Maker of the bed
Keeper of stolen secrets
Woman of few regrets.

In the wee small hours,
Clichèd as it might appear
Her conscience is clear.

Affairs in order
Assignations underway
She sleeps, unconcerned.
We went for a ride
In the convertible for
An ice cream sundae

The cloth top was down
But the windows were rolled up
Brisk evening breeze

Weekend’s last hurrah
Radio plays summer’s hit
Dancing On My Own
http://youtu.be/q31tGyBJhRY
I’m going to admit to starting out this first day of my sixties feeling a little sorry for myself. Yes, I’d enjoyed a surprise birthday weekend with Studly on the gulf coast, but today was the DAY and I had nothing going on. No party. No family here (except for Studly). No cake. No dancing. Poor pitiful me.
My long time friend, Hunny, turned 60 on the third of this month with a flourish. Her kids threw a surprise party and there was live music and her grandbabies were in attendance. I might have felt a twinge, ok, a rush of envy, knowing there was no way I was going to be feted in such a manner.
But on my way to work this morning I got a FaceTime call from our youngest grandchild who sang her special version of Happy Birthday. Then in the office at the school where I’m working a second grade boy told me he thought I was pretty. Just out of the clear blue sky. When I thanked him and told him that today was my birthday he said, “Well, that explains everything!”
Throughout the day I’ve received hundreds of birthday greetings from friends on WordPress and Facebook, and each one makes me smile. I also have two gifts to open later tonight and Studly has promised to take me to dinner.
On my way home from work I was listening to John Fugelsang’s show and his guest, one of my favorite poets, Taylor Mali, read his poem, My Deepest Condiments. It was as if this poem was meant just for me today. So I’m feeling pretty awesome. No more pity party. It’s great to be 60.
Here’s Taylor Mali. Enjoy.
http://youtu.be/P8NF6WJw50k
Peace, people.

Photographic Art by Julie Powell“Before We Were Kings”
by Leslie Noyes
Before we were kings, we slept half the day rising at noon for our breakfast.
Before we wore robes, we frolicked like fools behaving as if it would all last
We snuggled and snuffled, snorted and sang, trumpeting our joy to the masses
And no one chastised us lest we succumb to a crippling, pachyderm sadness.
Oh! It was roll, roll, tumble and flow until the grand day of our crowning
Now we sit tall, on thrones one and all solemnly judging and scowling.
For more wonderful photography, visit https://juliepowell2014.wordpress.com/
Some silly poetry today. I’ve always enjoyed the whimsical poems of Ogden Nash, and attempted to channel him a bit in these two offerings:
“Ode to a Knot”
–by Leslie Noyes–
Perhaps invention of the wheel
Earns history’s highest spot,
Yet, I would argue heartily
In favor of the knot.
Kudos to the underdogs
Who ventured out of frame,
To find a better method
Of fastening everything.
Whosoever first declared,
“Look I’ve found a way
To hold my furs up comfortably
And make them firmly stay!”
And she who finally realized
Her stitches would best remain
When tidy knots were employed
At both ends of the same.
You may argue for the wheel
Or for microprocessing chips
As for me I’ll sing knots’ praise
As mankind’s greatest gift.
“The Knot’s Untying”
–by Leslie Noyes–
”Twas not the knot’s fault
For not holding taut.
The knotter was for naught,
And herself poorly taught.
My sister-in-law, Lyn, and her husband, Mike, are staying the weekend at Baron’s Creekside near Fredricksburg, Texas. Their accommodation is a quaintly furnished cabin on a quiet lake.
This morning, Lyn posted,
And these photos:
“A Herd of Ducks”
Strutting for all the world to see, a herd of ducks came calling.
Ate our muffins, blueberry and bran, their manners so appalling.
Nary a thanks in quacked accent as these feathered friends departed
Don’t they ken we’re a flock? The drake did ask, waddling as he farted.
I knew my second anniversary with WordPress was imminent, but couldn’t remember the exact date. Thank goodness one of us was keeping tabs.
Two years ago today I was sitting in the exact same spot in which I find myself now. I was bored and lonely and addicted to more than one computer game: Bejeweled Blitz, Plants vs. Zombies, and a couple with names I don’t recall, but one had to do with building castles and the other with raising dragons. It was a sad life.
Oh, I had Facebook, but my tendency to say exactly what I thought had alienated a good many of my friends. My liberal political leanings aren’t shared by many of my family members or childhood friends.
To compensate for my loneliness I’d begun reading a couple of friends’ blogs. One had just started hers and it was so charming and comforting that I began thinking perhaps I could do something similar. In the weeks prior I’d had some interesting and mildly humorous incidents in my life and thought, “I can do this! All I have to do is record all the goofy things in my life.”
Now, as awkward as I am, I couldn’t write a daily blog based solely on personal mishaps, and soon I was just writing filler until something good came along. Sometimes I did something wacky on purpose just so I could write about it. If you look back through my early archives I’m sure those posts are easy to spot.
Then I had an epiphany of sorts and just began writing for myself. That’s when the poetry started, along with a few short pieces of fiction. Occasionally I’m asked why I’ve never published anything and my answers vary. Honestly, I’m not sure anything I’ve written is worthy of being published outside of WordPress, and I’m clueless in the business of publishing, to boot.
I still compose and publish everything on my iPhone, and I still publish at least one post per day.

My favorite part of blogging is the connection I’ve made with other bloggers from all across the world. I read posts from writers in Great Britain and India, Germany and Italy, Australia and South Africa, among many others. We comment on each others’ lives and offer our own insights. We learn from one another.
I’m fascinated to read of the differences in our cultures and comforted to note how very much alike we are. We all just want the best possible lives for ourselves and our loved ones.
Every now and again I decide it’s time to stop blogging. I mean, it’s a good deal of work and there are likely much more profitable ways to spend my days. But then some random thought pops into my head demanding I write about it, and I begin frantically punching letters into words and words into sentences on my iPhone keyboard before the idea fades into oblivion.
After two years of blogging I’m still somewhat of a pariah on Facebook; although, I’ve found a couple of groups of like minded friends with whom to share congenial conversations–some I’ve met through WordPress. I’ve weaned myself from every computer game except Words With Friends. I’m less lonely and better informed. Blogging has, corny as it might sound, saved my life, or at least my sanity.
Now, what should I write about tomorrow?
Peace, people.
I gain weight just thinking about food:
cheesecake
clam bake
cheese steak
for pete’s sake!
Where once I was skinny, pitifully so,
now I have ample hips and my bosom doth grow.
Bring me pizza and fried shrimp, pasta and fries, if I’m going to be fat I’ll feast on cream pies.
A size two times larger than last year’s clothes, I’m singing the blues and striking a pose.
Why in all other aspects is bigger deemed great, but a gain in weight is a terrible fate?