Trailblazing and other hazards...

My feet stumble along the dark path. Tree roots hidden by leaves weave spidery veins across the trail.

My foot catches one root and I tumble towards the ground. My hands reach out instinctively to brace my fall.

As I come crashing down, bits of gravel bite into my soft palms. The wind is knocked out of me.

Gasping for air, I panic for now I am not only in the dark, but struggling to breathe.

My heart races and I can hear it's pace pound in my ears.

Slowly I gather my wits and take a moment to listen to my surroundings.

I push the heart beat out of my head and listen for the sounds of the leaves blowing gently in the wind.

I have once again begun breathing normally.

I pick myself up. The small cuts sting as I brush the tiny rocks out of my hands.

Looking down, I see the offending root. If I had been paying any attention during my hike, I would've been able to avoid tripping myself up.

Lesson learned: Enjoy the dark path. Just pay attention to your surroundings or you might get hurt.

I'm in the mood...

Today I fight the urge to misbehave, but its difficult. I feel ornery.

I want to pull the loose thread, push the buttons, touch the wet paint, throw dirt clods at unsuspecting bystanders, and generally upset the apple cart.

I'm not sure why I want to do these things. It's not an argument I'm looking for. It's not even attention I'm seeking. If I could, I would be naughty without getting caught.

I want my clothes to clash and my hair to be messy. I want to be loud and troublesome.

The devil inside encourages me to artfully string-together foul words and unleash them on my better behaved friends - just for the shock value.

I'm itching to be bad.

On second thought, maybe all I need is a nap.

Double Dog Dare...

Smashed together like sardines in a can, I am forced to look at the stranger I am pressed up against.

"If one more person touches me, I'm gonna punch them in the nose."

Every particle of my being agrees with that statement, but I feel the kid needs to keep is mouth in check.

I am again squashed between two large people who are so far within my personal space I start to feel the pull of panic on my inner alarm bell.

Nausea flashes for a moment and I close my eyes. I breathe deeply and remind myself that I'm going to be just fine.

"That's right! If another person touches me, I'm gonna punch them in the head."

With that I open my eyes and turn to look at this loud-mouthed punk who is just daring someone to touch him.

I get eye contact with him and raise my right arm.

My jacketed sleeve brushes his arm as I reach out to push a potted plant back on to the window sill he is leaning up against. That's what was repeatedly touching him.

Still maintaining eye contact, my smirk tells him:

Go ahead. Try and punch me in the nose, but you and I both know it was a Poinsettia rubbing up against you, not another human. Jackass.

He realized his blunder and changed his position so he is no longer facing me. He has gone silent.

Now, who am I going to mess with?

Maybe the lady in the fur coat. She looks like she needs some petting...

Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde...

The clear liquid in the glass acts as a catalyst for their destruction. Fuel for the already heated fire, yet I cannot stop them.

I watch in amazed silence the barely hidden animosity between my friends. Their vicious verbal sparring makes me cringe.

Husband and wife. 'Til death do us part. I hide all sharp objects.

If looks could kill, they would have been dead a long time ago.

Fine-line mockery begins to have a razor edge. It's as if they don't even like each other.

I lean into you and find safety and comfort. I trust that you won't try to tear me down in public. Nor I you. We respect one another and therein lies the difference.

They don't.

Sleepy Sheep...

The journey to adulthood is not always a clean-cut, well-lit path.

Some kids, like I had been, race through childhood. Wishing only to cut the ties as quickly as possible. They trade the Matchbox cars and Barbies for electronic gadgets and make-up as soon as possible.

Other kids hold on to their innocence and inner beauty as if they truly know to lose this magic would mean to lose a part you cannot replace. It would be a fond memory they can only think back on but never actually touch upon again.

I packed his bag for him. As a mother is wont to do, I placed extra clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste all next to the video games he needed for a long night of gaming with his buddies.

I looked at his security blanked draped over the chair.

When he was young, he went everywhere with it just like Linus from the Peanuts Gang.

A day of laundry would cause a minor panic in his world. He would wait impatiently for his "heavy badeen" to come out of the dryer.

Still hot, I would wrap it around his head where he would then inhale it's clean smell and giggle.

His eyes would roll up in his head and he would start to hum. His anxiety slowly melted away with every breath he took. He was coming down fast. It always reminded me of a junkie finally getting their much anticipated fix.

A sad smile appeared on my face as I remember those days. For those days are long gone. He's too old for his blanket. It hangs in the corner - still visible but not an active part of his life. He's moved to the next stage - teenagerdom.

I take his bag to his friend's house. The bag is much bigger than he expected. He only wanted games, not the crap I packed.

Not long after my arrival, another boy showed up. He packed his own tiny bag - full of games and no toothbrush.

But tucked under his arm was a large sheep pillow. It was his security blanket in disguise.

The other mom said she was glad to see his "sleepy sheep" and he nervously looked at the group of adults. Not wanting eye contact, he bolted away from us to find the boys.

I listened for the mockery of the sheep pillow but there was none.

There you have it. Some kids letting go of the securities and some hanging on tightly. Yet, they do not care at what stage their friend is. Only that they are friends.

Maybe I should've packed my own sons blanket just in case he needed an emergency whiff in the middle of the night...

Liquor is Quicker...

The signs are all there.

She's had too much.

The cigarette is precariously held between her fingers. I watch the flaming cherry being waved around. I dodge bits of burning embers flung at me. Her arms are out of control. It's my job to keep her from setting my house or herself on fire.

Balance becomes an issue as she leans in towards me bumping her forehead on to mine.

"I love you." She slurs at me and the tears spring from her eyes.

She has invaded my personal space but I don't push her away.

"I love you, too." I tell her.

It's the beginning of the end.

She wobbles back into the house looking for her drink.

It's the same story from her last visit. And the one before that. And the one before that. And the one before that...

Soon she will become belligerent and then pass out.

I always look forward to her visits, but I seem to forget this is how the day winds up.

I'm glad I've hidden her keys,

Her last drink was mysteriously cleaned up and she becomes angry.

She's had too much.

She grabs another and glares at those around her.

She's not letting go of this one until she falls over.

Only then will we be able to clean up her mess and help soothe his hurting soul.

Boxes of Magic...

The saddest day of the year has come and gone. The Christmas circus has left town.

I carefully dismantle the tree and wrap up the ornaments. Once happy twinkling lights have been taken down off the house. The stocking hung up by the chimney with care are safely packed away.

The anticipation of Santa's arrival no longer hangs in the air.

My home is stripped of holiday cheer.

You remind me that it's not what you hang up in the house but what's in your heart that holds the magic.

I forgot that. So now the saddest day isn't really so sad after all.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot...

The dinner party was great fun. The food was amazing. And, best of all, old friends gathered around a table reminiscing and laughing.

We talked about the paths our lives have taken. Some shared and some solo. We are close enough and old enough friends that there is no need to try and impress each other. It's just fun, straight talk.

We talked about how far we've come and where we want to go.

The wine flowed freely and the conversation was easy. Then she said something about her drinking.

The room went silent and I giggled nervously. This was a new path none of us have ventured on before.

I tried to say that her drinking wasn't so bad. That we all have those friends that drink way more than us. That when you see them, you know you're alright and they're not.

I still have friends who are proud of their consumption and tell stories like we were still in high school. They still drink until they pass out or barf, or both.

All I got was silence.

"No," she said, "nobody drinks more than me."

I had no idea her tippling has turned into a full-blown issue.

I was mortified.

If I had the world to give...

If I had the world to give, I'd give it to you
Long as you live, would you let it fall, or hold it all in your arms?

If I had a song to sing, I'd sing it to you
as long as you live, lullaby or maybe a plain serenade
wouldn't you laugh, dance, and cry or be afraid at the change you made

I may not have the world to give to you
But maybe I have a tune or two
Only if you let me be your world
Could I ever give this world to you

But I will give what love I have to give,
I will give what love I have to give,
I will give what love I have to give, long as I live.

If I had a star to give, I'd give it to you
long as you live, would you have the time
to watch it shine, watch it shine
or ask for the moon and heaven too? I'd give it to you.

Well maybe I've got no star to spare, or anything fine or even rare,
only if you let me be your world, could I ever give this world to you.
could I ever give this world to you.

These Boots Were Made for Stompin'...

She looked at my boots and told me how much she loved them every time I wore them.

I graciously thanked her.

She told me she loved vintage clothing and I laughed. Some women could've or would've been insulted but I wasn't.

I told her they were nearly as old as her.

"Did you get them on eBay?"

"No."

"Did you get them at a vintage store?"

"No." I started to laugh. "I actually bought these brand new at the store."

The puzzled look on her face made me giggle even more.

"What store?"

"It doesn't exist anymore. I bought them in 1988."

She looked at me and smiled. "Wow. You are vintage too."

"Yes," I replied, "I am vintage too."

I wanted to pat her on her head. I appreciated her youth at the moment. I was not offended. In fact, our conversation was exactly what I needed.

Like a fine wine, I am vintage.

My bouquet contains joys and sorrows, laughter and tears, mistakes and learning, love and compassion with a hint of irony and sarcasm. I am full bodied and best served with friends.

My mind is like a sieve...

The open door to insight appears just before I settle down for sleep.

The brilliant words form a complete sentence and I am pleased. It is so amazing that it perfectly describes my thoughts and feelings at that exact moment - all in a few short well-strung together group of words.

My mind relaxes as I tell myself, "Don't forget to write this down in the morning."

I turn over. My head heavy on my pillow and I smile as I drift off to sleep.

In the morning I wake up and am ready to start writing. My touch of genius nearly on paper.

Like a cruel joke, I wake with a clean slate.

I hate when that happens.