The Meaning of Life
By Leslie Noyes
We serve as witness
No more, no less, bearing weight
Of life’s existence
That’s why we remain
When those we love cease to be
We serve as witness
When my time here ends
Serve as my witness; I lived
I can ask no more
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.
Forty-one years ago Studly Doright and I exchanged wedding vows in a small Baptist church in Dumas, Texas. We were young, dumb, and totally in love. We were also poor, a fact I didn't fully comprehend until I began counting the funds we had remaining after spending a quick honeymoon in the dubious luxury of the Camelot Inn in Amarillo, Texas.
We'd gotten married on July 30, 1976, and I remember turning to Studly on our 45 mile drive back to Dumas, Texas, and the rental home we'd signed a six month lease agreement on and saying, "This can't be right. We only have a hundred dollars left and you won't get paid again until the 15th."
Thus began my understanding that my life had changed forever. No longer was I under the financial protection of my mom and dad. I was now a partner in a brand new relationship that extended beyond romance and into the arena of money. I was woefully unprepared for this new reality.
Thankfully, Studly was barely more prepared than I had been. Did I mention how dumb we were? The difference between the two of us was that he never doubted his ability to provide. I worried, but he never did.
Somehow, we always managed to scrape enough money together to pay the rent and buy groceries.
Nowadays, the money isn't as tight. I still worry, though. Studly still doesn't. I guess that's the whole opposites attract theory in action. We've made it this far and that's no small feat. I think we'll shoot for at least another twenty years.
Peace, people.
I am visiting my son and his family in Dallas this week, so my posts are going to be brief glimpses into their lives. Jason and his lovely wife Liz adopted this amazing Golden Retriever/Great Pyrenees mix dog about a year ago. 
His name is Toby and he's approximately the size of a coffee table. I fell in love with Toby at first sight.
In the picture below Toby is telling my son that it's well past time to go for a ride in the car.
Studly Doright won't let me have a dog, but if he did, I'd want one just like Toby. 
Above, Toby is charming a fellow canine. The little boy in the photo was enamored of both dogs, while they were so into each other that they didn't even notice there was a human in their midst.
Peace, people!
I am on a road trip from our home in Florida to our son's home in Texas. Studly Doright called me yesterday to say someone using my American Express card has been buying stuff all over the world including plane tickets to exotic destinations and a pinball machine.
This morning he called to ask if I'd just made a sizable donation to Doctors Without Borders. While I hadn't, I applauded the thief's social conscience. I just wish he/she had waited for a more convenient time to steal my card. Like never.
Irrelevant picture of an alligator.
My mother had two hobbies: reading and rearranging furniture. I shared her love of reading, but never understood her passion for decorating. Once I get my furnishings placed appropriately they might remain in the same place for years. The only times I've moved furniture around are when we've been transferred to a new location. I wouldn't do it even then, but I can't afford new stuff every time we change houses, and no one ever seems to want our old stuff.
Mom never had a budget for decorating, so our furniture was about as basic as it could be. We had a sofa, a love seat, and two chairs in varying shades of brown, tan, and black, but by simply rearranging the pieces from time to time and adding a new throw pillow or a crocheted afghan she'd create a completely different look.
Not long after I left home Mom bought a floral sofa. It kind of pissed me off. For all those years I thought furniture had to be a solid color and at the tender age of 18 I discovered florals exist! Had I not been worthy of a floral sofa? Was she making an exchange? Me for a sofa of flowers and leaves?
Studly Doright and I inherited my parents ugly black sofa when we married, but when I had the opportunity to buy a new one, it had flowers everywhere. It was ugly as sin, but at least it wasn't a solid. That'd show 'em.
Honestly, I have no skills in decorating. I never thought of it as something I'd enjoy doing for fun, but recently I was looking for an online game to keep me from overthinking everything in my life, and I found Design Home. Now I'm obsessed.
Here's how it works. Every few hours a design challenge is posted, usually with some criteria attached, i.e. two metal items, three rustic pieces, etc. Players select pieces either from their own inventory, from the inventories of friends, or from the shop, and then try to create a pleasing room. Players also get to vote on other designs. I get a kick out of seeing how others interpreted the challenge.
Here's one of my designs:
Isn't it pretty? My mom would have loved this game. Would she have chosen a floral sofa? I'll never know.
Peace, people. Go hug your mom.
I believe I’m happiest in that brief moment when I’m removing my makeup at day’s end. My face glows and I wear a triumphant smile.
“Here I am, world! I survived yet another day!”
It’s too bad that some famous photographer isn’t around to capture me in that ephemeral moment between being made up and being bare faced. Truly, I’m a thing of beauty.
I’m experimenting with this new thing called self acceptance. Be kind.
Some folks were made to twirl a baton. I was not one of those people; although, I can still do the figure eight with style and grace. Or at least with style. Okay. No style either.
Driving Away
by
Leslie Noyes
At her lowest point
Her car felt like salvation
Four wheels to freedom
Lock the doors and breathe,
Imagine the horizon
Turn the key and drive
A full tank of gas,
She neared the city’s limits
Never crossed the line
When the music starts,
when the beat begins,
I still want to move
like I did way back when
My hips find their groove
My feet find the beat
Hands sway in time
And I can’t keep my seat
Lord, I know I’m past the age
Of raising hell on the floor,
But when that downbeat hits
I beg for one dance more.
Praying for Eyebrowz 