Rainy Evening

Slow plinking then gush
Then abruptly back to plink
A Florida thing.

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Photo by Judy Wanamaker

Drinking wine on a
Rainy evening with friends
Life at its fullest.

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Hold me closer now,
Raindrops in syncopation
Tapping out love’s code.

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The Red Umbrella by Loui Jover.

The Effects of Wine on Writing

under hobbies i listed
drinking wine, but no one took
me seriously.
“i say,” i said, “dont disparage my
good taste.”
if i had mentioned basket weaving,
scrapbooking, or candlemaking as
spare time activities, the crowds
would applaud me and ask to see
the fruits of my labor.
well this, this writing thing
that occupies my mind day and night,
waking and sleeping,
causing me to laugh out loud for
no apparent reason, is often the
result of spending time with a glass of
pinot grigio in my hand.
or sometimes a crisp Chardonnay.



Pinot Grigio

Peace, People!

Silence

Life forces us every day
to do one thing:
Breathe.

In a hospital room I sat
watching Mother
Breathe.

I closed my eyes for just minutes,
sleeping.

Silence
Woke me. Her life slipped
away while I still
Breathed.

For years I felt a deep
guilt for having slept,
Breathing

While Mother’s life
ceased with one final
Breath.

I should have been
awake for her, attentive,

Breathing
For her, perhaps,

instead I awoke to only
Silence.

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Found Words with Friends

A blogger I follow, dare I say, a friend, and I have begun playing Words With Friends. We are pretty evenly matched. At the start of a recent game he suggested that we each create a found words poem from our efforts. What a great idea!

So here’s our completed game, and my poem follows. Please read my friend’s poem at https://aroilinpain.wordpress.com .

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On the brink of goodbye 

She tread cautiously Into his space

A cup of joe as a parting gift

But he was curled under quilts in the fetal position

Claiming a pang in his wide open heart.

“You shrew,” he screamed, “You have no idea

How wide was my love for you. Woe is me!”

“Go ahead, throw darts,”she countered, “I can no longer feed your need for fame.”

In a dress of flawless moire, she addressed her ex with a shrug. 

“This will make for dishy gossip via the neighborhood pipeline.”

“Just let me see, one more time, a glimpse of your areolas,” he said, “and I promise I’ll dig no more.”

“Aw, Ed,” she grimaced, “This is why we cannot relate.”

Sh,” he cautioned in douce tones. “You are the nexus of my very being.”

Still, she placed her hand on the doorknob, “Once you were the tye to my tackle, the quahog of my pond. Now, you are just like a zit on a cob.”

Paranoia

Several nights ago before I went to bed I tied a rope around the knob of my closet door and attached the other end of the rope to the linen closet door. It actually wasn’t a rope so much as a cat toy that had a stick with a mouse dangling from it. Then, I placed a metal belt with a tinkly bell on it to the cat toy. 

In front of the closet door I placed a piano bench, a laundry hamper, and a large box of cat litter. Then I went to bed, but not to sleep.

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That night was the longest of my entire life. Studly was out of town, so I enjoyed the luxury of staying up a little later than his normally prescribed bedtime of 8:45. I realize that’s the bedtime of a ten-year-old, but I’ve learned to live with it. 

I watched my accumulated recordings of Criminal Minds until eleven, then began making preparations for bed. The cats needed bedtime treats and water. There were a few dishes I loaded into the dishwasher, then I made the rounds switching off lights and checking door locks. 

When I came to the front door I found it unlocked, and my heart stopped beating for the briefest of moments. No one goes in or out of that door. The only time it’s opened is when a package is left on the front porch. As far as I could remember, we’d received no deliveries in awhile.

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After locking the door, I went into full ninja mode. Studly and I have several beautiful walking sticks that his brother made. I grabbed the nearest one and began methodically searching room to room, under beds, behind furniture, every nook and cranny.

We have a large, open floor plan, so there aren’t a great many hiding places. Even so, it took me a half hour or so to make a complete search.

At this point I think it’s important that my readers know I take a prescribed anti-depressant–Effexor, and that for two consecutive nights I had forgotten to take my prescribed dosage. Forgotten isn’t exactly the correct word, you see I’d taken so much cold medicine last week that I’d get into bed and couldn’t remember if I’d taken the Effexor or not, so rather than take an extra dose, I’d erred on the side of caution and not taken what might be a second dose.

There are several awful consequences of Effexor withdrawal. One is extreme paranoia. Even after making a thorough search of the house I was certain someone was in there with me. But where?  Finally I decided there was no place anyone could be hiding, so I closed my bedroom door and began my nightly ablutions.

We have a large walk-in closet adjacent to our bathroom with a pull down door to access the attic. As I washed my face, my eyes were drawn to the rope attached to that attic door. I walk underneath that door every day without noticing it, but in my Effexor withdrawal paranoia I instantly knew that someone lurked above me, just waiting for the lights to go out and for me to fall asleep.

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And that’s why I had tied a cat toy to the door knob of my closet door. Now, my readers are not stupid people and have probably foreseen a problem related to hanging a cat toy on a door knob in a household of cats. Yes, the cats wanted to play with it, and did so throughout the night. 

Just as I’d doze off, a ding-a-ling would sound. I’d jump up, heart racing, walking stick in one hand, a can of hairspray in the other, looking to ambush whoever had dared hide in my attic.

I watched every hour click into existence on Studly’s digital clock. As my Effexor kicked in my paranoia slowly faded, but I still had some residual withdrawal effects, the worst one being brain shivers, so any time I turned my head I thought I caught a movement in my peripheral vision.

That’s why I put the piano bench, the clothes hamper, and the large box of cat litter in front of the closet door. If my early warning system didn’t work, then maybe they’d buy me some time.

Everything made sense in the middle of a long sleepless night.

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Now some would say, “Girl, get yourself a gun.” To which I’d reply, “Did you actually READ this post?” Who in their right mind would put a gun in the hands of a crazy woman?

Peace, People.

May I Have Award With You?

“Like A Fine Wine” Award

Dearest friends, it is with great humility that I accept the “Like a Fine Wine” award.

I realize there were many worthy candidates this year: Meryl Streep, Madonna, and Julia Roberts were fierce competition, and gracious  in their loss of this prestigious award.

But in the end, only I met all of the qualifications: 

Well aged

Full bodied

Complex and 

Fruity.

To my friends and family, thank you for accepting me just the way I am. 

I will forever cherish this award.



The WordPress Daily Prompt for March 9 asks “You are receiving an award–either one that already exists, or a new one created just for you. What would the award be, why are you being honored, and what would you say in your acceptance speech?”