I wasn’t always Nana. Once upon a time I was plain old Leslie, occasionally “honey” or whatever endearment
Came immediately to Studly’s tongue. But by far, Nana is the best name I’ve ever been given. Fifteen years ago this week,
Nana was born when a beautiful, round faced baby girl was placed in my arms. Her wide blue eyes connected with my own
Amazed brown ones, and I have been forever changed. I might have once been ordinary, but now I am Nana.
Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandchild, Dominique Grace. I meant to post this on Wednesday, but never changed the post from “draft” to “scheduled.”
The Long Way
By Leslie Noyes
She likes to take the odd way home and longs for unpaved pathways. A crowding of trees on either side pleases her
More than she can explain. He, though, searches for direct routes, interstates and expressways. No time for
meandering hither and yon. No desire to stroll the byways; a clear cut destination with the horizon firmly in view.
Always ahead of schedule, critical of those who linger over the simple pleasure of traipsing off the beaten trail.
She loves him anyway.
By Leslie Noyes
I cannot sugarcoat this, the life you are destined for. It is not fair, but then life never is. Child, girls tend to get the short
End of the stick. What can I tell you? I am just an old widow, but maybe you should remember to do the bidding
Of your husband. Be sure to do your wifely duties, that might keep him faithful. Cook him three square meals a day,
And always look your best when he comes around. If you play your cards right there might be some sort of
Silver lining down the long road. The young woman listened respectfully to her old granny's words, nodded in all the right
Places, and patted the woman's gnarled hand. "I can't sugarcoat this Granny, and I mean no disrespect, but screw that."
by Leslie Noyes
She liked to think she could leave if the need arose, if the weighted words and angry posturing turned into closed fists,
But the time never seemed right; he always apologized for the stinging insults and delusional declarations.
In the end, she finally left. The ambulance arrived and carted her away, bloodied and bruised. Still, he said he was sorry.
Why can’t you be like her?
Why can’t you look at me
Like she looks at him,
Like he’s a god and
Her his most ardent worshiper?
Of all the hurtful things he’s ever said, These words cut the deepest.
The Sounds of Making Plans
By Leslie Noyes
Percolating pensiveness, a dollop here, a shuffling of papers there. Tap typing a google search for some
Place warm, but not too hot. A clattering through a drawer of pens and pencils, finding one with ink or another with
Sharpened lead, or sighing in frustration and tossing the whole lot clutter bang in the garbage bin then wondering
If the recycling box is more appropriate for this detritus. A nose wrinkling search through mushy mulch reveals the remains of
Coffee grounds and last night’s leftover pizza among discarded writing implements in the bowels of the trash.
Dropped lid, startled cats. Swishing of soapy hands under running water, ripping strip of paper towel to dry. Sliding out
Boxes of atlases and crinkled yellow maps. Exclaiming over destinations visited; sighing over those that might never be.
Double down on democracy, speak your mind, and honestly. Support a free press, and denounce those who’d silence
The Fourth Estate. A patriot is neither left nor right, but one who upholds the Constitution. Refuse to succumb
To the treachery of bluster and lies. We know better! Some have had their eyes clouded, others feel dismay,
Yet we are Americans. We believe in liberty, in justice, for ALL, and we will not be led astray by this sham of a leader.
Like multi jointed worms, oozing from the earth after a thunderous summer storm, slimy lies wend their way from
Dark places of hiding, feeding on hate and prejudice until the traction they gain propels them through the conscienceless
Oral orifices of greedy politicians. Alternative facts, misrepresentations, broken promises, all squirm from their tongues.
There are nights when I lie awake, terrified for what the future might hold. Tomorrow is a gremlin crouching in dark
Corners, his fingers wrapped around all the possibilities. There are madmen in charge of our security: liars and mobsters and
Thieves, that some hailed as saviors. But now, those of us who’ve studied history know we’ve crossed lines that may
Never be uncrossed. Who will save us from the gremlin? Who will pry his bony digits from our lives? Only we can save ourselves.
I never cared for endings, the final breaths of dying embers, glowing stubbornly, banked against the coldest
Night. Beginnings, though, bright promises of better days, slipping through the grates, landing on my doorstep,
With a grand thud. Extra! Extra! Dream all about it. Wrap a ribbon around the past. Cap it off with a shot of tequila.