In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: “You’re a Winner! What would you do if you won a billion dollars in the lottery?”

I’ve traveled a few miles,
been places I thought I’d
never see with my own two

I’ve more destinations on
my list, sights I need to
experience, sounds I must
Germany and on and on and on.

I’ve won a billion dollars
and the first thing I’d do
is pack my bags and travel,


Self Reflection, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Good

Wonderful piece by my blogging friend at


imageSelf reflection can be a vicious circle.  Like staring into a mirror and not really getting an answer.

The good, the bad, the ugly, but trust yourself because the answer that you know in your heart will be the good.

You don’t have to make everybody happy.   But you do have to be true to yourself.    If you are, you will ultimately be the good.

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She sat on the tailgate
of an old green Ford,
her narrow denim clad hips
wedged between an Igloo cooler
and a box of faded red rags.
Scuffed boots swinging.

The whoop whoop of a siren
heralded the coming display
of a starched color guard,
eliciting a respectful salute,
grandparents demonstrating
flag etiquette for the young.

Then came beauty queens smiling,
perching precariously on the
pinnacle of a tissue paper
decorated semi-trailer in gowns
of taffeta, satin, and lace.
Tiaras glittering in the sun.

She waved at those high school
princesses, pulling funny
faces to make them laugh.
That was her talent, after all.
Hardly anyone took her
seriously as the parade passed.

Marching bands from rival
schools vied for favor
as the sun heated the summer
Texas day; twirlers in spangled
shorts tossing batons inspired
ooohs and ahhs from the crowd.

Reaching inside the battered
Igloo, she dug deep, found an
icy cold Schlitz and disguised
it with a red rag. The Baptists
sitting at the curb on either
side would cluck if they knew.

A string of politicians came next,
esconced in the finest vehicles
the local car dealers could offer;
bright smiles plastered on their
faces as their well-coifed wives
wilted in the climbing heat.

Following close behind came tykes
wobbling on bikes, spokes decorated,
festooned with ribbons and crepe
paper and baskets overflowing
with flags or stuffed animals. She
called out each name as they passed.

Finishing her beer, she craned her
neck to see tractors and combines in
John Deere green compete with those of
International Harvester red in a show of
the latest in agricultural technology.
The parade’s low point, she thought.

At last she heard the clip clopping of
hooves on the WPA bricked street and the
bright clanging of a bell, as the old cowpoke,
Zeke, sang out. Smiling she popped the top
on another Schlitz, hopped down from the
rusty tailgate, and joined the parade.

Play the Short Game, Sugar


Red's Wrap

Three kids at Superior

My friend had just ordered a second glass of wine. At lunch.

No second glass for me. It drove up the price of lunch and it was my turn to pay. The wine drinking at lunch was new. It seemed very evolved to me. We were so smart, so brilliant, so confident that we could drink at lunch and then go run an agency, fight poverty, attack racism, settle scores. So what if we were a titch in the bag, a wee titch, don’t you know. Just one glass.

So, out of the blue, my friend said to me, “You need to enjoy raising kids while you’re doing it because there’s s no assurance of a payoff, you know?”

And I agreed with him as I did in most matters because he was my mentor and very wise.

But I thought to myself, I’m aiming for a payoff. I’m working…

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Life’s Little Lesson #5, I think

A wallet, no matter how stylish, cannot be used as an electronic reader.

I tried in vain last night to turn on my Kindle so I could read a bit before going to sleep. I couldn’t find the “on” switch and finally gave up. 

This morning I realized that instead of grabbing my Kindle from my bag as is my habit I’d fetched my large wallet instead.

Did I mention that I was extremely tired when this occurred, and probably suffering from a mild case of heat exhaustion? I’m certain it wasn’t the single glass of wine I enjoyed with dinner.

I’d like to produce evidence that I am not suffering from insanity, if it pleases the court.


Exhibit A : not my wallet, yet similar.

Exhibit B: not my Kindle case, but similar.



 Peace, people!  

Patchwork Heart

My heart has scattered,
Little pieces here and there.
First bits were claimed
Before I could name love,
When people were love.

Some parts were left behind
Before I was careful about
Giving them away; foolish girl.

Other pieces placed carefully
One a gift to my husband, then
Here son, here daughter
Take my heart; it is yours.
Their children claimed
My heart, as well, five more
Pieces given away.

I’d feared it was all gone,
But they’ve each given me
Parts of their own hearts.
This beautiful patchwork
Is what I cherish; it’s how I love.


The Sandra Bland Video Tells Us More Than What Happened

This post says exactly what I’ve been agonizing over. Please read more at

Red's Wrap

Once I saw Sandra Bland’s smiling face in the news reports, I didn’t want to watch the video of her arrest. It was going to be a level of wrongdoing and injustice that would be intolerable to watch, burn my eyes.

What had to have happened between her joyful look in the photographs probably supplied by her loving family and the reports of her alleged suicide in jail would be outrageous, assault everything I keep wanting to think is true about America. We are mostly good and fair. Do I still believe this? I don’t know.

What I believe but can’t fully face is this: it’s so much worse than we think it is.

We only really get what has been going on, what we have been told has been going on forever, because now there is video. Before, when we heard the stories, we might have thought the descriptions…

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Crime in Britain, part 2: the village edition

I might be ready to move to Cornwall. Read more of this wonderful blog at

Notes from the U.K.

Miss Marple doesn’t live in our village, but she’d be bored silly if she did. We’re short on murdered vicars and poisoned husbands.

What would she have to make do with?

Before I tell you about crime in the village, here’s my disclaimer: After drawing your attention to crime on the Scilly Isles and to the guy who was arrested for charging his phone on the London Overground trains, some of you were left thinking Britain’s a land with no serious crime. That’s my fault. The police really do have better things to do than arrest disoriented seals who wander into town. Or at least other things to do.

Marginally relevant photo: fog stealing the top of the cliff Marginally relevant photo: fog stealing the top of the cliff

But for you non-Brits out there, the point is this: Britain’s a real place and part of the same world you live in. That’s another way of saying that it…

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Ray Donovan–almost a review

Studly Doright and I have been working out in his new shop every evening. We’re building workbenches and shelves and the interior is coming together nicely. By the time we come in the house we’re tired and sweaty, so instead of going out to a movie or to dinner lately we’ve been watching the first season of Ray Donovan

Liev Schreiber is the title character. He’s a guy who fixes situations for Hollywood elites, even if that means inflicting physical pain. His father, Mickey Donovan, is played by Jon Voight, at his sleaziest, skeeziest best. 

Holy crap is all I have to say. It’s dark. Really dark. But well done, too. If you loved Breaking Bad and are looking for a new series, I highly recommend Ray Donovan.

Peace, people!