohol muddles our minds as we sink to a new low of raunchy jokes and crude observations.

He smiles at us and decides to raise the intelligence level.

"I had thebesst dinner. It was lablioli blabstar. Balioli laster. Laster ralioli..."

With that, the laughter roared throughout the once quiet backyard.

Yes, he is now one of us.

Pickled.

Poodle Head and other tragedies...

She watched me from across the grove and scrutinized my every move. She clearly dislikes me - always has.

She was the cheerleader with an attitude. Some envied her. Some wanted to be her. I wanted her to leave me alone because I thought she was a bitch. I steered clear and let her impress her friends and herself.

We went our separate ways. She did the academia route and I kind of farted around. I'm pleased with how I turned out even though I've gone the path less traveled.

Yet, here we are 20 years later and she's glaring at me. The only thing missing from this picture is the school bus yellow.

Maybe she still dislikes me from days gone by. I might have said something to her that was meant to harm - and it did. Or, maybe I didn't take her shit and she remembers that. Maybe it's because she outweighs me by 50 pounds. I don't know.

Could it be that she really is just angry at the world and I remind her of what she isn't? Could be. But, I tend to think it's because perched atop her snarling head is what looks like a poodle gone bad.

Out of the mouths of babes...

Untamed words aimed at the tender hearted is the way to start the bricks in the wall.

Fat
Gay
Stupid
Loser
Ugly

Which name hurts the most? I guess it depends on which day it is. Was it used in combination with another hurtful word? Either way it all sucks.

Children are the cruelest. They pick the point of most damage and run with it. The moment they see pain in your eyes, they know they've got you where they want you. They want to be the alpha dogs in this dog eat dog world. They want playground domination.

Whatever it is, what they want the most is deflection of their own insecurities. If you pick on someone else, nobody will see your flaws.

They act as gangs of verbal hoodlums. The leader may not be the loudest, they are the smartest. They know how to go for blood in the least amount of words.

I wish I could tell you it gets better when you get older. It doesn't. The words get cruder but the meaning is the same. It's the same psychos but different ward.

What we all need is thicker skin and the ability to walk away, knowing that their words mean nothing to you or those who know and love you.

Replace the ugly words with ones that are true:
Love
beauty
funny
perfect
monkey

(ok, I just threw monkey in, but who doesn't love the word "monkey?" It's a happy word like "banjo.")

No touch...

Do I have a sign on me that says, "please touch"?

Do I look like I want random strangers getting in my personal space? What is it about me that makes people want to pet, touch, or sniff me?

What am I - a petting zoo?

You would think seeing me with my hand outstretched in a "stop" motion and actually saying, "Get the F@$% off me," would be a clear indicator that I really don't want you in my space or on top of me. I stiffen up when people approach me and have been known to stomp on people when they've gotten too close.

I don't know. I think some people are even weirder than me.

Good Morning, sunshine...

My mind slowly wakes up before my eyes open. The trash men are smashing cans together to make the most intrusive sound they are able in the early morning quiet. Damn the trash men.

Remnants of a dream still play in the back recesses of my mind. Something about a monkey.

Slowly, the internal gears start to turn. My eyes open and all I see is the blue on my wall. I am unable to focus, so I stare at calming blue. The fan mounted on the ceiling makes a steady whirring noise and my eyes close once again. My body relaxes and I drift back to sleep.

The radio wakes me for a second time this morning. The droning of the voices relay the news to me. Traffic snarled here, sun glare there, and my favorite - the weather report.

I pull myself out of bed. My nightgown is twisted around my body as if I sumersaulted in my sleep, but my pajama's stayed in place. My back aches today. I woke up curled in a tight ball.

My feet touch the floor and my head grazes the wall. No balance yet. My nose is clogged with cat hair. Damn the cat.

Not all the pistons are firing yet. I stumble to the bathroom, trying to manuever the minefield of discarded shoes, clothes, and cat.

1/2 an hour. I have 1/2 an hour to get my shit in gear and out of the house.

Why do I always do this to myself?

Mean Streaking...

A knot in my throat, I hold back the scream of frustration. Soon I will not be able to sit motionless. I will have to move my body. I will have to find a way to vent without getting the police involved.

I begin to fidgit. At first my fingers start to tap on the desk. They follow no musical path, more like releasing energy as it bursts out my fingertips. My feet ache to kick something. Dammit, I'm wearing flats. They're no good in punching holes in stuff like I need to do today.

My frustration mounts.

Ease off the coffee. No more coffee for me. Put the chocolate away.

My voice gets louder than it should. Not quite yelling, but verging on shrill.

Be a lady. Be a lady. Inside voice. Inside voice.

I feel the need to be mean. Mean as a junkyard dog. Nasty as a kicked hornets nest. Yes, those around me are going to suffer and I will smile as I watch them squirm. This perverse need will only be sated after I've torn through a peaceful afternoon like a tornado leaving a path of destruction in my wake.

I have been provoked. Not that I didn't warn them, but they didn't see the clear signs I was giving.

"No."
"Not good for me."
"Not working out."
"Not what I had planned."

God help the poor soul to happens to start with me today. They may find my size 7 Mary Jane pump sticking out of their forehead and hearing me say, "Do that again and I've got another shoe to match the one sticking out of your head."

Gallows Humor...

This joke is completely inappropriate on many levels but I can't stop laughing. Welcome to the dark side.

The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed. She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.

The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the blonde mortician a blank check and she says, "I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing."

The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly.

She says to the mortician, "Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I' m very grateful. How much did you spend?" To her astonishment, the blonde mortician presents her with the blank check.

"There's no charge," she says.

"No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!" she says.

"Honestly, ma'am," the blonde says, "it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice."

"So I just switched the heads."

Suck it up...

She slurped her jelly out of the small container with a straw. She actually did it twice.

I don't know if that's proper restaurant etiquette or if I've ever seen that before but it sure gave me a chuckle.

1 + 1 = 1

He proudly handed me his child. A baby. She was beautiful. You could see the love in his eyes as he gazed at his daughter in my arms.

For the third time in a week I was asked the same question. Each time by a different person, but the conversation follows the same path as always.

"Aren't you going to have any more?"

The answer in my heart screamed, but my mouth betrayed what I was feeling. A calm, "Nope, I'm done," was the answer.

"Didn't you want any more?"

Again, I remained neutral. "Nope, one is good for me. Why mess with perfection?"

I have been close friends with this person for a long time and I could give him an honest answer, but I chose not to say, "I am unable."

Did I want more children? Yes. It wasn't for the lack of want or trying. The stars didn't align for me as it did for so many others.

So, instead I enjoy watching other peoples' children. I watch them play and discover. I watch the big tears roll down their fat cheeks. I touch their velvety skin and kiss their foreheads while inhaling the baby-smell all babies have.

The pain of never being able to repeat the same miracle became too much to bear so we stopped trying. It was the right decision, but the questions always hit me the same way.

I know it's out of curiosity and not to spear me in the heart. But everytime I am asked these questions, I always wind up wondering, "What if....?"

Pick your poison...

Ever the sucker for some fun, she took the bait and found it had rotted. Her calm exterior belies what’s hidden beneath. The sick feeling overwhelms her and a thin film of perspiration covers her forehead. If you look closely enough, you’ll see the small cracks forming. She quickly hides her frustration by eating a pop tart (chocolate, of course).

With graceful gestures and pleasantries on the outside, she takes the abuse with a smile. Some think she’s a fool and play her for one. Others know the truth. She watches, waits, and learns from other’s mistakes. She keeps a mental tally until one day when she can walk away and not look back.

In the mirror, she peers at her reflection. What is wrong with this picture? The hair is almost right, the tan is good, the Stepford-ish dress is perfection. The shoes on her feet allow painted toenails to peep out. But she knows there is still something missing.

Looking at her face, her eyes flicker and a smile slides onto her face - she knows what is missing.

It is long. It is black. It commands attention.

She reaches up to the post on her bureau that holds her mirror up. Coiled like a snake around the bracket and hidden under a hat, sits her whip. For a moment she giggles. This dresser belonged to her grandparents long ago. Did her grandmother ever own a whip? Probably not. But the thought of a whip-cracking granny makes her laugh.

She takes the whip down. The leather is still taut. It has been unused until this moment. She glances at her reflection. A mix of suburban housewife and dominatrix flash before her eyes. She looks forward to hearing the crack of the whip and seeing the damage being done to her target.

Yes, this is the look she was going for. Pleased with her new look, she heads out of the safety of her room. Ready for whatever comes down the line.

Hopefully, whatever is down the line is ready for her.

Tommy boy...

I've been thinking of him lately. It's been a while since his name popped into my head. A stroll through the local mall, brushing up against a stranger, I inhaled his cologne. It's not a popular smell now, so I noticed it right away. Although, the guys who wear this scent tend to bathe in it. I thought of him.

The smell stuck in my nose for the rest of the day and I thought of him. My memory is now but a wisp. His edges are faded. I can't quite recall the color of his eyes even though a million years ago I looked deep into them hoping I was "the one." I wasn't and it's ok. Things turned out well for me.

The dreams had stopped long ago. But while I was having them, he was solid. I could still hear his wicked laughter and see the glint in his eyes. He was always up to something and it was usually trouble.

It's been 10 years. 10 years since I've seen his smiling face. At times I can't believe it's only been that long. Other times, it's a world away. 10 years ago I had a toddler and was a newlywed. I was responsible. 10 years ago he had found love finally. Found a woman to tame his inner demons. He was happy and irresponsible.

My life has continued. My hair grew long, I raised a family. I've moved on and lived life.

He has not. He's the same as he was when I last saw him. Only now his broken body, a shell of what he had been, is six feet under. He will never change, never marry, never have children, never laugh wickedly at me again.

And, I miss that. I miss him. I still do.

Frolicking Good Time...

Do you remember playing when you were a child? I mean really playing. Letting loose the worry that someone is watching. Letting go of the fear of looking foolish. Totally and completely immersing yourself in fun.

I don't remember the last time I played for me or when I wasn't trying to entertain a child. Playing for a child can be fun, but they make the rules and control the atmosphere.

I played for me recently. I actually ran, jumped, got dirty, sunburned my nose and butt cheeks, and skinned my knees.

If you look at it through adult eyes, how can that sound fun? It doesn't really. But if you're 8, that's a damn good day.

After I let go of the fear of looking ridiculous, I had an incredible time. To top it off, I slept like the dead that night.

I know it's just my opinion, so take it for what it's worth - playing for yourself is good for the soul. It wipes the adult cobwebs away, lifts the spirit, and maybe even makes you feel better about the world in general.

Here's to playing with pure abandon!






ps. I'll meet you in the backyard. I'm making mud pies we can sell at the Kool-Aid stand.

A Masquerade Party...

The guests have all arrived at their scheduled times.

Their identities have been concealed by their masks, which have been fitted for them by themselves.

I've known these visitors for some time, yet do I really "know" them? I know what I'm shown. But I still wonder what goes on behind the deception. Why do they show me this characture versus another one? Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the real person behind the illusion. Their defenses are down and I get a peek. Whether it's a nicety or something not so nice. I see it and recognize it for what it is.

It's easy to be deceptive when nobody knows who you are.

If I removed my mask, would you like what you saw? Would you understand? I've been naked before and it was scary. The mask was difficult to remove. The ties behind my head were knotted tight and tangled in my hair. I put faith and trust in few. I've been hurt too many times to be cavalier in showing the real me. Lots of people know what I show them. I'm sure if you put them in one big room, you'd get a whole picture of me. Maybe not. I still have a few hidden pockets I share with no one.

I pull the ribbons tighter behind my head to adjust my own mask, and I smile. Let the party begin.

Sweet Tea...

Digging my toes into the sand, I was ready for a hard day of soaking in the sun.

My eyes were closed so I could absorb the sound of the ocean rolling in and out.

In with the good, out with the bad. In and out. In and out. The dull roar and steady rhythm slowly start to lull me to sleep.

As I head into the "neither-here-nor-there" state of a nice nap, my ears pick up on a voice of a woman sitting near me.

With her thick southern drawl, I listened to the music of her voice, not her words. It sounded sweet and inviting. As I listened to her, I realized she was on the phone with a good friend - a confidante.

Since she was talking loud enough for me to hear, I decided to tune out the ocean and tune into her.

She was on vacation with her family for the weekend. She had so much to do with the Women's Auxiliary. Did you hear about Betty?

Wait! What's this? A-ha! I found good southern gossip. I don't know who Betty is, nor do I care. I was curious how southern girls sling mud. I know how the northern girls do it. It's short and to the point. There's no flowery stuff floating around.

What I heard was pure verbal artistry.

"Well, ya'll know Betty? Ahm not one to say this, but Ah believe she's been dating sev-er-al men at one tahm. Ah just hope she's using sum sorta protection. What would her mama think? A bastard chald would kill her, bless her heart."

The woman sitting near me proceeded to talk about several other women in her parish. All her words were just as flowery and deadly.

Like Oleander tea with sugar, at first it is sweet and tasty, but in the end it will kill you.

Sea me...

I walked towards him. His hand outstretched towards me. I took his hand in mine. The sun beat down on his face as I looked deep into his hazel eyes.

He let go of my hand and grabbed me around the waist to pull me closer. The wind blew his dark hair off his tan face. His smile was bright as he returned my gaze.

He held me tight and my body yielded to his embrace. The comfort of his hold on me makes me go soft. I waited for him to kiss me. I was wrong.

With one felled swoop, he picked me up and threw me into the next rolling wave.

The last thing I heard before I was tumbled underwater was his laugh. It was full and light. It was loud and strong. It was good.

I came up sputtering. Ocean water pouring out of my nose and my eyes burned from the salty water.

He grabbed me once again. This time to just hold me. To steady my unbalanced feet. To keep me safe.

Pen to Paper...

The pen is uncapped and I take it to paper. Slowly the unpictured words appear magically as the ink makes the words form.

Semi-elegant swirls form letters. Letters form words. My thoughts flow freely and quickly.

The pen becomes and extension of myself. Scribbled words start to make sense. This is my art.

I cannot paint, draw, sing, dance, or even doodle. I was not blessed in those areas. What I can do is write.

So write I will.

If...

If you could do anything in the world, and knew you wouldn't fail, what would you do?

I'd quit my job and become a full-time writer, or open a bakery called "Muffin's."

What about you?

Squeaky bras and other nuisances...

Life is a lesson to be learned. At least that's what I've read.

Today I learned a few lessons.

1. when your bra squeaks, everybody can hear it, and
2. when you wear a cotton dress (even with a built-in slip) don't wear cotton panties, wear silky ones. Otherwise you'll be showing your goodies as your dress rides up your backside as you walk away from a group of people.

I share these important lessons so you can learn from my experiences. It was quite a shocker for me as I was pulling my dress down off my underwear and squeaking my bra in the middle of my office as everybody watched. 0_0

Fearless...

By Pink Floyd

You say the hill's too steep to climb
Climbing.
You say youd like to see me try
Climbing.

You pick the place and Ill choose the time
And I'll climb
The hill in my own way.
Just wait a while for the right day.
And as I rise above the tree-line and the clouds
I look down, hearing the sound of the things you've said today.

Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd
Smiling.
Merciless the magistrate turns round
Frowning.

And whos the fool who wears the crown?
No doubt,
In your own way
And every day is the right day
And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow
You look down, hear the sound of the faces in the crowd.

Blanket Burgler...

Warm and toasty in my bed
I settle in for slumber
Blankets wrapped around my head
I'm waiting for the plunder

Slipping into dream-like state
My body is relaxed
Pillows tempt my waking fate
Comfort has been maxed

Gentle snoring next to me
I smile at the sound
The cat is curling into thee
He turns 'round and 'round

Dreams play within my mind
I'm flying in the air
or zombies chase me from behind
I run from here to there

A cool breeze upon my ass
wakes me from my sleep
I turn to see one big mass
of blankets one foot deep

My toes are frozen to the bone
My fingers feel like ice
I don't want to sleep alone
Why can't you share nice?

I grab the blanket and give a tug
You hold on for dear life
You're half-asleep but want a hug
I'm pissed-off and am your wife

I know you aren't malicious
I know you always care
You know I can be vicious
when I have a freezing pair.

I pull the blanket across my chest
tucked in by my knees
I make a warm and toasty nest
I'm ready for more zzzzzs.

Praying to the Sun God...

The sun kisses my head and shoulders as I lay in worship on my towel.

My glass of ice cubes by my side, I grab a new book for me to delve in to. This is a perfect day.

The light breeze whispers through my hair and cools my face. It hides the strength of the sun which is toasting me a golden brown.

My sunglasses protect my eyes but does not dull the colors of the flora I had planted in the spring. Beautiful flowers of orange, purple, yellow, magenta, red, and white turn their sunny faces towards the heavens. They, too, worship the sun's rays.

My skin and soul soak in the rays. While I'm getting my daily dose of vitamin D, I am also letting go of unwanted stress.

The buzz in my head that started as a dull roar has softened and I can hear the birds in the trees. My wind chimes remind me to smile. Relax. It's ok. Breathe. You're home. Relax.

My eyes which were sore from the bland beige of my office, adjust to the bright colors. I am able to focus on the tiny ant trying to carry a piece of food back to it's nest.

My toes uncurl from uncomfortable shoes I had crammed them into earlier in the day. My painted toenails rejoice in being shown again.

The ice has melted a bit from being in the hot sun and I am parched. I take a sip and find it really refreshing. While sometimes an ice cold beer is what's called for, not when I'm laying around reading a book in the sun. Ice cold water is what I need to hydrate.

I lay for hours listening to music, nature, and children's voices. I read someone else's words and find myself drifting into another world. I have relaxed. I am breathing. I am.



ps - Yes, mother, I am wearing suntan lotion

Hair today, gone tomorrow...

I woke up this morning already provoked. It’s not a good sign when you open your eyes and you’re already in the mood to beat the hell out of something. Not shooting, stabbing, smothering, or even poisoning. I want to use a bat and pummel to a pulp.

No, it’s not that time of the month. I got a haircut I am thoroughly NOT happy with. Instead of what I wanted, I now have the soccer mom-esque look. It’s driving me insane and all I can do is wait until it grows out. Damn her and her scissors.

Work has not been much better. While I am able to stomp around in my high heels, I envision punching holes in a number of things. I have already dumped a cart full of files all over the floor. I can only hope that the really important papers did not go down the elevator shaft.

The pull in the seam of my skirt that I just found is bothersome. I think it’s going to be one of those days.

So, if you see a deranged soccer mom driving around screaming with Marilyn Manson blaring in the background. Or possibly a Stepfordish-looking woman punching holes in stuff with her heels and slinging hair brushes at strangers, it’s me. Get out of my way because I’m on a rampage today.

Lightning in a jar...

As I sit on my back porch, I relax after a day in a cooped up office. Pushing papers around and trying to avoid daily disaster.

I breathe in the warm summer air, still thick with humidity. I listen to the cicadas start their chorus in the surrounding bushes. As my eyes adjust to the impending dark, I focus on the far bamboo trees. There I see them. Green twinkling. Like Christmas tree lights on the blink. I still get excited like I did when I was a child. I sit and smile and think back to easier days.

My family would visit my grandparent's home during the summer. We would do the regular touristy things that one does when visiting. The sights I saw and things I experienced were great. But none matched the fireflies. I didn't have any where I lived, so these things were just amazing to me.

After a big meal, of what I can't remember, topped off by fresh strawberries, sugar, and cream my brother and I would rush to take our baths. Once scrubbed clean and in our pajamas, we were allowed to go hunt for fireflies.

We would race out the back door with our mayonnaise jars in our little hands. Holes would be punched in the lids so our lightning bugs could breathe. We would wait for the first green flicker and dash for it. My brother would swat them out of the sky and I would lift my hand up to them. The fireflies would land on my fingers and I would put them in my ever-ready jar for safe keeping.

After our fire fly haul, we were brought inside for bed. I would carefully place the jar next to my bed. There I would fall asleep with the bugs twinkling next to my head.

In the morning I would wake up and find the jar empty. I always asked my grandmother where they went and she would always tell me, "They're magic. You'll need to catch more."

For years I thought lightning bugs were magic. While I know now they are not, I still like to believe that they are.

So, as I sit on my back porch, I think back on a magical time when one can believe in almost anything. Including bugs that light up a yard like a green Christmas tree.

The Ties That Bind...

I feel the restraints wrapping around my wrists. They try and try to make me conform. I am pushed and pulled to fit the mold. It never works. I buck like an unbroken horse. Kicking and screaming, they try to tie me down and make me one of them. Sit. Be quiet. Behave. "Why can't you just try?"

Dammit. I just can't. I chew through the straps and run.

They tell me, "Go right." And I immediately feel the urge to go left.

They tell me, "No, you can't do that." And I immediately give it a try.

They tell me, "Wait." And I immediately rush in blindly.

I'm labeled difficult, odd, quirky, scary, funny, and nuts. That's ok. I'm just being me. I don't fit in any one category. I'm an outsider who sometimes longs to be with the "in" crowd. But once in, screams to get out.

Those who love me, love my oddities. To them I'm interesting. Those who don't love me, just don't understand me. And that's ok. I don't understand me either.

I...

I am... sick
I want... to go home
I have... a stack of books to read
I wish... my childhood wasn't the way it was
I hate... a number of people for good reason
I fear... spiders, zombies, the dark
I hear... my sinuses quacking
I search... for inner peace
I wonder... if I'll ever find it
I regret... a number of things I can't fix
I love... deeply
I ache... in my head and sometimes my heart
I always... give it another shot
I am not... ready to give up, but I should
I dance... with abandon
I sing... poorly but loud
I cry... when nobody's looking
I laugh... loudly, especially when somebody I know falls down
I am not always... pleasant
I write... to please myself
I won... the heart of someone
I lost... my mind, friends, my heart
I confuse... even myself sometimes
I get confused by... the twists of my own life
I need... peace, love, understanding, and space

For my Bulimic Cat...

Sung to the tune of "Sunshine On My Shoulders" by John Denver.

Cat yack on my pillow - it's so yucky
Cat yack on the floor - can make me slide
Cat yack on the carpet - looks so lumpy
Cat yack, almost always - makes me sigh

if i had a food that i could give you
to keep you from barfing, it'd make my day
if i had a pill that i could give to you
i'd give you the pill and make you okay

Cat yack on my couch - isn't funny
Cat yack on my bed - can make me cry
Cat yack in your water - looks so runny
Cat yack almost always - makes me sigh

if i had a bowl that i could give to you
I'd teach you how to use it instead of my shoe
if i had a wish that i could wish for you
i'd make a wish for no cat yack, like you'd have a clue

Cat yack on my towel - makes me angry
Cat yack on my toes - can make me cry
Cat yack on my chair - looks so chunky
Cat yack, almost always - makes me sigh
Cat yack almost all the times makes me sigh

And I ran. I ran so far away....

It's been so blooming hot around here lately, it's been awful. Just awful. Tempers flare as the mercury rises. I'm hot and cranky. Not sleeping well. The sheets stick to my sweaty body at night. Relief is not found. Cold showers are only good while you stand under the water. My head is hot. Once the water is turned off, my body has a thin film of sweat on it again. I feel dirty and I've just gotten out of the shower.

To break the monotony of the heat, I retreat to late shows at the movies. The theater is dark and cool. I can relax. I don't really care what I'm going to watch. I just want to cool down. My inner core is on fire. I need air conditioning. Once inside, I find my favorite seat. Nobody sits in front of me and I put my hot feet up. I start to cool down. My baked brain can somewhat function. All the cylinders are firing again.

Last night I retreated to the movies. It seemed as if everybody and their mother decided to hit the flicks. I had to park far from the building. Not that it would bother me so much, but the moment I put the car in "park" the sky opened up and the lightning started to crack around me.

Do I go for it? Do I stay put? My family is inside the building and I'm in the car. The tickets are purchased. I see others in the parking lot running for cover. Looks like I'll join the crowd on this one.

I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. I took a deep breath and started to move. Really move. Like the wind. I pumped my legs as fast as they could go. I was really hauling ass. I glanced behind me and saw a bolt of lightning. It was like God's electrical zipper coming out of the sky. It was damn scary. Seeing this, I decided to run faster. Not that I could outrun a bolt of lightning, but I was going to make it a little trickier to get blasted out of my shoes.

I ran and ran. I felt my legs start to wobble. Any longer and I was going to totally wipe out. On the cement. In front of a lot of people. They would laugh and I would be seriously physically hurt. The building doors were coming up fast.

I reached the door and a girl held it open for me. We were both soaked from the rain. I looked at her, and she at me. I said, "Man, I haven't run like that since high school." She laughed. And, I said, "No, I'm not kidding. I think I'm going to barf."

She asked me if I was ok. My heart was pounding and my legs didn't want to move and I really did feel like I was going to barf, but I was ok.

I found my dude still waiting in line to buy our tickets. When they were purchased, I told him what I did. I was so proud of myself. I did more than a scamper. I actually ran. It was full-on trucking.

He got a twinkle in his eye, put his arm around me and said, "Who are you kidding? You didn't run in high school."

You know what? He was right.

Tums anyone?

PS. the person who was setting me up for failure yesterday has called out today. Apparently they are having "stomach" issues.

Yes, that's what happens when guilt is eating away at you.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it...

I took a long weekend this past week. It was wonderful.

I left my place of employment and didn't think about it until the night before my return. Basic thoughts that actually do keep me up at night:
~ Don't forget to change my voicemail
~ New procedure to do, start early
~ Get mail
~ clean up any messes
~ what messes?
~ forget about the messes. Nothing I can do about it now.
~ what's for lunch?
~ maybe I should call out.
~ no, that's lame.
~ what time is it?
~ did I set the alarm? (Gets up to check said alarm)
~ what outfit will I wear?
~ what's the weather going to be?
~ did I set the boy's alarm? (gets up to check his alarm)
~ what messes?
~ I think I have to pee. (gets up to pee)
~ is the front door locked? (goes to check front door before heading back to bed)
~ repeat entire list until 7:00 am.

If you're wondering, yes I am tired when I wake up after a night like that.

I managed to get to work, put out fires, do some good stuff, and clean up a few messes. It was a good day even though it was hotter than Hades in my office. (yes, I still believe I work in Hell, and now the rising temperature is only confirming my suspicions)

Today I found that I had done a slew of stuff completely wrong. I was going to be raked over the coals on this one. I just didn't understand what went wrong.

~ did a little vacation melt my mind?
~ did I not understand?
~ where were my notes?
~ what the Hell?
~ why didn't I remember this was put in place?

Yes, WHY DIDN'T I REMEMBER THIS WAS PUT IN PLACE?

I'll tell you why - because they instituted it while I was on vacation! You heard me. And I sat there, watching someone try to put the screws to me. It was amazing.

Fortunately, a higher up recognized there was no way for me to know about the changes because not only was I NOT there to witness them, nobody told me about them the entire day yesterday.

Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

I still rule!

Chuckles (or What's Up Chuck?)...

He got off the plane and walked to my car. In an instant I recognized him. He's older and wiser and probably a foot taller than me, but in my minds eye he's still a little boy. I fought the urge to go into "big sister" mode. I wanted to hug him, cater to him, protect him, and poke him. I held back and tried to not bombard him with questions and plans for the weekend.

As we approached each other, there was an awkward pause. Do I hug him? Shake his hand? I wound up saying, "Hey. Glad you could make it," and I got into the car.

The ride back to the house was comfortable and the conversation was easy. His laugh is still the same as I have always remembered. His speech pattern is still the same. It made me loosen up a bit.

Sitting in the back seat, I realized that I've missed him. I've missed him terribly, yet I hardly know him anymore. Does he remember things when we were kids? We don't really talk about our childhood. I wonder what he remembers?

My mother always said I was a babbling brook. She said his still waters run deep. Two completely different personalities. I was always the loud mouth that got into trouble, he was quiet and managed to not get into trouble. I'm sure he did stupid things like me, as teens do, but he managed to learn from my mistakes and skirt the law (mom).

He leaves in a few days and I hate that. We've had time to re-connect. I've worked hard to not plow over conversations, run the show, or dig deep. I think it's been a good visit.

In the long run, I hope that his visit is the first of many to come. I miss his quiet presence in my life. I don't want him to just be a shadow in my life, but actually three dimensional. I want to get to know him again.

Old Fogeys...

Across the aisle, another lifetime away sat an older couple. I enjoy people watching. I try to figure out their personalities. I look at their clothes, shoelaces, hats. I watch their mannerisms. Sometimes I like what I see, other times I don't. That's life I guess.

I turned to you and found you were watching the same couple as me. I smiled at you and turned my head so I could watch the couple again.

She had a spiffy outfit on, but it didn't match her hat. Her red purse was placed on the table. Her stiff fingers were brushing crumbs off the table into her other hand that was cupped. You could tell she's done this a million times, and will continue to do so. He wore a bland outfit that matched his bland facial features. What stood out was that his beard was scruffy. He had several pens and pencils in his breast pocket. He smiled at her and poured her a cup of tea. Like her, he's done this a million times and will continue to do so.

You asked me, "Do you think that will be us?"

I turned to you and said, "Could be. If we were to live that long."

We continued to watch with smiles on our faces. Their table was cleaned up by the waitstaff and a single bowl was brought out to them. They were sharing a bowl of ice cream. Then came the inspection of the check. He diligently scanned each and every item before he was willing to pay the bill.

Our meal was delivered and we started to eat. Our focus became towards each other. Conversation flowed from one subject to another. I turned at one point to look at the older couple and they were gone. I had missed their departure.

I watched how we interacted with one another. You scooped for me, I scooped for you. We shared a dinner. In a way, we are like the old couple. Years of being together has shaped how we act towards one another. I don't like snow peas, so you take them off my plate. You don't like tomatoes so I take them off your plate. Without even a thought, we just do it automatically.

The check came in record time and we were ready to leave. To our pleasant surprise, the older man was standing at the door. Apparently someone forgot something. Did he forget his wife? Did the wife forget something?

Yes. That will be us in about 40 years. And the question will be the same. Did you leave me somewhere or did I leave something somewhere?

My guess will be that I forgot something. I just hope it's not my pants.

Turn on, tune in, drop out...

The headphones are put on and I slip easily into a musical envelope. Harsh words and ignorance are deflected by the notes protecting my ears.

My back is turned to them. I see no evil.

I've tuned out the little digs at my person. I hear no evil.

I sing along to much happier messages. I speak no evil.

I count the days until I am no longer within earshot of negativity. I count the days until they're put in their place. I count the days.

My spirit is lightened. I've shucked the heavy cloud that has been lingering over my thoughts. It's amazing what a little music can do for your soul.

Playing Dirty...

Friday arrived with the dreaded hang-over from hell. Yes, I have paid the piper before. It had just been such a long time since I had to pay that toll that I forgot the exact change, got in the wrong lane, and stalled near the toll booth. I don’t think I’ll be traveling down that road again for some time. Some people enjoy my road trips into the void, (I tend to really cut loose), but it’s not good for me. I took it easy on Friday and tried to recoup some of those damaged brain cells. In taking a break, I decided to beautify my surrounding.

The much anticipated long weekend started after work on Friday. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was going nowhere and planned on doing nothing. Nothing but stuff I liked. Selfish, I know, but sometimes you just have to do for yourself.

I had been eyeballing my backyard for a few weeks. Spring has sprung, but old containers that once held a rainbow of colors in the form of flowers were empty. They called my name to make them pretty again. I kicked the thought around a few weeks, but now I had that "itch" to do something about it. It started when it was discovered that Fang (the snake) tried to eat Frogzilla (the frog). Fortunately, Fang's eyes were bigger than it's mouth and we were able to rescue Frogzilla. But in trying to save the suicidal frog, I saw the bleakness of the yard. It needed color. It needed to look welcoming and bright. It needed my work.



Indoor house plants will not survive my black thumb of death, but with some help, I can make the yard pretty and not kill everything in sight. I have great intentions, but I lack something. I'm not sure what it is, but I do kill nearly everything in the house.

There’s nothing I love more than getting dirty. I get great satisfaction in working hard in tearing out something ugly. I like the sweat and sore bones at the end of the day. It means I worked hard and with purpose. I'll wrestle with ivy or unruly vines, rip out weeds or angry thistle, and chop up bamboo that threatens to take over my yard.

I took a day to get down and dirty with nature. Pink, orange, blue, purple, white, fushia, gold, yellow, and green were planted in and around my backyard. A splash of color here, a bit of green there. The dirtier I got, the more relaxed I became. I felt my inner screaming voice become quieter and quieter. I was starting to hear the birds chirp and the buzzing of the bees. The anxious thoughts were being buried in the pots with the flowers. I was letting go.



I upended countless pots, planted black tulips, moved daffodils, planted some tall grassy things, killed some unknown plants from last year, and placed my new flowers all over the yard. After I cleaned up, I found I was tired from physically working. My hands were dirty and I had a splinter. My shoulders were sunburned and so was my nose. I was sweaty and relaxed.

As I sit back today and admire my work, my mind pictures more plants and flowers. I find that I smile at what was done. I have made my own zen garden for me to smile and relax in. So when the voices get too loud, you will find me in my backyard, smiling at the flowers, maybe reading a book, and finding my zen moment.