Twisted sister...

My fingers push the long strands off my face.

Medium length hair seems to want to cling to my nose and I get annoyed.

My left hand twirls at my crown as the fragmented thoughts push to the forefront. Bits of ideas here and - oops, lost one.

In a moment pffft it's goine. Llike a comet, it's bright, shiny, and too quick to catch. Only a hint of it's existence is left.

I continue to twirl my hair. Hoping that I've found the creativity button in my head.

The more I twist the closer I come to catching that bit of magic?

I hope it happens soon or I might wind up with a bald spot.

Ugly to the bone...

I'm stared at like I have a third eye or a set of horns sprouting out of my head. I catch the peeks at me out of the corner of my eye.

Nothing new there I guess.

It's the same crowd that glared at me years ago. I know the reasoning then. What's the point now? Haven't we all grown up since then? I know I have. Sheesh.

Oh yeah, it's because they helped to make my reputation notorious in high school. I was no angel, but I wasn't the devil either.

I had fun and did my own thing. When everybody went right, I went left. What's wrong with that?

Hmmm. Maybe there's a trend here.

Non-conforming = threat
verbal = bitch
has fun = obviously a whore
friendly = ulterior motives
focused = all of the above

Take your pick, that's what they called me.

Oh well, let them worry about it and think what they want. They will anyway and I can't stop them.

My Grapes of Wrath...

The grapevines reach towards the sky. One of the few plants I am unable to kill in my backyard. That, and the bamboo, but that's a whole other story.

The days are getting shorter and the nights cooler. How long before it's considered fall?

My crop is the same as last year. Bitter grapes for the longest time and then over night - whammo! - they turn into raisins right on the vine.

I hate raisins. They are shriveled up dead grapes. Life had been sucked out of them and now only their wrinkly black shells are left.

So I find it ironic that I hate raisins and that seems to be the only thing I can grow.

Life sure can be funny sometimes.

Melancholy wafers...

I was once asked if there was ever a song that moved me profoundly.

I didn't have an answer at the time. I couldn't pick one that struck me somehow.

Sure, there are songs that calm me, amp me, make me dance, help me focus, help me think, or even put me to sleep.

There's even that short list of particular artists that are like nails on a chalkboard. They make me want to put my head through the wall. But there still wasn't that song I could pinpoint as being "the one."

That was until I heard an old favorite,

The piano started and her voice oozed out.

I had found it.

The song that makes my eyes tear up. The one I could listen to at any time. Each time making me appreciate her talent and try to fathom the beauty of her haunting voice. Time stops and I must listen.

"Isn't it a pity" by Nina Simone slays me.

Always has and always will.

Who knew?

The sun kissed my shoulders as I dug in the dirt. Sweat beaded on my forehead. As I wiped it away I felt the grit from my gloves smear across my face.

Piles of plant skeletons lay by my feet as I tempt gardening fate again.

My mother whispers helpful hints in my ear as I dig another hole for a flower that has very little chance of living until summer under my care.

Then I see it.

A tiny leaf. Tender and green sprouting up in a pot I could've sworn housed only brown and crispy foliage.

I planted that.

Me.

I did it.

And it's even coming back.

Who knew? Maybe my curse is finally broken.

High Infidelity...

I watched the neon numbers blend into each other and then change. Time was slipping by as I sat waiting for the inevitable.

Not often am I given a warning of a call that will be unpleasant. Yet I accepted the plea for an ear.

The phone rang and I tentatively answered. Expecting and finding her voice on the other end.

Without all the niceties that generally start conversations, she jumped right in.

My heart broke for her as she told me her tale. She's not much of a hugger (and neither am I) but I felt the overwhelming urge to reach out to her.

Seeing that she was 500 miles away made that task impossible, so I verbally hugged her.

She did most of the talking and I listened. I asked questions and she answered as best she could.

She let me in to see her raw emotion. Her heart mangled. Life shattered. Trust killed with one act.

She asked me to help her put it all back together.

As I give her what I can, I can't help but admire her strength and tenacity in all of this.

She has a long road ahead and I don't envy the choices she will have to make.

What keeps playing back in my mind is How would I ever recover if that happened to me? My life blown apart like that?

I don't think I would. I'm pretty sure I would die.

Peeping Toes...

A week after it was too cold to go barefoot in the sand, the weather warmed up and I was finally able to let my toes see the sunshine.

One of those small pleasures for me is just taking the time to give myself a pedicure. I won't let anybody else do it. I'm not so much into other people touching my feet.

I never primp in the winter. My toes are in hibernation from November to late April under black tights, socks, or knee-highs. The shoes are solid and there's no toe peepage. Bare toes and snow just don't mix.

Today was foot pampering day.

And the best part is that I get to s how my "Vixen" colored toes in my new sandals.

Ok, they're 4" heels with brown leather straps and buckles and they make me look like I can really kick ass in them.

And I do.