much has been written
’bout men being sick:
they’re wimpy and snively
and not worth a lick.
and then there is Studly
that man among men
stronger by far than
one even might ken.
when Studly is sick,
though, all bets are off
his sneezes are epic
and, oh my, his cough!
he won’t take my help,
but, boy, does he need me
and heaven help us both
if I’m not there when I should be.
of course I’m aware it’s
my cold he’s caught,
still I’m an an angel when ill
and he’s certainly not.
Poor Studly!
I. Heart beats, races on
Barely restrained, uncontained
Then forever shelved.
Illustration by Travis Bedel
II. She sometimes wonders
Had she chosen differently
Would he even care?
III. Shelved hearts hold the key
Unlocking blocked memory
Whisk away the dust.
Note to self: Never hit Panama City Beach during March!
I’m picking Studly up at the Panama City airport in a couple of hours, and thought I’d come on over a little early and eat dinner at the beach before his plane lands.
It is a zooooo!!! People who have no business on motorcycles are riding scooters and splitting lanes. Families in these funky little street buggies–colorful little golf carts, really, are pulling in front of lane splitting scooter riders. College kids are everywhere. Of course at my age they all look like preschoolers.
On the plus side, and it is a BIG plus, I can see the beach from my table, and I’m having fresh mahi mahi. And, Studly will be home soon!
Peace, people!
MANDIBLE
Masters chew over marled
Answers seeking to bind
None other than that damn
Dame known for her lame
Illusion of turning a dime
Between her nimble
Limbs while repeating a line
Etched in stone for the blind.
In an anagram poem, each line must end in a word comprised of the letters in the title. The tense should remain the same throughout–hope I made that work! In addition I’ve begun each line with a letter from the title. This is fun. Weird, but fun.
Peace, People.
Written in response to the Daily Post’s prompt, “What is Love?”
A marathon watching of the first season of “Married at First Sight” might be helpful in answering the question I Want to Know What Love Is. The A&E channel’s series matches three couples based on the recommendations of a team of marriage experts after a regimen of interviews.
The couples meet for the first time when the bride and groom face each other at the altar. Yep. They meet and immediately are wed.
For a period of five weeks the couples live together and get to know each other. At the end of that period they decide whether they want to stay married or divorce.
I’m watching the season finale as I type this. As anyone who has ever watched reality TV knows there is a great deal of creative editing involved, including multiple cliff hangers and red herrings. Every time I think about changing channels there’s a hint that something big is waiting just around the next corner. There have been multiple corners.
What I’m struck by, though, is the lack of what feels like love. Oh, I see glimpses of it occasionally, and the participants talk about love a lot. But more than anything I hear that they are afraid. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of making the wrong decision. Afraid of hurting the other person. Can the presence of fear inhibit love?
One thing that comes across in the series is the need for open communication. All three couples excel at that. No doubt the initial interview process weeded out the less communicative particpants. Can great communication foster love?
Initially, two of the three couples had strong physical attractions to their spouse-to-be. The third couple had mixed reactions–he thought she was hot, she thought he was not. Does love grow from physical attraction?
Jamie and Doug-No attraction in the beginning
Two of the three couples consummated their marriage on their wedding nights. You can probably guess which two after reading the previous paragraph. Is love sex?
Cortney and Jason
Monet and Vaughn
Both of these couples had the whole honeymoon experience 😉
None of the couples had smooth sailing in their first five weeks of marriage. Cohabitation with a complete stranger can bring out the best and the worst in people. Expectations were dashed. Limits were explored. Maybe love was growing.
As the decisions loom I’m more anxious than the participants. Would Studly and I have thrived given the circumstances these couples have faced? I’d like to believe we’d have made it. I’d like to believe that we’d have had that initial spark when he first saw me at the altar and that we’d have had the skills to talk through all of the obstacles.
The truth is love is different for everyone. Every relationship explores its own idea of love. What’s right for Studly and me, what makes us strong as a couple might be wrong for another couple.
Remember these cartoons? This seems to fit.
And the results from the show are in:
In spite of their initial lack of attraction, Jaimie and Doug chose to remain married. I was surprised! Cortney and Jason opted to remain married, as well. While Monet and Vaughn elected to divorce.
Of course I just realized that this was all so last season and I could have looked up the results on the internet. Face palm.
Peace, (and love) People.
A few days ago I shared a post called “Paranoia” about my crazy night of attempting to ambush an imaginary intruder due to a temporary imbalance in my chemical makeup.
This imbalance, caused by an unintentional withdrawal from the antidepressant Effexor, led me to act in an erratic manner and resulted in a sleepless night. Once I had the drug back in my system all was right with the world. No harm, no foul.
Except that it’s not all right. This wasn’t my first experience with Effexor withdrawal. Several years ago I suffered a similar reaction after a bout with the stomach flu. For three days I kept throwing up my meds along with everything else in my system.
The withdrawal was a terrifying experience. I had violent night terrors involving vivid decapitations and stabbings. In one savage dream I watched as Charlie Sheen had a leg brutally removed with a chain saw. Reality and imagination merged in my brain until I couldn’t discern one from the other. When I was awake, I experienced brain shivers, a sensation that’s difficult to describe but is vaguely similar to the feeling one gets when one has an inner ear infection. And the paranoia was off the charts.
Studly was out of town on business, and had no idea how sick I was. I called him frantically insisting that I was near death. He cut his meetings short and rushed home to find me a mess. I had a migraine that had me cowering in our darkened closet and I was certain a tornado was imminent.
He rushed me to convenient care where I was fortunate to be able to see my former general practitioner. Thank goodness he was familiar with my medical history. He immediately asked how long it had been since I’d taken Effexor and got me started on an I.V. Within an hour I was back to being me.
The ironic part of this whole thing is that I don’t take Effexor for depression. My oncologist prescribed it to help ameliorate the symptoms of menopause, such as hot flashes and night sweats. Since I cannot take a hormone replacement, she believed Effexor would provide some relief. And it does.
But I worry about the future. What happens when I’m an elderly woman and cannot control my own medical care? What happens if at some time I do not have access to the drug and go bonkers?
Recently I read a novel with a post-apocalyptic theme. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. In the novel a virulent flu has decimated the world’s population, and a group of survivors has sought refuge in an airline terminal. The group has enough food and other provisions, but one character who takes Effexor, soon runs out of her prescription and the group is unable to secure more. That character does not do well and ends up wandering off into the unknown. I think about her often.
Well, this was a cheery post. I highly recommend the book.
Peace, People.
The kitty is too cute to be a symbol of Effexor withdrawal.
I saw you standing on the curb
My car was fifth in line
Then fourth, then third,
And then I read your sign.
“Single mom, 3 kids, lost job”
My hand reached for my purse
Even as my head was saying “No.”
After all, it’s easy to write words on a
Piece of cardboard:
“Out of work,”
“Just lost my house,”
“Anything will help.”
Why did my heart win out over my
Head this time? Maybe because
I saw me in you.
I saw my mother,
My daughter.
I saw every woman who has
Struggled, for whom
Life has never been
A crystal stair.
Every woman who has been
Close to having her own
Cardboard sign.
You cried when I rolled
My window down. I cried
All the way home.
I borrowed a bit from one of my favorite poems by Langston Hughes. I thought I should include it here:
The evidence was clear
A small damp spot on the
Old door frame.
Damaged wood,
Fibrous, spongy
Clearly no good.
What’s the thought?
New molding should
Be bought to replace
This nasty wood rot.
After all wood should
Be sturdy and strong
And this wood is not.
This bit of nonsense was inspired by a conversation with an author whose blog I follow. Her name is Ellen Hawley and her wonderful blog can be found at:
I don’t believe you’ll find anything concerning wood rot on her site though. Just lots of witty and insightful observations from an American living in Cornwall.
Peace, People.
In a week, two of my friends from Illinois are coming to visit me in Florida. To protect their anonymity I’ll call them L1 and L2, since both their names start with the letter L. And Nana Noyz is just an alias. My name also begins with L, so I’m dubbing our get-together the “Give ’em L” tour. I’m excited. Beyond excited. Ecstatic is the best word.
I’m a bit envious, too, because the Illinois Ls are taking a major road trip to get to Doright Manor in Tallahassee. I am the queen of road trips. So, as soon as L1 and L2 arrive we’re going farther south to the oldest permanent settlement in the United States: Saint Augustine.
It’s been years since I visited, so I can’t wait to explore the old cobblestoned streets and quaint shops.
Saint Augustine also boasts some of the prettiest beaches in the country.
And an historic fort:
Of course I’ll let the visitors choose our sights to see, as long as we get to eat some good seafood.
Peace, people!
If my cats knew how
Much pleasure I derive from
Watching them, they’d leave.
Praying for Eyebrowz 