Trumplewocky

Brilliant!

stephanielharper's avatarSLHARPERPOETRY

trumplewocky1‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in the slade;
All dingly were the rectiprobes
And the dampnuts updrade.

“Beware the Trumplewock, my friend!
The bigly mouth, those puny mitts!
Beware the Tweet bird, and off-fend
The cronious Perkletits!”

She packed her poisal voice and went:
Fat chance the vapid imp she’d spare—
So quivered he ‘neath his Cheato tree,
And feebly cried, “Unfair!”

And, as the greelish light grew pale,
The Trumplewock, with wits of wood,
Came grabbling through the femly vale
Because he thought he could!

Eins, zwei! Eins, zwei! And quick as pie
The poisal voice sliced fierce and true:
“Go flay yourself, you mawkish elf,
And burn the residue!”

The Trumplewock would rue the day
He left his diddlepot of lack.
The frankish words would haunt him ‘til
He went galumphing back.

‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in…

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A Lizardless Winter

We’ve been living at Doright Manor for four years now, and I believe this is the first winter we haven’t had a small lizard living in the mailbox. Every day I open the mailbox with anticipation and a bit of trepidation, and every day that there’s no lizard I feel a little let down, but also a bit relieved. Sometimes those guys scared the crap out of me.

The temperatures have been colder than usual this year, so I’m not sure if it’s simply too cold for the lizards or if they’ve moved to better digs. I can’t do a thing about the weather, but I can do something about the accommodations. Maybe I’ll redecorate the mailbox before next winter, put in a nice recliner and a rug.

Or perhaps I’ll knit a sweater and attach a note with care instructions.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

I do hope the lizards are somewhere safe and warm.

Peace, people.

Stretching Like an Athlete

Athletics were never my thing. As a card carrying klutz, I’ve shied away from anything requiring physical prowess for most of my life. Oh, there was a brief period during which I played racquetball, but even then I managed to hit myself in the face with the racquet on more than one occasion. I tried golf, but was soon spending considerably more on chiropractic treatment than on greens fees.

As a result, I kind of gave up on doing any activity that was physically demanding. I have tons of other excuses: a disdain for gyms, a dislike of workout classes, an allergic reaction to sweat….You get the picture.

Now, at 61, my body is telling me I should have done something to keep myself fit. My hips hurt, my back aches, and my arms are flabby wonders that wag even when I try to get them to play dead. I feel like a bag of lumpy gravy.

I see a chiropractor, Dr. Verrier, on a regular basis. He’s helped me a great deal. Before I began regular treatments with him I couldn’t walk without significant pain. He’s worked wonders, but I still had some issues with my hips that keep me awake at night.

Then Studly Doright suggested I also see someone at a Tallahassee business called Stretching Your Life. One of his golf buddies recommended the business and Studly wanted me to check it out.

Stretching Your Life is owned by kinesiologists who teach their clients to stretch like athletes. They’ll even spend an entire hour stretching you! I’ve had two sessions of intense stretching and am amazed at what I’ve missed out on all these non-athletic years. I still have a long way to go, but my kinesiologist, Jen, is upbeat about getting me to a healthier place in my life.

Here’s a link to Stretching Your Life. Their website alone has a great deal of helpful information along with exercises to do at home. (I receive no compensation for sharing this information, by the way, but I wanted to spread the word.)

https://g.co/kgs/Fbs46h

I’ll give updates on my progress with the stretching. Hopefully I can work out some of these kinks that have begun to feel like the norm. I don’t mind being 61, but I do mind feeling like I’m 91.

Peace, people.

Art or Nart

I had tons of time to come up with a blog post yesterday, but zero ideas. While I was watching Ellen Degeneres’s new show “Game of Games” I played with the doodle option on my iPhone instead of preparing something for this venue. So this is all you’re getting this morning.

I call this, “Art or Nart”

Playing Hole #5 on a Blustery Winter Day in Florida:

The Emperor Reimagined:

Beach Day:

Hello from the Other Side, Kandinsky:

I’m hanging on to these pieces of art. If I become famous one day perhaps they’ll be worth a fortune. Or nart.

Peace, people.

You May Say I’m a Dreamer

You may say I’m a dreamer, and in my household I am the only one. Where my dreams are typically vividly technicolored, Studly Doright’s are seemingly non-existent. So when I got this text first thing Monday morning, I was intrigued:

(Ignore the odd punctuation. If I’d known this was going to be blog fodder (blodder?) I’d have taken more pains with my text.)

According to Studly, he never dreams. Of course I’ve informed him that we all dream every night, but not everyone remembers their dreams. Stubbornly he persists in claiming that he is the exception.

All day I waited for him to come home, so I could hear the details. Part of me hoped he’d dreamed winning lottery numbers. Had that been the case, I’d have bought a dozen tickets immediately. Another part of me was concerned he’d dreamed about his soul mate–and it wasn’t me! As promised in the text I made potato soup for dinner, always with one part of my brain on Studly’s dream. Do I need a life? Most likely.

The second he walked in the door I asked the million dollar question. “What was the dream?”

“Mmmm, that soup smells good!”

“Damn it, you don’t get soup until you spill the dream beans.”

He said, “It was weird. The whole time I was dreaming I kept thinking it was the kind of dream you’d have.

“There was this creature, maybe an alien, maybe an animal, and a little boy. Somehow they communicated, and if there was any danger the creature would surround the boy with a protective cloaking shield.”

I managed to nod encouragingly, all hopes of a winning lottery number dashed.

“And this kid had family members he could pull inside the shield.”

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing! I couldn’t get past the shield part. The dream never moved forward. It was frustrating.”

As we ate our potato soup and cornbread I tried my amateur dream interpretation skills on him:

1) Studly is the little boy who feels like he needs protection for himself and his loved ones.

2) Or he is the outsider providing protection for others.

3) Or he had an upset stomach and as a result a weird dream.

4) Or he was hoping for potato soup for dinner.

At least he didn’t dream about his soul mate. Unless, of course, the alien filled that role.

Peace, people!

Look What I Made!

I met with members of the Tallahassee Women’s Social Meetup group Sunday afternoon to work on our hats for cancer patients. I’d begun working on the hat pictured above shortly after meeting with this group before Christmas and was anxious to find out if I’d remembered the instructions correctly. To my immense surprise, I had!

I’d taken the hat to a point at which I needed further instructions, and was pleased to learn I would be able to complete it this afternoon. The only thing I’d gotten wrong was the type of yarn to use. Apparently there’s a specific yarn recommended for cancer patients and mine is a bit on the scratchy side. Next time I need to purchase this brand:

One of the ladies knitted a hat for a preemie this afternoon. It’s so adorably tiny!

I had to try on my completed project:

Okay, I’m not a super model. I’m pretty proud of my hat.

Peace, people!

What Have We Stepped In?

Excellent piece by alotfromlydia.wordpress.com.

alotfromlydia's avatarA lot from Lydia

I feel like I have been working hard for years, saving my spare pennies for a long time, and I finally decided to treat myself to that pair shoes I’ve always wanted, quality shoes, classy and smart. In these shoes I stand taller and walk with a spring in my step. It’s like a dream, and I am walking on a cloud.

Then I step in something.

My shoes are ruined. I shrivel into my former self. It’s like I’m looking in the mirror on the morning after a long hard night of partying, at a party I did not want to attend.

I’m metaphorically hung over. The shoes in this story are America, and the “party” is Donald Trump.

We spent years getting to the point we were at when this party started. We looked our best. We were informed, progressive, open minded. Equality for women and minorities was…

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A Post About Something I Didn’t Get to Do

One of the MeetUp groups I’ve become involved with had planned to visit a local Tallahassee historical site, the Lichgate House on High Street on Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately a private event was being held at the venue, so we ended up meeting for lunch at Newk’s, a local eatery.

I’d never heard of Lichgate, but it’s a site I’m eager to visit now. This is a place I’ve driven by dozens of times without realizing what lay behind the foliage. There’s only a small sign marking the site.

The story of Lichgate House is compelling:

http://www.lichgateonhighroad.org/

I hadn’t checked my email before going to the site, so I got a glimpse of the grounds from the parking area where I learned we wouldn’t be able to enter, but would instead go straight to lunch. We’ve had a cold front move into the area, so maybe the cancellation was for the best, and we can visit on a warmer day.

Pinterest had some photos from Lichgate:

I can’t wait to see this for myself.

Peace, people.

Morning Hug

So, I cried.

Jan Wilberg's avatarRed's Wrap

It is four in the morning. I check my phone and turn off the alarm just as it is about to ring. I have been awake for several minutes, looking out the window at the white stucco house across the street and waiting for it to be four and now it is. My husband is sleeping.

I go to the bathroom and while I am sitting on the toilet, I put on the clothes I laid out on the floor the night before. Underwear, socks, blue jeans, bra, black pullover, black hoodie. I stand up and zip up my pants, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I wet a brush and tame my hair. Then I look for earrings. I put in the small silver hoops with a tiny row of diamonds but then decide I shouldn’t be wearing diamonds to an emergency warming room for homeless people. It’s…

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