falling out of practice, of silencing alarms and stumbling to the shower of matching shoes to skirt and scarf to blouse, willy nilly dash to desk days run neck and neck galloping for the checkered flag, no, the finish line where clocks are punched morning and evening, and mondays aren’t mistaken for tuesdays or heaven forbid, fridays. appointments keep their allotted places and there is no need to ask, “what day is this?”
Peace, people!
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Alma Mater
You’ve been asked to speak at your high school alma mater — about the path of life. (Whoa.) Draft the speech.
The Path of Life
There is no path, no paved road, not if you live your life.
In the words of C. G. Jung,
Instead, you must forge your own path, laboriously clearing trees and climbing over boulders in the rain, but occasionally enjoying stretches of level ground in the warm sunshine.
There will be times when you believe you can climb any mountain. There will also be times when you are certain that the next step will be impossible to take.
Through it all you keep going. One foot in front of the other. Good days and bad. Mountains and valleys.
Of course, I prefer to dance and skip as often as possible. No one said the journey had to be boring.
http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/prancercise-joanna-rohrback_n_3351722.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular
Peace, people!
Oh my! I love this blog. Notesfromtheuk.com.
What people lose
You can learn a lot about a country by what it leaves behind. So what does Transport for London report having found on the city’s trains and buses? A life-sized Spiderman doll. A prosthetic leg. Endless wallets, phones, and tablets. Umbrellas. A judge’s wig, a room-sized carpet, and an urn with human ashes. “Enough musical instruments to form a band,” including drum kits. No grand pianos, apparently.
I’m not sure who I’m quoting about that band, but unlike some quotes that drift through the culture, this one seems to have actually been said because the newspaper article I’m stealing the information from put it in quotes. It’s probably from a TfL spokesperson.
Oh, and a brown paper envelope with £15,000. Which the finder actually turned in.
Vaguely relevant photo: Public transportation, although not in London. This is the Exeter St. David’s train station. Photo by Ida Swearingen
I don’t…
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I take myself apart
piece by piece:
a nose too long,
a chin too weak,
moods too intense,
and patience too thin.
There are no redeeming
qualities as far as my eyes can see.
Still, I hold hope that
somewhere deep in my bones
beauty does reside,
I only get a glimpse
when I witness and honor
the beauty in others:
generosity,
forgiveness,
acceptance,
gratitude.
the spiritual overcomes the physical.
the soul embraces the imperfect.
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Quirk of Habit
Which quirky habit annoys you the most, and what quirky habit do you love — in yourself, or other people?
Some things just annoy the heck out of me, but because I am polite and civilized I never call people out on these niggling bits. Okay, every now and then I might say something like, “Are you a freaking idiot?” That’s polite, right?
There are two verbal tics that make me clench my jaw and grind my teeth. The first is the insertion of the phrase, “you know” into every sentence–sometimes multiple times.
Example: I was, you know, going to, you know, buy a new brassiere, but, you know, they’re just too, you know, expensive.”
You might think I’m exaggerating, but my college roommate was a world champion “you knower.” I found myself copying her speech pattern and flipping “you knows” about like pieces of confetti. When I realized what I’d done I had a long talk with myself and banned the phrase from my vocabulary. You know, I’ve been fairly, you know, successful.
The other thing that drives me crazy is hearing people, most often women, order their food in a restaurant by saying, “Could I have…?” Even if I don’t know the person, even if she is sitting two tables over I want to leap up and say, “It’s on the damned menu! Of COURSE you can have it.”
Instead I say a silent curse at whatever cultural practice makes women think they have to ask for permission to order something that is clearly available for purchase. It’s the same as our reflexive “I’m sorry” for things that aren’t our fault. I’m guilty of that one, lest you think me perfect. And I am so sorry.
http://videos.nymag.com/video/Inside-Amy-Schumer-I-m-Sorry
Quirky habits I love? That’s a little more difficult. I love the way Studly Doright can fall asleep and begin snoring softly the minute he closes his eyes. Of course sometimes this habit falls into the annoying category if I’m unable to join him in slumber within five minutes.
Another habit I love is one found in those people who are so filled with gratitude that “thank you,” in many different forms has become habit. My friend LeeAnn is one of these people. Her conversation is peppered with sincere expressions of gratitude, “How kind!” “What a blessing!” and, “I’m so thankful.”
Likewise my friend Janie has made a habit of finding the good in every situation. She calls herself a “lucky, lucky girl” and she makes everyone else more observant of the good in their own lives.
I’m sorry, but I’m just not good at being thankful, you know. Sorry. You know, I’m working on it.
Peace, people!
Beautiful tribute to a husband’s love. Redswrap.wordpress.com.
They were married a good long time. Longer than most of us will be married. My mother would say, “Nobody knows what’s in a marriage but the people in it,” so I hesitate to describe their relationship but, to me, it seemed that there plenty of rough times, long periods of fine. Theirs was a ‘no doubt’ relationship, inconceivable they would ever split up, no matter how badly the ship was listing. You knew that if you ever surprised them in the kitchen. They were always really into each other.
But my father was a tough, bottom-line guy. He was ridiculously self-sufficient, a direct result of coming of age in the Depression and being the son of a carpenter. As a kid, he made his own skis, he built a house, fixed our cars, climbed on the roof to straighten our antennae, rewired and re-plumbed things. Once, as a single…
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Note: I had a great deal of help with this post. I left blanks in my story and asked friends on Facebook to come up with content. When I had more than one friend respond I drew names from a hat. The darned story went in a totally unforeseen direction. I like it.
My helpful friends are listed at the bottom. Underlined phrases indicate where I received help.
“Flirting with the Law”
Sitting astride her motorcycle in front of a small jewelry store in Panama City Beach, Beth smelled the stranger before she saw him. He smelled like sheets hanging on the line, dried by the summer sun, and she lifted her head to catch his scent on the breeze.
The scent transported her back to her childhood when hanging laundry on the line out back was a chore, but the results well worth the work. There were few things in life better than sleeping on sun-dried sheets.
Lost in her reverie, Beth startled when she realized the police officer standing beside her motorcycle was attached to the nostalgic scent. He was tall, dark, and oh so handsome.
“Excuse me, miss,” This perfect vision of manhood began, “Did you know that your license plate is missing?”
“Huh?” Beth replied in her most articulate manner. “I mean of course it’s not missing. It was there when I left Tallahassee this morning.”
But even as she spoke Beth swung a leg over the back of her bike and walked back to check. Sure enough, the plate was missing.
“Well that’s just weird,” she said. “Now what?”
The nice smelling stranger said, “Could cost you a ticket, you know,” and without looking at her he ran his leather gloved hand along the curvy contour of her tank, stopping at the crest of her saddle seat.
Beth gulped audibly and felt a slow blush creep over her face. “Honest, Officer, ummm…”
“Greg. Just Greg,” he said. “And here’s your plate. I saw some kids messing around with your bike and caught them red handed with your tag.”
Beth exhaled. “Greg, you just saved me a huge headache.”
“Well, I’m not letting you off the hook just yet,” the officer said. “Did you realize that I just finished my shift and I’m starving?”
“I guess I should let you go then, though, I don’t suppose you have a screwdriver on you….” Beth said indicating her detached license plate.
Greg grinned from ear to ear. “Come, let me buy you some lunch, and I’ll find a screwdriver for you.”
For one brief moment Beth considered turning him down. After all, he was a cop, and she did have a bag of stolen diamonds in her saddlebag.
“Why, I’ll take you up on that,”she smiled demurely, looping her arm through his. She was running well ahead of schedule.
Many thanks to
Steven Ramos
Bob Walsh
Flora Diehl
Janie Christie Heniford
along with everyone else who submitted suggestions.
Peace, people!
Patches had been in this position, motionless for the past five minutes. 
I don’t believe her eyes have blinked the entire time.
If I weren’t a chicken I’d look up to see what has her so fascinated. Please, oh please don’t let it be a gigantic woman-eating spider!
Peace, people!
February 14 is this Sunday. You know what that means? Love is in the air, all around, just waiting to be celebrated.
What’s that? You say you don’t have someone to love? Well have we got a deal for you!
This weekend at Tallahassee Animal Services fees are waived on all animal adoptions. That means you could have a Valentine this Valentine’s Day and every day for many years to come. Without the calories of a box of chocolates!
Here are some of our beautiful, available cats.
Love can be yours.
Remember, adopt, don’t shop!
Peace, people!
Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Sudden Shifts
You’re at the beach with some friends and/or family, enjoying the sun, nibbling on some watermelon. All of a sudden, within seconds, the weather shifts and hail starts descending from the sky. Write a post about what happens next.
Part I
A perfect day:
picnic lunch
followed by
a nap on a
blanket covering
sun-warmed dunes.
Toes dipped in
surf by frolicking
grandchildren on
moist shoreline sand,
while doting adults
watch in vigilance.
Waves resignedly
fail in their quest
to overtake dunlin
despite their
best lapping efforts.
Part II
Clouds gathered,
rolling in on
gusts of frigid air,
sharp precursors of
coming attractions.
Urgent warnings
called out, squealing
kids for once take
heed, scampering for
cover beneath a
blanket anchored
by sturdy adults.
A barrage of hailstones
direct from cumulonimbus’
towers batter those
human tent stakes
for an endless minute.
Part III
As quickly as it
began the storm is spent.
Jubilant children,
no worse for the onslaught,
race back to the
foam for reunion
with the salt, and
the sun, and the sand.
Bemused grownups
examine their own
bruises, shrug
and move forward,
back to lifeguarding.
It’s what they
do best.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 