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 .



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.”


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.



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.


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.


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.


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 


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?”

Teacher, Teacher!

I wrote this in response to The Daily Post’s prompt We can be taught.

Teacher, Teacher

When I taught years ago
There were days when
The mornings were hectic
Spent bent over student desks
discovering algorithms
And manipulating simple
Machines and describing
Force in terms of Newtons
On spring scales that broke

There were days when I
Daydreamed an alternate
Career for myself as a greeter at
Wal-mart, feeling that any
Job would be better than that
Of an elementary school
Educator who spent every waking
Moment prepping, grading, or
Worrying over pre-teen angst.

There were days when I
Felt like a master educator
Full of energy and capable
Of single-handedly saving
An entire generation from
The abyss of ignorance
Armed only with a piece of
Chalk and an eraser.

There were days when my
Classroom management
Skills went out the window
And I’d find myself standing
Rigid, in the midst of chaos
In fear of losing my ever-loving

There were days when the
Rewards were huge, when a
Group of reluctant learners
Experienced that aha!
Moment and called out,
Teacher! Teacher!

There were also days mired
In test preparation, drill and
Kill, and drill some more and I’d
Watch the lights flicker out in
Some students’ eyes.

There were days when all my
Heart desired was an opportunity
To use the restroom before my
Poor bladder exploded.

There were days when our
Classroom buzzed with the
Excitement of creativity.

And days when I thought my
Heart would burst with love.

Those are the days I miss.



Sunday School Song

I was raised listening to and singing this song. Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever really heard the message of love and acceptance. 

 Jesus loves the little children,

All the children of the world.

Red and yellow, black and white,

They are precious in his sight,

Jesus loves the little children of the world.

IMG_1047 Are these songs still sung by innocent little children? Did those who sang them perhaps think that Jesus only loved those little children of different colors when they were actually children? Should the line “all the children of the world” be amended to read, “all the children who look like MY children?” 

Or maybe the songwriter got the color part wrong. Maybe he meant, “white and white and white and white.” 

Peace, People.

Convertible Weather

I. My man and I

Out for a 

Cruise in the

Sunshine with the

Top down and the

Radio blasting our

Favorite tunes.

Damn, these


Winters are


II. Late winter sunshine

Indulging my contentment

Basking feels so right.

III. Snow where is thy sting?

My northern brethren know well

I revel in warmth.

Peace, people!

Bacon Wrapped Pizza and Other Delicacies 

Bacon on a sandwich,
Or alone on a plate.
Bacon with tomato
Wouldn’t that be great?
Bacon wrapped around
A nicely grilled filet or
Tucked inside a fluffy quiche
I could go for it that way.
Bacon served with eggs,
Poached or maybe fried.
Bacon-wrapped asparagus,
You’ll be so glad you tried.
Bacon for breakfast,
Dinner or lunch
Bacon’s even perfect at a
Fancy ladies’ brunch
But today I saw an ad
That nearly blew my mind:
Pizza wrapped in bacon
A truly monumental find!
Alas, I’m on a diet and
Can have no bacon at all
Except for one named Kevin,
And he’s not answering my call.  

Peace, People!

Orange You Cute?

I’m not a photographer, so I’ve never offered my take on The Daily Post’s Photo Challenge before. Today’s challenge, though, was “Orange,” and as I looked through the orange posts and all of the glowing words about the color it occurred to me that orange just isn’t my thing.

I can’t wear orange. It looks hideous on me, and as a result I don’t decorate in shades of orange. But surely, I thought, I must have some orange in this house. So I went on a treasure hunt.

Here are my findings:

A bag of Cheetos, Studly’s chip of choice.

A can of Febreze.

A small side table in a guest bathroom atop which sits an orange sunset photo taken in Jamaica.

A magnetic clip. I’ll use it to seal the Cheetos bag once it’s been opened. 

A feathered cat toy.

And a carton of orange juice.

Orange you glad I’m through?

Peace, People!