Monday Poem

Please spare me your Monday hate

Your “weekend’s over” ire.

Approximately one-seventh of one’s

Life is spent on Mondays.


Disparaging Mondays is akin to

Putting down the first (or second, or third, etc.)

Decade of one’s existence.

Let’s revisit our relationship with

Monday. Put a crown on it, 

Cloak it in ermine-trimmed velvet and

Parade it through the halls of your


Name a rum drink in Monday’s honor:


Now let’s celebrate!

Holy Grail Trail

When did purchasing a simple thing like traveler’s checks turn out to be the equivalent of searching for the holy grail? Banks, for the most part no longer offer them. AAA doesn’t sell them. I had a lead from one bank that there was a rumor that another bank might still sell them. Nope. I could order checks from American Express, but they might or might not arrive before I depart on Wednesday. 

I guess I’ll be traveling with cash then. I just remember the days when one could walk into one’s bank and buy the darned things. Did I hallucinate?

Going, Going, Almost Gone

I suffer from a condition I’ve labelled calendar dyslexia. Calendar dyslexia results in dates and times being confused, reversed, and even forgotten.

For a couple of months now I’ve been planning my trip to Antigua, Guatemala. My airline reservations have been made and printed, and I have the documents neatly filed in a folder proudly stamped: “Guatemala!”

I’ve told everyone I know that I’m going to leave on Thursday, April 9. I’ve planned to pack for a trip that leaves on Thursday, April 9. A week ago I pulled out my itinerary to see what time my flight departs. Imagine my surprise when I read that my flight is scheduled for 7:10 a.m. on Wednesday, April 8. 

After experiencing a brief out of body moment, I texted my brother to find out when I’d told him to expect me. Thank goodness I’d copied him on my original itinerary, so he wasn’t caught off guard.

All was discovered well in advance of the trip, so no harm, no foul. This time.

You see, calendar dyslexia has affected me on numerous occasions. Once I was visiting my son and his family in Keller, Texas. I’d told him I was flying home on Thursday. My daughter happened to call on Wednesday morning and asked when I’d be flying back to Illinois. I told her, Thursday the 12th. She got really quiet and said, “Mom, today’s the 12th.”

“No,” I argued. “Tomorrow’s the 12th.”

I didn’t have a smart phone at the time, but I ran upstairs and dug out my itinerary. Sure enough, my flight was to leave on Wednesday. In less than three hours.

I got off the phone with daughter and called son. Since I was babysitting his beautiful children I couldn’t just hop in a cab and head to the airport. He was at his office in Dallas and had to make haste to get home. In the meantime I bathed, dressed, got the kids ready to go and packed. We raced to the airport and I arrived just minutes before my flight.

There was no way I would make it. Except that someone was looking out for me (fools and drunks, you know) and the flight was delayed.

I’d provide other examples, but perhaps I’ll save them. My self-esteem can handle only so much humiliation at one time.


Easter Sunday Poem

Where are the children

Dressed in Easter finery?

Babies grown and gone.

Once there were pretty

Baskets filled, overflowing

With colorful eggs

And sweet chocolate bunnies.

Now we enjoy brunch

With pitchers of mimosas

No children in sight.

No giggles, no smiles

Just videos across miles

Better than nothing, 

But my poor heart 

Aches with emptiness and love

Miss you, children.

  Notice Jason’s mullet–he thought he needed the haircut to be a better wrestler. Ashley didn’t want anyone to see her snaggle-toothed smile, thus the firmly closed lips.

 My beautiful almost grown up children during their year together as students at The University of Kansas. Now they’re both parents. Sigh.

Peace, People!

Love-less Poem

April is National Poetry Writing Month, and today’s task called for me to write a love poem without using the word “love” or employing any of the phrases associated with love poems. 

His butt looks kind of perfect

Wrapped in that turquoise 


I mean it’s not a work of

Art or anything, but it’s the

Part of him I watch when

He leaves our bed to


His eyes could be a deeper

Shade of green, 

I suppose,

Though I doubt they could

Twinkle any more than they

Already do.

He never brings me

Breakfast in bed, and

Seldom sends me


I should probably

Divorce him over those

Lapses, but he cries at

Sappy movies, and

Would probably 

Cry if I left.

I know I would if the

Situation were




   I won’t pretend to be a religious scholar. Plenty of folks do that with mixed results and dubious credibility.

But I do know that love and forgiveness are at the heart of the teachings of Jesus, and that even in his torment on the cross He called for His Father to forgive those who were crucifying His son.


Peace, love, and forgiveness, People!

Final Four

All the hoop-la

All the noise

On an Indiana floor.

Sixty-four teams

Whittled down to four

Duke takes on Michigan State

Kentucky meets Wisconsin

Let’s see who wants it more.



As the saying goes, I really don’t have a dog in this fight, so may the weekend be filled with lots of great basketball and may the best team win.

Three Letter Word Challenge

Every story,

Every sunrise,

Every moment in time

Requires rules of some sort

Many constructed subtly,

While others seem to be

More well-defined.

This poem as example

Is written with no words 

Of just three letters as

Prescribed by Daily Prompt.

I nearly failed this 

No three rule, my hands

Trembled as I typed;

However, I saved myself

In a single move by 

Changing “the” to “a.”

Damn. Foiled again.


Peace, people!

Saturday Poem

Saturdays of my 

Youth were spent 

Vacuuming floors and

Dusting furniture:

Household chores my

Mom insisted be done

Before any of us could

Have weekend fun. 

Friends would call with

Invitations, but until

Our home shone

Like a pretty penny

There was no reprieve.

Hatred of housework

Is too mild a phrase to

Explain my feelings then,

And even now I detest those

Chores that kept us all

Shut in.

Romantic daydreams

Helped such days go by;

Some days I was a servant girl

On others a glamorous spy.

I’d sing plaintive tunes and

Dance with my broom, 

Cinderella had nothing on me,

But no fairy godmother ever

Came to set this princess free.

 I am not a domestic goddess, despite my mom’s efforts to make me one. 

Peace, people!