c’mon!
you can do it!
rise and shine, girl.
nope.
i’m comfortable
right here in my bed.
c’mon!
time’s a’wasting!
the world’s your oyster!
nope.
go away. leave me.
mumble, mumble, mumble.
c’mon!
i brought donuts!
and coffee with Baileys.
nope.
wait. did you say
donuts? Baileys? i’m up.
Beautiful poem from poesypluspolemics.com.
“Flower Painting 2011”
Painting by Mario Zampedroni
From deviantart.com
the child knows the flower
delights in the running
of handfuls of dirt
through her fingers
she understands naught
of the seed and its role
in the intermediacy
between blossom and soil
but what does it matter
it would seem not at all
the woman knows of love
and delights in the feelings
of tingling skin halting breaths
and the skip-beats of heart
she understands naught
of the heart and mind nexus
of its intermediacy
between selfness and selfless
but what does it matter
it would seem not at all
I think of you often
Considering the brief duration
Of our acquaintance.
Many nights your name
Drifts like a wraith between my
Amen and my dreams.
Some days I smile, thinking
Of words we once spoke,
Witty, yet inconsequential,
Odd bits to linger over
While I pluck weeds from
The courtyard out front.
It’s not like we shared a
Romance, more a
Light-hearted
Melding of minds.
Maybe you were the
Platonic soulmate foretold
By a palm reader
At a small kiosk
In Baltimore’s
Inner harbor.
I don’t miss you as much
As I find places where
Your presence would
Be a blessing.
I hope you
Are well,
friend.
There are things in my life that I get a little geeky about. I’m already trying to figure out how to justify going to see Star Wars Episode VII on Christmas Day. I have full color action packed dreams about Han Solo and Chewbacca. That’s geeky.
But this post isn’t about Star Wars, it’s about me geeking out over a favorite author retweeting one of my tweets on Twitter. (Sounds a bit like Rockin’ Robin, doesn’t it?)
When I find an author I like I will read any and everything he or she has ever written. One of those authors is CJ Box. Mr. Box doesn’t write scifi or fantasy, my two favorite genres. No, he writes what I’d call modern western novels, set primarily in Wyoming. One of his protagonists is a game warden named Joe Pickett.
I know Joe Pickett better than I do some members of my own family. Joe’s one of the really good guys in this world, but he’s not perfect. I’d like to think Joe and I could be best friends, but he’d think I talk too much. He’d be right.
While driving around Tallahassee today after getting a pedicure:
I saw a sticker on a car window that read, “Blind Eye Outfitters” and all my warning bells started ringing. Blind eye, eh? Does that mean the outfitter will ignore violations of game laws? Instantly I wanted to touch base with Joe Pickett, and see if he should investigate.
Of course Joe is fictional, so I did the next best thing and tweeted CJ Box. Imagine my delight when he not only favorited my tweet, but then retweeted it! This geeky fangirl squealed a little, I’m not going to lie.
Maybe CJ will notify Joe for me. It could happen.
Peace, people!
Studly Doright has permanent dibs on the tv remote. Usually, I’m okay with that, but when his search for programming stops on the series, Ancient Aliens, I go into full blown sarcasm mode.
If you haven’t had the pleasure (gag) of watching the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens you have no idea what you’ve been missing. Along with venereal disease and a bad case of poison sumac.
The premise of each episode is the same–to prove retroactively that groups of extraterrestrials were responsible for helping get the human race off the ground. The pyramids? Check. Stonehenge? Check. Mayan temples? Check. Epcot Center? Check.
If ancient edifices weren’t built by aliens as astronavigational facilities, they were erected as gigantic abodes primarily used for conjugal visits for whenever E.T. came to gift humanity with his otherworldly seed.
Yes, according to Ancient Aliens, we are most likely all descended from little green men. That explains a lot: Donald Trump, David Spade, Abe Vigoda.
On some episodes aliens are credited with being the gods of ancient mythology, and we know what a horny bunch they were.
I’m beginning to understand Studly Doright’s fascination with Ancient Aliens. It’s basically soft core space porn.
Peace, people!
this afternoon was perfect
for two-wheeled adventures,
leaning into modest curves,
feeling brisk exhilaration.
briefly open throttles wide
to pass sedate pedestrians.
ease seamlessly into lanes,
give nods to bikes we meet.
brake for food, hungry now.
partake of Sonic’s cuisine:
cheeseburgers, tots, shakes.
turn toward home as evening
breezes creep under helmets,
and leafy shadows crisscross
roadways, cautioning riders.
One might wonder what possible relationship could be found between shoes and zombies.
On the surface there seem to be few, if any connections; however, for one such as I who periodically stops to ponder survival in a zombie apocalypse, shoes, or more specifically, types of shoes, might have a real bearing on one’s chances of surviving a zombie horde.
I’ve never been a shoe maven. Oh, in my younger years I enjoyed putting on a pair of heels with a short skirt and watching heads turn as I sashayed into a restaurant. I was never a great beauty, but my legs were more than adequate as such things go.
Not long after I hit my mid-30’s, though, I realized that the leggy look enhanced by a pair of heels in no way made up for the resulting back and foot pain, and except for a couple of notable occasions (both weddings) I’ve steered clear of shoes with anything higher than an inch of heel since then.
I credit this common sense for giving me exceptionally nice feet for a woman of 59, feet that can walk for miles with no complaint. And that’s where zombie survival kicks in.
Apparently the zombies pictured above have found easy prey, presumably one who was unable to outdistance the walking dead due to poor footwear choices.
While this pair of Louboutin’s might help one strike a stunning pose on the red carpet, chances are they’ll only slow one down when survival matters.
On the other hand, this waterproof boot by Merrell would provide protection, comfort, and traction in all terrain.
What an excellent project. Who wants to help me get something started in Tallahassee? Read more at redswrap.wordpress.com.
We just finished the third Time of the Month Club donation drive. The ending tally was 28,776 tampons, pads and wipes for women who are homeless in Milwaukee. The supplies are delivered to emergency shelters and outreach programs and put to use right away.
There is no overhead or administrative costs. There are no fees to pay for storage or delivery. Basically, the supplies pile up in my dining room and front porch until the end of the drive. And then I count them, yes, every tampon and pad in every box, bag them up in giant black garbage bags, staple a Time of the Month label to them, and start loading up the truck. My husband, son and I make the deliveries. It’s one of the things I love about it – that the two of them are all in to help out unless they have to explain it…
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Outside Doright Manor the temperature is 85 degrees. It’s a warm October day, but not terribly humid. Of course I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort having just enjoyed a Smart Ones spicy chicken and fries meal.
There are two separate shows being played out for my enjoyment. One is a recording of The Walking Dead. The other is the steady procession of roofers hauling bundles of shingles up a ladder to our covered/screened in porch addition.
My cats are fascinated by the roofing show. They want to attack the dangling cords and to pounce on the dropped sacks that seemingly appear from nowhere and float enticingly to the ground. They are both indoor cats, though, so the roofing show is as real to them as The Walking Dead is to me.
Hopefully before too many more days all the work on the porch will be completed, and the cats will be able to venture into the great indoor outdoors. Studly Doright and I are making predictions on their first adventures.
Scout, we feel, will embrace the porch immediately, claiming it as her territory, but Patches fears everything and it may take her awhile to cross the threshold. I give her a week before she takes the plunge, whereas Studly thinks it will take much longer. We live exciting lives, don’t we?
Peace, people!
Don’t you love the Whitman quote? Reblogged from wordswewomenwrite.wordpress.com.
Praying for Eyebrowz 