I thought for awhile
That Mr. Nimoy was
Truly from another
Planet.
His portrayal of Mr. Spock
Was the quintessential
Vulcan.
A tongue in cheek
Article read when
I was too young to
Understand such
Humor seemed to
Confirm that the
Ears were real,
That Nimoy was
Alien.
I wondered why
This wasn’t bigger
News.
Goodbye Mr. Nimoy.
Thank you for
Making me a
Believer.
“A Lover’s Quarrel”–Lindsey Kustusch
Fight or Flight
Lovers’ quarrel
Hands tense
Lips quiver
Chests tighten
Words scathe.
Her tears fall
Furiously,
Unabated.
How could you?
Why did you?
Why won’t you?
He leaves,
For now.
Escape his only
Answer.
For now.
Without fail I go through a sort of manic preparation before embarking on a major trip. Before Studly and I went to Scotland two summers ago I had six months to scurry around shopping for just the right accoutrement (Studly uses the term “crap”) for our journey.
With a trip to Guatemala looming in early April I have less than two months to get my accoutrement together. It’s not that I don’t have enough clothes already, it’s that I don’t have the RIGHT clothes. I can hardly be expected to wear my normal t-shirts and jeans when traveling to a foreign country.
Travel smith.com is getting my business this time around. I’ve ordered two items from their website:
and,
Both earned a respectable 5 star rating, and I hope they live up to their respective reputations. Since I have a wedding to attend in Guatemala, it’s important that I look good, but not too good. One wouldn’t want to outshine the bride, after all. So maybe I’ll bring my crepe-y, saggy arms along instead of a firmer, sexier pair.
After I wrote this I came upon a blogpost that my sister-in-law shared about how much we have to learn as a country about happiness and gratitude. http://adventuretrio.com/one-thing-we-learned-about-north-americans-from-central-americans/
I hope you’ll read it. It puts my mania into a different context. I have so much, yet think I need more. Sigh.
Peace, People.
Normally I’d be asleep by now. Study is snoring, but it’s my sore throat, not his sonorous rumblings keeping me awake tonight. Rather than toss and turn I got up to make myself a cup of hot tea with lemon, but somehow the tea ended up being a shot of whiskey in a hot toddy. I’m sipping it now, and it’s working a miracle on my poor, raw throat.
I have a song lyric stuck in my head (again). This time it’s an oldie–“Your Cheating Heart” by Hank Williams. Not the whole song, mind you, just the part about not being able to sleep. Very fitting tonight.
“Your Cheatin’ Heart”
Your cheatin’ heart
Will make you weep
You’ll cry and cry
And try to sleep
But sleep won’t come
The whole night through
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you…
When tears come down
Like falling rain
You’ll toss around
And call my name
You’ll walk the floor
The way I do
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you…
Your cheatin’ heart
Will pine some day
And crave the love
You threw away
The time will come
When you’ll be blue
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you…
When tears come down
Like falling rain
You’ll toss around
And call my name
You’ll walk the floor
The way I do
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you…
Don’t worry, no one around here is cheating; I’m too crazy about Studly Doright, and he IS Studly Doright, after all.
I’m about finished with my hot toddy and will try sleeping again. But I’ll leave you with a little Hank.
Update: Now, a friend scolded me about using a Hank Jr. video, and I must admit to my error. However, in my defense, I did tell you all I was leaving you with a “little” Hank.
As always, Peace, People!
Now, here’s a girl after my own heart. Be sure to check out Rachelswhims.wordpress.com.
The hubs and I have arrived late to The Walking Dead party. I never really had any desire to watch it until a couple months ago when the DVR was empty and AMC was having a marathon. Now the DVR is filled with, I believe, 33 episodes! I love it though. Last night we watched three episodes in a row after putting the kids to bed. We never watch 3 of anything in the same night. It was exhilarating! But we’re still only on Season 3, so please, please, please, no spoilers!
Anyways, we were watching one of the episodes where Andrea is screwing the Governor.
Oh…sorry any newbies out there.
But, right after their gross encounter of the naked kind, Andrea gets up and throws on some jeans and I can’t help but grumble, “Are you friggin’ kidding me?”
“What?”
“You didn’t see that? She’s wearing a thong.”
My husband always enjoys talking fashion with me, but he hushed…
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My cold has faded to a manageable annoyance, leaving me with a slightly sexy rasp instead of my normal high-pitched twang. It’s my favorite stage of the illness, and I wonder why I couldn’t have just fast-forward to the good part.
We had a doozy of a thunderstorm last night. The sky this morning is a gray blue, and the forest looks like something out of a fairy tale, all vine-y and mysterious. A migrating flock of ducks has landed on Lake Yvette, periodically hassled by a nesting pair of snowy egrets. I tried taking a picture, but only ended up startling all parties involved. (See below)
My dad would have loved sitting out on the back porch, having a cup of coffee, and of course his ever present cigarette. He’d have said, “Sis, look at this.” Or, “I just saw something run through the brush right there.” We’d speculate as to what he’d seen, maybe catching another glimpse, maybe not.
And he and I would just sit watching the woods all morning, pausing only to fetch another cup of coffee.
The ducks weren’t that crazy about me snapping a picture.
Peace, People.
I always mess up “air kisses.” Read on:
He gave her a kiss,
A gentle touch of
Lips against cheek.
Very cosmopolitan.
Her attempt to
Reciprocate ended
In a sloppy smooch
Gone terribly wrong.
Her bright pink
Revlon left a smear
Starting near his nose
And ending at his ear.
Oh dear.
Peace, People!
Thunder closely sounds
Following bursts of lightning
Cats cower ‘neath beds.
Wild flashes of light
Stark reminders of power
Streaking earth to sky.
Imagine life as
A superstitious caveman
Scared witless by storm.
Storm sweeps vividly
Strafing swaths of timbered ground.
Skies burst brilliantly.
If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then
why do I prefer the presence of a cat?
Maybe because diamonds do not purr when scratched behind their ears. They don’t stretch when waking from a long nap in a sun-filled corner.
Diamonds do not pounce on one’s chest first thing on a Sunday morning, nor do they paw gently at one’s nose as a way of saying, “get up lazy human and feed me!”
If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then why haven’t they learned to keep me warm by crawling into my lap and slowly circling one, two, three times before settling into a cozy ball of fluff?
Diamonds cannot possibly be a girl’s best friend since they have yet to learn how best to chase a stuffed mouse or to bat around a ball of yarn.
Diamonds are amazingly incompetent at leaping on top of the refrigerator or at meowing for treats. Diamonds are totally unable to arch their backs or to leave cat hair on a favorite pair of black pants.
Diamonds have their place, I suppose, but I’d much rather have a cat.
Oddly enough this poem came to me while I was watching Ender’s Game on HBO this afternoon. In solidarity with my Texas relatives I’ve taken a snow day, plus I still have a nasty head cold, so watching HBO is probably therapeutic.
Back to Ender’s Game–I was struck by how purposeful his education was and for the thousandth time reflected on how without purpose mine was. Yes, I was taught to read, write, and perform mathematics, but to what end? Upon graduation from high school I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do or become.
When I went to college the first time, I was still purposeless. It seemed silly for me to continue spending my parents’ money on a big “if”.
Even when I returned to school I had no real desire to become a teacher; it just made sense for our family. I wonder, how do others deal with this lack of desire to be something specific. I know I had aspirations at one time, but I cannot remember them at all.
American Dream
She was smart,
But she held no purpose.
Talented,
Yet no audience.
What benefit then
Of all this hard work
These accolades?
That stellar GPA means
Less than nothing now;
Numbers on a printout.
All for a scroll with
Her name in tight
Script.
He was smart
But not filled with grand
Ideas.
Tailored for
Leadership through
Genetics perhaps, and
Hard work.
No four year degree or
Empty promises.
Trials along his path
Strengthened his
Resolve, brought him
Success.
American Dreamers
Different paths
Taken together.
Not the entire story,
Neither is it at an end.
Daily one or both
Smile, slightly
Dazed by their
Journey.
Remember? he’ll ask
She always does.
What next? She’ll wonder.
Who knows? Says he.
Peace, People!
Praying for Eyebrowz 