Category: Life

Benches

All along the wooden pier,
benches sit immobile,
beckoning visitors to rest.
Words etched on brass plates
for all to see:
“In Loving Memory of My Parents”
“For My Dearest Aunt Laura”
“In Memory of a Great Fisherman”

One imagines the benches might
mark the places at which each
memorialized person spent time
casting hooked lines
into the gulf’s waters
while drinking cold Budweiser
to better pass the time
between sunrise and sunset.

Now, lovers claim the benches
wrapped in embraces, scarcely
noticing the memorial plaques
on the creaky, weathered slats.
Fishing for affection
in the early evening hours
catching no fish,
but not caring.

  

Rebel!

Today I crossed the street
just outside the crosswalk’s lines.

Tonight I plan to have white
wine with a juicy red t-bone steak.

Tomorrow I might just pair
plaid pants with a bright floral top.

Need a rebel?
I’m your gal.

  
Peace, people!

Reunions

I attended two high schools back in the 70’s: Floydada high school and Dumas high school. Just three hours apart in travel time, but at that point in my life it might as well have been three hundred hours. 

I’d spent all of my school life in Floydada, Texas, population 4,000, until the end of my junior year in high school when my dad switched jobs necessitating a move to Dumas, Texas, population 10,000-ish. Eventually I adjusted to life in the “big city” of Dumas. It was tough, but I made friends and met my Studly there, and graduated from Dumas high school in 1975,  so all’s well that ends well, right?

Fast forward to 2015 and the epic forty year class reunion. I would love to attend the reunion in Dumas, and I’m even going to be in Texas the weekend it takes place. Unfortunately that’s the same weekend the the Doright Family Reunion is scheduled, and I’ll be unable to be in two places at once. 

Floydada’s class of ’75 is planning to meet in Gruene, TX, in October. I’ve already booked my hotel room for that event. After all, these are the grown-up versions of kids I went to school with from kindergarten through my junior year.

I was never “most beautiful” or “most popular,” but I always had a place among my class. And I was probably too busy dealing with my own insecurities to notice those who were more disenfranchised than I was. So I was caught by surprise when a member of the class became angry that she’d been invited to the reunion because she had felt disrespected and unnoticed during our school years.

I wish I’d noticed her more. I wish I’d been nicer, friendlier, more inclusive. I wish I’d known then what I know now–that it doesn’t diminish our own worth when we include others. Who knows how my life might’ve turned out if I’d known that years ago?

To all those who felt they weren’t included, you are loved and valued and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you this years ago.

Peace, people!

Mastering the Art of Conversation

Awkward is my middle name and composure a foreign concept.

I sometimes imagine carrying on sparkling conversations at dinner parties, but in reality I end up chatting with the hostess’s puppy, to the puppy’s great annoyance.

It isn’t that I have nothing to contribute to a conversation, but that the topics I enjoy (zombies, the Star Wars universe, the undeniable cuteness of my grandchildren and their considerable accomplishments) don’t seem to be of great interest to the folks in our social circle. So next time we are invited to a social event I’m trying a new gambit: Listening.

It won’t be easy. I’m a naturally chatty person. I just hope the hostess’s dog has some snappy chatter.

  
Peace, people.

Skating 

A future prepared

Frozen smooth, without ripples

Skating on thin ice.

Cracks form and widen

Water seeps through, threatening

Surface gives quarter.

They all then fall down.

  

Peace, people!

Scraping Mold

I’ve got an important job to do. It involves mold and a scrub brush. I cannot believe I’ve agreed to take on this task. 

Define Reality

If I were asked to star in a reality tv show I’d instantly do two things:

  1. Say “no!”
  2. Examine my life and change whatever it is about it that made them ask me in the first place.

I might consider being part of something like American Pickers or Amazing Race otherwise, just don’t ask me.

Really! And no autographs, please.  

 Producers wanted me to be on Little Women as the world’s tallest little person. I declined. 
  
I turned down an offer from Mob Wives because Studly Doright is so not a mobster.

 

I still haven’t figured out what’s real about the women on these shows.

Studly and I sometimes discuss what a reality show featuring us would look like. He works hard, plays golf, rides a motorcycle. I write my little blog posts, read, cook poorly, and drink wine. We could star in “Extremely Boring People of Gadsden County.” Again, no autographs.

Peace, people!

Studly and the Second Amendment

Trust me on this, I’m not going to get political in this post, it’s simply a summary of a conversation Studly Doright and I had this afternoon in regard to the Second Amendmendent to the United States Constitution. 

First, here’s that amendment:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

Normally Studly and I don’t discuss gun issues. We own a couple of guns, but the only time we plan to carry them is when we go to the shooting range to learn which end to hold and which to point. 

In other words, we have no plans to run around carrying weapons of deadly force in public. Ours are for snake killng, period.

But there are a whole lot of folks in this country who advocate for open carry of firearms. This gives me the willies for a couple of reasons. 1) how do I know this gun toter is sane and 2) how do I know this gun toter is sane. I could add more reasons, but they’d look just like reasons 1and 2.

The simple answer is there’s no way to know for sure, but in Texas now police officers are not allowed to ask a gun toter if he or she has a permit to carry. That seems counterintuitive: There exists legislation requiring gun owners to have proof of licensing, but the officers who are sworn to uphold that law are not allowed to make sure it’s being followed.

This is where Studly comes into the conversation. I read an article about the new Texas law aloud to him, voicing my concern. 

“Well,” said he, “I really don’t see what the problem is as long as the person is obeying the law. Once they step outside the law then police officers can take action.” Then he topped this off with, “It is a second amendment right after all, “‘to keep and bear arms.'”

That always infuriates me when someone isolates that phrase from the amendment, but instead of getting pissed, I said, “Arrgh!!!” Okay, maybe I got a little pissed.

“What?” Studly asked. “That’s what it says, right?”

Patiently I read the entire amendment to him. To me it’s black and white. The well regulated militia is key to the whole argument. But Studly believes that the phrase “well regulated” has more to do with the registration and licensing than with an actual organized militia.

Sigh. This seems to be the cause of much misunderstanding. Not just in my home, but in the nation. I’m not comfortable with folks carrying guns in public. I know all the arguments for and against. I know the propaganda and the emotions involved. 

I just wish we could evolve past the Wild West mentality. 

 

Peace, people. 

Just Bummed Out

when life seems unfair
and no deed goes unpunished
don’t despair, just breathe.

 
bummed out again, friend?
discard all of those worries
just throw them away.

  

tell me your troubles
then leave them far behind you.
don’t wallow; just live.

 

Shopping Online for Motorcycle Pants

Studly Doright and I are gearing up for our annual motorcycle trip scheduled for the 21st of June. We’re planning on trailering our bikes out to this year’s destination, Springdale, Arkansas, rather than riding them due to time constraints.

June is one of Studly’s busiest months at work, and not only do we have the bike trip in the works, but a Doright family reunion the week before. Poor guy is having trouble keeping his sanity while I can only act as his sexy support crew. It’s a tough job, but I’m well qualified.

I haven’t ridden my motorcycle in ages, and the last time I did so I remember being unable to zip my riding pants due to, well, accumulations of fatty tissue in the waist area. I tried the pants on a few minutes ago and found the gap between button and buttonhole even wider. Damn.

Apparently, though, Studly is in the same gravy boat, so here we are shopping online for riding pants that fit our expanded sillouhuettes. For him it’s easy. Men’s sizes are plentiful and assume that the wearer is going to be at least 5’8″. 

Women’s sizes are a different matter, though. Apparently someone hasn’t informed the motorcycle industry that woman come in all sizes; we are not all 5 feet, 2 inches weighing 100 lbs.  

I googled “women’s mesh motorcycle pants, tall.” Now I just want to know in what universe 31.5 inches is considered a tall inseam? Honestly?!  Finally I found a pair of riding pants that might fit, if I cut a couple of inches off of my legs. There’s nothing quite so appealing as a pair of motorcycle pants that strike mid-calf.

Motorcycle Superstore had a style I’ll try. My fingers are crossed that they’ll fit. stay tuned for a review. And maybe tears.

Not me.