Knowing

I met two women today at the coffee shop. Both named Betsy. I didn’t ask if Betsy was a nickname for either woman, but I wondered. My friend Stephanie, introduced us. I only know Stephanie from this coffee shop where I go each day to write. She’d once asked me to watch her infant daughter while she ran to the restroom. Today I asked her if she’d worried the entire time her daughter was in my care, with me being a stranger, and all, and while laughing, she told me and the women named Betsy, that on her way to the ladies room that day she’d stopped by the counter and asked the baristas to keep an eye on me while I kept an eye on her daughter. It was a leap of faith that she took, leaving that precious child with a stranger. One of the Betsys had lost her own daughter to murder. Not to a stranger, but to someone they’d known well. And it struck me as the saddest thing I’d ever heard. It sat with me all morning as I worked, this knowing that we never really know.

Not an Option

Not an Option

By Leslie Noyes

Failure, under the spotlight, turned down a wrong road, dined at the bad trough, lessons learned.

Heartache, walked on the tightrope, fell into an abyss on the highway to hell. Seeking penance forevermore.

Trust, sought, but not earned, squandered in bushels, by deeds too heinous to tell. Forgiveness sought.

Grace, offered in buckets, washed in the blood of the everlasting lamb. Earnest prayers offered with hands raised in praise.

Learning to Fly

First, unclog your mind
Rid yourself of weighty thoughts
Then simply exhale

Open up your heart
Invite the whole world inside
That's the best advice

Now, leap fearlessly
Behold the wide world below
Yearning to embrace

Thomasville, Georgia

A brand new friend and I drove over to Thomasville, Georgia, yesterday to shop and have lunch. It was a superb day even with the rain that fell sporadically and the growing realization that my hips have grown wide enough to qualify for their own zip code.

My friend knows the area, so she was my guide as we peeked into gift shops and boutiques and even a funky taxidermy establishment. 

 

Heavenly seafood and grits to die for!
 
After a lunch of Jonah’s spicy Cyclone Shrimp and a Caesar salad we wandered into the cutest little shop. 

 

You probably can’t tell, but the table top had a layer of sand on it! Perfect for a summer beach themed display.
 
I should’ve taken more photos, but as we browsed I realized that after several minutes no watchful shop attendant had come out to greet us. A pair of high school aged girls stopped by the store and we learned that one of their teachers owned the business. We continued looking around and visiting for awhile and then the young ladies left. 

Now, I’m a huge fan of shows like Crime Scene Investigation and Criminal Minds, so naturally I began to believe that the shop’s owner had come to some harm. Perhaps as we’d been innocently examining the goods in her shop she’d been lying in a pool of slowly congealing blood, scratching the initials of her assailant in the viscous red liquid in hopes that her murder will be solved and justice served.

With that scenario in mind, I boldly strode to the work area of the store and yelled, “Hello?!” No answer. I looked under a workbench and behind a counter. Nothing. No one. My new friend was beginning to get a bad vibe. About me. I can tell these things–it’s why I can count my friends on one hand and still have two fingers left over.

Reluctantly, we left the store, but I wasn’t through. I went to the shop next door and explained my concerns to the two ladies working there.

Specifically I said, “There’s no one in the gift shop next door. We were there for at least ten minutes and I’m worried about the shop owner.”

“Oh,” said one of the women with a smile. “She is a bit eccentric. She probably just wandered down the street to get some lunch.”

I was relieved and a bit flabbergasted. Who leaves a shop unattended in the middle of the day? Or at any time, for that matter. Granted, Thomasville isn’t a large city, but it is certainly big and busy enough for there to be ill-intentioned people lurking about.

My (still?) friend and I left feeling a measure of relief and continued shopping. She bought a couple of cute tops and I bought a natural mosquito repellent. That’s what one buys when one’s hips have become their own 90210. 

I fully intended to return to the unattended shop before leaving Thomasville, but a rain storm burst from the heavens and put an end to our stroll about town. Perhaps on my next visit I’ll stop in to see who this most trusting of women is and spend a few dollars in her shop. I had a strange affinity for those wooden seagulls.

Peace, people!

Harper’s Day to Ride the Bus

I wrote this piece awhile back for my youngest granddaughter who was two at the time and couldn’t understand why her older siblings got to ride the big yellow school bus and she didn’t.  

Harper D is now three, and today was officially her first day of Pre-K, but I thought it would be fun to revisit this mostly true poem.

  

“D Wants to Ride”

The big yellow bus came to D’s house today.

Garrett got on the big yellow bus.

McKayla got on the big yellow bus.

D could not get on the big yellow bus.

“You must be three, and you are only two,” said Garrett.
“You are way too little,” said McKayla.

“I am big,” said D.

“I can count,

I can sing,

I can climb,

I can swing.”

“Just one more year,” said Garrett.

“You will be a big girl next year,” said McKayla.

“But I AM a big girl!” Insisted D.

“I can play,

I can dance,

I can run

Really fast!”

“D,” said Garrett, “Be our baby for awhile.”

“D,” said McKayla, “Stay little for awhile.”

D thought and thought. “OK,” she said.
“I will be your baby for one more year.

I will still count and sing, climb and swing.

I will still play and dance and run very fast.

But next year I will get on the big yellow bus!”

“Bye, D,” said Garrett.

“Bye, D,” said McKayla.

“Bye big yellow bus!” said D. “I’ll see you next year.”

  
Peace, people!

Figuratively Speaking

From frying pan to fire and
To neighbor’s greener grass,
Life’s trials sure seem rosier
Seen through the looking glass.

But reality’s a cruel taskmaster
And luck not always a lady,
Hearts grow fonder with absence
For someone else’s baby.

  
Peace, people.

Catch Me

If I choose to wander
too far afield,
If I climb too steeply,
If I dare to chase a vague dream,
Will you choose to catch me?

If I do not always get the
words just right,
If I don’t always discern the truth,
If you and I cannot agree,
Will you still value me?

Or must I fit into the box
we’ve constructed,
the comfortable conveyance
that defines my role
for you to deem me worth catching?