Open. Closed. Open.

Who am I to question the way a door is opened?

Push. Pull. Lift latch. Turn knob. “Abracadabra”

So what if I choose incorrectly at least half of the time?

Enter. Exit. Round and round.

When last we talked I caught a glimmer of remorse. Maybe you would choose a different door this time, or maybe find a new way to open it.

We were friends once. Invisible doors were slammed. I lost a figurative finger.

All I’m saying, is I’ll help you open that door again. We can lean against it together.

A Splice of Life

I spliced the scenes together

The early days of flickering frames in shades of black and white,

Three channels and Walter Cronkite’s signature sign-off, “And that’s the way it is.”

We begged for a color tv, if only for the Rose Bowl parade broadcast, but

I’d outgrown the delight of floats bedecked with hundreds of thousands of flowers by the time

The old RCA was replaced by a bigger, shinier new Zenith. Bonanza in color and Little Joe in

My dreams. Yeehaw.

(I owe the idea for this one, in part, to my friend LA at Waking Up on the Wrong Side of 50.:

https://wakinguponthewrongsideof50.wordpress.com/2019/10/08/and-thats-the-way-it-is/)

A Nice Wine Makes it Right

I want to be happier than I was yesterday, but not quite as happy as I’ll be tomorrow

Like that old saying I heard somewhere when I was much younger and had better retention

Only, it had more to do with love than happiness, and while the two are closely related

They can be mutually exclusive. I’ve been happy without being in love and in love without being happy

Damn. Is that as deep as I think it is, or is that just the Cabernet Sauvignon talking?

People

There’s an 80-something woman I know, dyes her hair magenta, wears Chanel No. 5 and purple blouses

My banker is a young, Black man with perfect teeth, and the soul of a poet. He performs at open mic nights

I’ve heard of a child who isn’t. Born on the wrong side of an imaginary line, she huddles with others in a cage

The woman next to me in the grocery store marks her territory with an angry stance and sad, old eyes

Death claims a friend, robbing all who loved her of her sweet spirit. She comes around in my dreams

Me? I’m a watcher, hoisting a glass to those who’ve touched my life, for better and sometimes for worse

Who are you? Add a verse.

Peace, people.

Found the photo of the sculpture on Pinterest.

The Leaning Tree

Winds have bowed him awkwardly,

Casting him askew to the others.

Maybe, though, he’s just leavesdropping,

Inserting himself into the discussion between

The sweet magnolia and the mighty oak

Across the way, shaking boughs and

Whispering poetry, listening for the owl.

Maybe he’s yearning for the lake,

Hoping for a cool breeze and a sip of water,

Or perhaps, like you, he’s just weary and

Seeks the loving arms of a companion.

Who am I to judge this leaning tree?

I’ve leaned too, in my day, and

Will again in the days to come.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow

I will take the time to linger by the lake,

To touch my toe tips to its cool surface and watch the flash of fish

Slip beneath the weeds.

Tomorrow I will pluck a daisy, counting off the petals,

Each one a vindication or a soft rejection, who needs that kind of

Fickle love anyway?

Tomorrow I will bake the bread, rolling and kneading and

Watching it rise, the smell of warm yeasty goodness almost making me

Swoon with giddiness.

Tomorrow I will honor the friends whose days were cut short,

I’ll wear patchouli on my wrists and dress in a gypsy skirt, maybe with bells

Announcing my arrival.

Tomorrow

Now This Storm

All the night things were fooled by the glowering skies. In the hushed anticipation,

Frogs began their nightly chorus as crickets laid down a steady beat, echoing into

this false dusk, punctuated suddenly by stabs of frantic lightning, bombarded by the

rolling of a timpani, mallets on skin, presaging the arrival of a downpour, the

outpouring, the deluge. We hunker down, my cats and I, after a sharp crackle and

concussive reverberation. Too close for comfort. The lake creatures have gone mute,

given up on their futile choruses, now that the storm has come.

We had a lightning strike a couple of minutes ago that might have topped anything I’ve ever experienced. It was close, the thunder immediate, and my heart is racing. Wish I’d still had the camera going, but the audio would have needed censoring.

See that bare spot on my lawn? That’s still fallout from last year’s Hurricane Michael. And we’ve got a potential hurricane heading this way as I write this. I’m not ready for another storm season.

Peace, people.

I’m Really Pissed Off at Death

I’ve railed at the heavens,

Cursed and cried,

Tried to rip out that cold, grey stone that’s lodged itself between my fourth and fifth ribs.

When confronted, Death shrugged and smiled a sad smile,

Like, “What did you expect? You know I’m at the end of every rainbow, the finale to every concert, the resolution of every song.”

So I hauled off and punched him. Right in his smug face.

He acted as if it hurt him more than he’d hurt me.

Part of me appreciated that, but I’m still pissed.

And so very sad.

In the past week I’ve lost three friends–two from my childhood and one I’ve known only a precious few years. Death can go suck eggs. This rant is for Mike, McArthur, and Julie.

Parade (Throwback)

Still one of my favorite blog posts. I wrote it my first year as a blogger, and I love it because it paints me as I wish I’d been in high school–the cool chick who did her own thing during the big parade. Instead, I was a band geek afraid to rebel. Oh, to have a few do overs.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/07/26/parade/

Storm Approaches; Storm Recedes, and a Turtle Trudges On

The leading edge would

Have us jumping at each flash

Of tensile lightning

Flinching at thunder

Cowering ‘neath the covers

Yearning for a pause

Rumbles grow distant

Downpour tapers to sprinkles

This storm fades away

(Found all the photos on Pinterest)

I’m always fascinated by the flow and rhythm of a storm–The light and sound parade that precedes the rainfall, the tapering off of rain followed by an encore of the opening chorus. I get chills when I get to be a witness to the greatest concert on earth.

During an intermission of the storm I’m watching a small turtle make its way across my yard.

Looks like he/she has an appointment.

Peace, people