Tuesday morning is here. It is four and Miss Tuesday woke me up at three. "Go away Tuesday," I said. Burrowing deeper into the blankets. But Tuesday would have none of that, "Wake up" she said. So I did. "I" pulling her lazy little bones up with me. She went outside, came back in. Only to promptly go back to sleep. Fair weather friend. I am left here with my tea. Trying to rustle up words again with a groggy brain. So as I start my trip to Blogland, Good morning.
Yesterday The Emperor was going to Mount Vernon. I had not been out of the yard for a week so I said, "I" and I want to go too. She promptly went to the table by the door where her leash lay, sniffing it. Confirming that it was there waiting for her. Her little stub tail wagged in great anticapaption.
The Emperor growled. Oh yes at times he does growl. But he relented and said we could go, on one condition. The condition being that "I stayed off his lap while he drove and I didn't talk. I'm smiling as I write this. Oh sure I agreed anxious to go, but of course we both knew that wouldn't be possible. In other words I lied.
We started off our trip at the automatic car wash at 26th and main. "I" had never been through the car wash before. She watched her eyes big as the machine started up. It made its way around the car, the long arm spraying water as it rolled. You could see by the look on her face as it went around she was thinking, "What the heck?" She started growling, low deep throaty growls. Her and The Emperor sound alot alike sometimes. "Don't worry "I" I said. "Thats only Robo man." She wasn't assured or impressed. As Robo man rolled around the car several times, doing his job. "I" growled, barked, the hair on her neck stood up. Robo man had not found a friend in her.
We left and started on our big thirty mile journey. "I" tramatized by the whole car wash experience sat on my lap, seemingly dazed by it all. As the miles rolled by she perked up. Trying to stick her head out the window which was closed. Cold wind and rain would blow in if it was down. She shot me a despondent look. I felt bad as she had a bad experience earlier. I took the window down a tab and she rode contendly with the wind in her face. I of course froze. The Emperor shot glances at us both as if he wondered why the ocuppents of his Emperor land was so dumb. I only smiled and talked to "I".
We finally arrived. He went inside the VA hospital. "I" needed to go out for a walk. It was raining more. I had her leash on. We got out. It was dreary, dark and raining. I with nothing to put on my head started off, "I" in tow. I looked around at the row upon row of cars. Monday is a very busy day at the VA. "Okay Billye," I told myself. "Pay attention to where you are starting from." I knew in the grey dreary morning once I got a few steps away all the vehicles would look the same. I felt for the phone in my pocket. I was ready. Stay in a straingt line, I thought. We started out that way, crossed the grass, then a road and on to more grass. "I" at that time started for some trees which made us take a turn. I pulled her back. But oh no she took another turn. We went around a tree and she hiked her leg three times. Which is fine but she is a girl dog. By that time I was totally confused. Which way had we come from? My heart sank as I looked around to stare at hundreds of cars. Many seemed to be dark green. How would I ever find ours?
We wandered for a few minutes, getting wetter by the minute. "I" looked at me, "Why have you done this," she asked with accusing eyes. I wanted to yell back, "It wasn't me," but I didn't. I felt for my phone. I could not stay out here for long. I could call The Emperor and tell him we were lost. Desperation clutched at my heart. I would take drowning before I called him. We started out walking despondently along the road. Then as if by a miracle I spotted a tree trunk that had been cut off. I has seen it when I had gotten out of the car. We started running. At last we found the car. "Thank-you God, I yelled as we headed that way.
When The Emperor came back about thirty minutes later we were still wet. He looked at me funny. I never said a word. After all he said don't talk. "I" pouted on the way home. I had subjected her to Robo man and then kept her out in the rain. So much for getting out of the house.
I am already headed back from Blogland. My words scattered yet another day. "I'm singing this morning, "Purple rain. " That's more fitting than "Singing in the rain." Because we definitely wasn't singing that one yesterday. But for now, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
WILLIE GOT BUSTED AGAIN, NELSON THAT IS.
Sunday morning is back again. The other days pushing her forward quickly. I have said before, Monday comes then I turn for just a minute, I look back and its Sunday. Minutes, hours, slipping though my fingers at break neck speed. "Shut off the fast forward," I plead. "You're making me old before my time."
Yesterday morning the news caption on AOL was Willie got busted again. Poor old Willie. It seems if you're Willie Nelson every few years they have to nab you for possession. Willie and weed sort of go together like burgers and fries. I say at seventy-seven if he wants to smoke a joint, let him. Oh I know its against the law but seriously Jay walking is too. But I want to declare loud and clear for the world to hear. I love Willie Nelson. Only one other singer walked along beside him and that was Vern Gosden. Vern had the velvet voice. Willie the deep throaty one.
I fell in love with Willie and his music in the seventies. The love affair has lasted. As strong today as it was back then. He has a smile that is infectious. Blue eyes to drown in. He writes music, sings and can play the acoustic guitar like nothing you've heard before. He has a pony tail, a quiet unaffected way about him. Tell me whats not to love.
Now I'm not going to come on here and say I think its okay to smoke pot. I'm not a smoker of weed or anything else. But to tell you the truth I've not seen many people high on Pot that was mean and belligerent like a drunk can be. They usually just mellow out and want to eat, then sleep. Actually I would prefer to see someone smoke a joint and drive a car than somebody drink fifteen beers, get in his car and plow into a family of five.
But back to Willie. He has written some beautiful songs. Many recorded by all kinds of artists. "Crazy," Angel Flying to close to the ground. "Night Lights," the list goes on. When he sings "You were always on my mind," I really just melt. I saw him once live in Tulsa. My dream is to see him again. If there is a next time by gosh I will get his autograph, one way or another.
I can see it now. Myself stationed at the back door of the Memorial Hall My pen and paper in hand. Out comes Willie, who only likes women under forty. "Willie," I will gush. "I just love you." He'll smile. "Well thank-you Grandma," he'll say. As he pats my cheek. He is much, much older than me. But I will only smile. I'll be his granny. We take what we can get.
So I say all that to say this. Why can't they just leave Willie alone. So he smokes a little on his tour bus. I think they should give him amnesty or something. After all he's Willie Nelson. Sort of like a National Treasure. One thing about Willie he doesn't hide what he does. He just does it.
So here I am again. Another morning where I have thrown my words into the wind. I watch as they float away. Carried high. Willie's name floating up there in cyberspace. I smile and turn to head back. I'm singing under my breath. "On the road again, its great to be on the road again." Hmmm, I wonder do they allow weed in Blogland. If they do I'll have to let Willie know. But for now. I'm outta here.
Jeffrey Phelps, AP
Willie Nelson found himself behind bars yet again today after being arrested for possession of pot in Sierra, Texas. It appears that laid back country crooner's 2006 misdemeanor for having weed and magic mushrooms on his tour bus wasn't enough to keep the legendary singer-songwriter on the straight and narrow, as Border Patrol allegedly seized six ounces of marijuana from Nelson as he and his entourage passed through a checkpoint at 9AM on Nov. 26.
The 77-year-old rocker was arrested and booked into the Hudspeth County Jail on a $2,500 bond, but has has since posted bail and rejoined his family and crew in Austin, Texas.
Yesterday morning the news caption on AOL was Willie got busted again. Poor old Willie. It seems if you're Willie Nelson every few years they have to nab you for possession. Willie and weed sort of go together like burgers and fries. I say at seventy-seven if he wants to smoke a joint, let him. Oh I know its against the law but seriously Jay walking is too. But I want to declare loud and clear for the world to hear. I love Willie Nelson. Only one other singer walked along beside him and that was Vern Gosden. Vern had the velvet voice. Willie the deep throaty one.
I fell in love with Willie and his music in the seventies. The love affair has lasted. As strong today as it was back then. He has a smile that is infectious. Blue eyes to drown in. He writes music, sings and can play the acoustic guitar like nothing you've heard before. He has a pony tail, a quiet unaffected way about him. Tell me whats not to love.
Now I'm not going to come on here and say I think its okay to smoke pot. I'm not a smoker of weed or anything else. But to tell you the truth I've not seen many people high on Pot that was mean and belligerent like a drunk can be. They usually just mellow out and want to eat, then sleep. Actually I would prefer to see someone smoke a joint and drive a car than somebody drink fifteen beers, get in his car and plow into a family of five.
But back to Willie. He has written some beautiful songs. Many recorded by all kinds of artists. "Crazy," Angel Flying to close to the ground. "Night Lights," the list goes on. When he sings "You were always on my mind," I really just melt. I saw him once live in Tulsa. My dream is to see him again. If there is a next time by gosh I will get his autograph, one way or another.
I can see it now. Myself stationed at the back door of the Memorial Hall My pen and paper in hand. Out comes Willie, who only likes women under forty. "Willie," I will gush. "I just love you." He'll smile. "Well thank-you Grandma," he'll say. As he pats my cheek. He is much, much older than me. But I will only smile. I'll be his granny. We take what we can get.
So I say all that to say this. Why can't they just leave Willie alone. So he smokes a little on his tour bus. I think they should give him amnesty or something. After all he's Willie Nelson. Sort of like a National Treasure. One thing about Willie he doesn't hide what he does. He just does it.
So here I am again. Another morning where I have thrown my words into the wind. I watch as they float away. Carried high. Willie's name floating up there in cyberspace. I smile and turn to head back. I'm singing under my breath. "On the road again, its great to be on the road again." Hmmm, I wonder do they allow weed in Blogland. If they do I'll have to let Willie know. But for now. I'm outta here.
Jeffrey Phelps, AP
Willie Nelson found himself behind bars yet again today after being arrested for possession of pot in Sierra, Texas. It appears that laid back country crooner's 2006 misdemeanor for having weed and magic mushrooms on his tour bus wasn't enough to keep the legendary singer-songwriter on the straight and narrow, as Border Patrol allegedly seized six ounces of marijuana from Nelson as he and his entourage passed through a checkpoint at 9AM on Nov. 26.
The 77-year-old rocker was arrested and booked into the Hudspeth County Jail on a $2,500 bond, but has has since posted bail and rejoined his family and crew in Austin, Texas.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
'NO RED LIGHT SPECIALS FOR ME.
It is Saturday morning. "I" and I hit the floor at 3:30, but not running. She went outside with me following as far as the porch. We both stood shivering in the darkness. We silently looked at each other and then turned and came back into the house. She ran back into the bedroom, burrowing under the covers with the sleeping Emperor. I cup in hand, awake but definitely not bushy tailed. Sit once again at the computer. Waiting for words to put into my pocket for my trip to Blogland. I'm afraid my pocket may be rather empty today.
Yesterday was what they call the biggest shopping day of the year. My daughter called in the late afternoon to tell of her great buys. She spent almost fourteen hours, standing in lines, shopping and going to different stores. When I was born they left the shopping bug out of me.
Now I love clothes. I love new clothes. The more clothes and shoes I can stuff into my closet and storage tubs the better I like it. I wonder sometimes how I accumulate all these belongings. Because I do not like going to stores and buying them. I refuse to try clothes on. I suppose that's the reason I have so many that do not fit right.
I love the "NBC" store. And every few months I venture out there. I love shopping on the net. But I do not like going to other stores or the Mall. I do not like to shop sales. I want to go to a store. Get something and get out, period. I get dizzy thinking about going to stand in line for hours to get something cheap. I do like cheap but I could never be able to go do those Black Friday sales even if I could see good.
Once years ago when there was a K-Mart here in Joplin. They were having a red light special. I had never been to one before. They were having it in the evening. Billie asked me to go. It was a horrific experience. They would roll these carts around that had a light on top. Then they would stop at a counter of some sort of merchandise and turn on the light. And for ten minutes it would be cheap, real cheap. A huge crowd, mostly ladies of course would surge to the counter. Pushing, shoving to get to the bargain before it was gone. That child pulled me all over that store. Rushing from one red light to another. She would grab my arm, "Push through Mother," she would say as we made our way to the front of the line. I never forgot that night. I took a vow I would never go to another Red Light special again and I haven't.
I love the sales on the Internet. I love when I get a email saying 30 or 40 percent off. I crowd right to the front of the computer for one of those. That's my way to go shopping.
I had a throw away day yesterday. While all the folks were shoving and pushing each other I just lazed out. I did very little. I sort of let the day slide away. No crowded stores for me. If I was rich, if I ever win the Power Ball. I will have a personal shopper. Someone to whom I can say go buy something in blue and no high collars, please. Now that's the way I would like to shop.
I'm right in the middle of Blogland now. I see no left over crowds from Black Friday. Maybe they don't have that here. Hmmmm, whats this? A ladies shoe. Some woman must have lost it. Maybe they had a big sale here after all. I'm glad I missed it. I'm walking now. Humming a little as I go. I may go home and have some cake. I love leftovers. To heck with the diet. I'm ouuta here.
Yesterday was what they call the biggest shopping day of the year. My daughter called in the late afternoon to tell of her great buys. She spent almost fourteen hours, standing in lines, shopping and going to different stores. When I was born they left the shopping bug out of me.
Now I love clothes. I love new clothes. The more clothes and shoes I can stuff into my closet and storage tubs the better I like it. I wonder sometimes how I accumulate all these belongings. Because I do not like going to stores and buying them. I refuse to try clothes on. I suppose that's the reason I have so many that do not fit right.
I love the "NBC" store. And every few months I venture out there. I love shopping on the net. But I do not like going to other stores or the Mall. I do not like to shop sales. I want to go to a store. Get something and get out, period. I get dizzy thinking about going to stand in line for hours to get something cheap. I do like cheap but I could never be able to go do those Black Friday sales even if I could see good.
Once years ago when there was a K-Mart here in Joplin. They were having a red light special. I had never been to one before. They were having it in the evening. Billie asked me to go. It was a horrific experience. They would roll these carts around that had a light on top. Then they would stop at a counter of some sort of merchandise and turn on the light. And for ten minutes it would be cheap, real cheap. A huge crowd, mostly ladies of course would surge to the counter. Pushing, shoving to get to the bargain before it was gone. That child pulled me all over that store. Rushing from one red light to another. She would grab my arm, "Push through Mother," she would say as we made our way to the front of the line. I never forgot that night. I took a vow I would never go to another Red Light special again and I haven't.
I love the sales on the Internet. I love when I get a email saying 30 or 40 percent off. I crowd right to the front of the computer for one of those. That's my way to go shopping.
I had a throw away day yesterday. While all the folks were shoving and pushing each other I just lazed out. I did very little. I sort of let the day slide away. No crowded stores for me. If I was rich, if I ever win the Power Ball. I will have a personal shopper. Someone to whom I can say go buy something in blue and no high collars, please. Now that's the way I would like to shop.
I'm right in the middle of Blogland now. I see no left over crowds from Black Friday. Maybe they don't have that here. Hmmmm, whats this? A ladies shoe. Some woman must have lost it. Maybe they had a big sale here after all. I'm glad I missed it. I'm walking now. Humming a little as I go. I may go home and have some cake. I love leftovers. To heck with the diet. I'm ouuta here.
Friday, November 26, 2010
THANKSGIVING 2010, GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.
It is Friday morning, Black Friday its called in the shopping world. Thousands at this very moment are jamming the stores in search of bargains. Dawn isn't close to breaking though the skies, but still they are there. I am safely home, coffee in my cup, fingertips wandering the keyboard. But to all the fearless, let the shopping Begin.
Thanksgiving 2010 is over and soon will be a memory of the past. I have stored many from yesterday. Filing them away in the back recess's of my mind. The smiles, the hugs. Each grandchild gave a smile, a hug. Each great grand child the same. Andrew came bearing a beautiful gift. A hand stitched picture, Maybe nor stitched, maybe its woven. I am not sure what they call this type of handiwork. But its beautiful. I will treasure it always.There was a empty spot for Mike and his family was not here. Their absense the only thing that spoliled the day.
The granddaughters-in-law. Bringing food and their selves. They are both a part of my my life. My son-in-law, quiet but ever faithful to come. Then of course my two wonderful children. My Billie cooking and lugging it all to my house so I can have the joy of having dinner here. Does she know how much it means to me to have it here. I wonder. But she struggles with all the work to make it happen. My handsome son. Who has a new girl in his life.She smiled from the corner chair. I know probably overwhelmed by us all. He also brought a client from his work. A man who is mentally challenged. I was so proud of Jer that he has this loving heart that brings in those who has nobody to care, but paid workers.
The food was ate. Leftovers abounded. The smiles, the laughter was what filled me to the brim. I wandered around before I ate. Just watching them all. Letting my heart take this all in. I thought of the many right here in this town that had no where to go yesterday but the streets or a homeless center that offered them a meal. I wish I had a huge house and could have invited them all. I would wish for them the joy I have by having the family that I have. Each little face so precious.
I am standing in Blogland as I finish this small tribute to Thanksgiving. I stare up at the Cyberspace sky. I hear echos of laughter that surely was leftover from Thanksgiving. I smile. I am glad there was Thanksgiving joy here too. I must head for home and the diet that awaits me. No Little Debbie's for me for awhile. I pull my scarf up a little over my ears. There's a cold chill here this morning too. So for now I'm outta here.
Thanksgiving 2010 is over and soon will be a memory of the past. I have stored many from yesterday. Filing them away in the back recess's of my mind. The smiles, the hugs. Each grandchild gave a smile, a hug. Each great grand child the same. Andrew came bearing a beautiful gift. A hand stitched picture, Maybe nor stitched, maybe its woven. I am not sure what they call this type of handiwork. But its beautiful. I will treasure it always.There was a empty spot for Mike and his family was not here. Their absense the only thing that spoliled the day.
The granddaughters-in-law. Bringing food and their selves. They are both a part of my my life. My son-in-law, quiet but ever faithful to come. Then of course my two wonderful children. My Billie cooking and lugging it all to my house so I can have the joy of having dinner here. Does she know how much it means to me to have it here. I wonder. But she struggles with all the work to make it happen. My handsome son. Who has a new girl in his life.She smiled from the corner chair. I know probably overwhelmed by us all. He also brought a client from his work. A man who is mentally challenged. I was so proud of Jer that he has this loving heart that brings in those who has nobody to care, but paid workers.
The food was ate. Leftovers abounded. The smiles, the laughter was what filled me to the brim. I wandered around before I ate. Just watching them all. Letting my heart take this all in. I thought of the many right here in this town that had no where to go yesterday but the streets or a homeless center that offered them a meal. I wish I had a huge house and could have invited them all. I would wish for them the joy I have by having the family that I have. Each little face so precious.
I am standing in Blogland as I finish this small tribute to Thanksgiving. I stare up at the Cyberspace sky. I hear echos of laughter that surely was leftover from Thanksgiving. I smile. I am glad there was Thanksgiving joy here too. I must head for home and the diet that awaits me. No Little Debbie's for me for awhile. I pull my scarf up a little over my ears. There's a cold chill here this morning too. So for now I'm outta here.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Happy Thanksgiving. The big day finally has arrived. Its after five and the Turkey is in the oven. The pies are baked, the cake finished and iced. Many more dishes to prepare but I think I am on a roll now. "I" watched me getting the turkey ready. Her little eyes glistening at the sight of the big bird. Okay Thanksgiving you can come on down. We're going to be ready for you.
I have thought and thought what I would write today. Something about what I am thankful for of course. There is so many things. I do not know where to start. I suppose the first one should be the fact right now as I write, off in Washington Mikayla sleeps soundly. In her own bed, already the horrors of last year at this time pushed to the back recess's of her mind. Children are resilient like that. Last year at this time things were much different in our family. The fear of Mikayla's cancer the foremost in all our minds. Thank-you God for her health this year. For granting us the joy of her life.
For my two children. I love them so. Both of them work at night. I never go to bed that I do not pray God please take them safely to their homes. I think of them driving in the darkness with drunk drivers on the highway and I tremble. I usually start waking up around three. The first thing I do is look at the clock. If its after two I breath a sigh of relief. "Thank-you God," I whisper. No phone call has shattered the night. They must both be safely home once again. So for all the safe trips for them God I thank-you. May your love and grace surround them both.
I am so thankful for all four of my grandchildren. I love them very much. Vernon, Mike, Will and Brandi. Brandi, my grand girl. The only one I have. For all your blessings God on them and protection I thank-you.
My great grands. The joy in my life. The hugs, the questions. Each one so special in their own way. Thank-you God for my great-grands.
I am thankful for my sister Geri. For the blessing of being able to talk to her every morning. Its wonderful for the miles to slip away as we start each day talking. My brother who lives closer but I see very seldom. But he is there. A phone call away. "Hello Brother Bud," I say. And hear the smile in his voice. Oh I am thankful to AT&T for keeping them close to me.
For the Emperor and his grumpy ways. He keeps me on my toes. Sometimes he drives me crazy. Which of course I know I do him too. But he always makes me laugh. And I am thankful for him. Also my baby "I". Thankful for a dog you ask?" Well in the first place she isn't a real dog. She just looks like one. She is my little shadow and I am blessed to have her.
Last but not least I am grateful for my life. At one today my family will come. My children, grandkids, great-grands and assorted others. Thank-you God for my home. My health that I can have them another Thanksgiving. God has surely blessed me this year. Answered prayers, forgiven my short comings. Given me hope when I felt at times there was none. I think of all the Thanksgivings past and miss those I loved that have went before me. Another Thanksgiving I have been blessed with. I smile as I write. I am truly grateful.
I start towards home again. Looking around Blogland I search for signs Thanksgiving is here too. I swear I think I hear a Turkey gobble. "Run little friend," I holler. They might still try to shoot you. I'm singing this morning as I walk. "Over the river and through the woods. To Grandmothers house we go." I start walking faster. I have to get home. They will be here soon. I'm running. I'm outta here.
I have thought and thought what I would write today. Something about what I am thankful for of course. There is so many things. I do not know where to start. I suppose the first one should be the fact right now as I write, off in Washington Mikayla sleeps soundly. In her own bed, already the horrors of last year at this time pushed to the back recess's of her mind. Children are resilient like that. Last year at this time things were much different in our family. The fear of Mikayla's cancer the foremost in all our minds. Thank-you God for her health this year. For granting us the joy of her life.
For my two children. I love them so. Both of them work at night. I never go to bed that I do not pray God please take them safely to their homes. I think of them driving in the darkness with drunk drivers on the highway and I tremble. I usually start waking up around three. The first thing I do is look at the clock. If its after two I breath a sigh of relief. "Thank-you God," I whisper. No phone call has shattered the night. They must both be safely home once again. So for all the safe trips for them God I thank-you. May your love and grace surround them both.
I am so thankful for all four of my grandchildren. I love them very much. Vernon, Mike, Will and Brandi. Brandi, my grand girl. The only one I have. For all your blessings God on them and protection I thank-you.
My great grands. The joy in my life. The hugs, the questions. Each one so special in their own way. Thank-you God for my great-grands.
I am thankful for my sister Geri. For the blessing of being able to talk to her every morning. Its wonderful for the miles to slip away as we start each day talking. My brother who lives closer but I see very seldom. But he is there. A phone call away. "Hello Brother Bud," I say. And hear the smile in his voice. Oh I am thankful to AT&T for keeping them close to me.
For the Emperor and his grumpy ways. He keeps me on my toes. Sometimes he drives me crazy. Which of course I know I do him too. But he always makes me laugh. And I am thankful for him. Also my baby "I". Thankful for a dog you ask?" Well in the first place she isn't a real dog. She just looks like one. She is my little shadow and I am blessed to have her.
Last but not least I am grateful for my life. At one today my family will come. My children, grandkids, great-grands and assorted others. Thank-you God for my home. My health that I can have them another Thanksgiving. God has surely blessed me this year. Answered prayers, forgiven my short comings. Given me hope when I felt at times there was none. I think of all the Thanksgivings past and miss those I loved that have went before me. Another Thanksgiving I have been blessed with. I smile as I write. I am truly grateful.
I start towards home again. Looking around Blogland I search for signs Thanksgiving is here too. I swear I think I hear a Turkey gobble. "Run little friend," I holler. They might still try to shoot you. I'm singing this morning as I walk. "Over the river and through the woods. To Grandmothers house we go." I start walking faster. I have to get home. They will be here soon. I'm running. I'm outta here.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
MAYBE I SHOULD WEAR A BLUE TINT TO MY HAIR.
Wednesday is back. Mid-week in all her glory. And only one more day until Thanksgiving. Its rainy, cool and the weathermen promise a chilly day for tomorrow. It's one day I won't feel guilty no matter what I eat. I truly mean though to diet come Friday. No really, diet for real. Hmmmm, Billye, seeing is believing, my otherself says.
I went for lunch at the Poloyester Place yesterday, Poloyester Place being the Senior Citzen hall. I hate the phrase Senior Citzen, so I use Poloyester instead. But then I'm not fond of that word either. I guess I just can't be pleased. Anyway my friend Joan and I went to lunch. I told you last week they had cake and the old folks came out in droves. Well, yesterday was Taco salad day and they turn out in mass for that also. Not only do old folks like cake, they like Taco salad too.
I think one reason they have such a good turn out on Taco Salad day besides it really is good. Is they give you so much. Most Seniors like a bargan. Lots of food for one small price. You can't beat that with a stick.
I sat looking at the sea of faces. Well, mostly its a sea of bodies because I don't see their faces well. All the little older folks, some prancing around, mostly ladies. Actually not one of the men pranced. Then there is the ones on walkers and canes. The ladies in Poloyester and tight curled hair. The men big bellies and pants too big in the seat. I want to jump up and say. "Get me out of here,I don't belong with this group. But I don't say that. I sit there and accept my fate that time has hurled me into.
I think, "How in the world did this happen? I'm not an oldie like the rest." The truth is I don't want to be one of them. One of the Oldies. Sitting there waiting for my three dollar lunch piled up on the tray. Smiling at all the others saying, "Isn't this good?" I want to jump up and yell, "Lets untie and pickett this place." Now I am not sure why I would want to pickett it. Its just I don't want to sit there and accept my fate. And we all know what that will turn out to be.
I want to paint up my face, put on my tight jeans and walk to forever. I want to smell the wind that blows in my face. In other words I'm not ready to be old yet. Nor probably will I ever be. Time and age may crease my face. But be for sure it will not crease my soul. My spirit sings inside me. Poems still cry to flow from my finger tips and there is words still that need to be written. So with my short bleached Blond hair I will walk fearlessly into the future. But of course I will probably still go to the Poloyester Place once in awhile. Its good food for only three dollars.
I have walked past my usual turning around place here in Blogland this morning. I stop and look at the unfamilar surroundings. Its sort of like getting older, nothing looks familar. I start back. Talking about getting older has made me a little depressed. But rest assured, I will fight the good fight. I will go down swinging. But I do wonder what I'd look like in Blue tinted hair? Just wondering. But for now, I'm outta here.
I went for lunch at the Poloyester Place yesterday, Poloyester Place being the Senior Citzen hall. I hate the phrase Senior Citzen, so I use Poloyester instead. But then I'm not fond of that word either. I guess I just can't be pleased. Anyway my friend Joan and I went to lunch. I told you last week they had cake and the old folks came out in droves. Well, yesterday was Taco salad day and they turn out in mass for that also. Not only do old folks like cake, they like Taco salad too.
I think one reason they have such a good turn out on Taco Salad day besides it really is good. Is they give you so much. Most Seniors like a bargan. Lots of food for one small price. You can't beat that with a stick.
I sat looking at the sea of faces. Well, mostly its a sea of bodies because I don't see their faces well. All the little older folks, some prancing around, mostly ladies. Actually not one of the men pranced. Then there is the ones on walkers and canes. The ladies in Poloyester and tight curled hair. The men big bellies and pants too big in the seat. I want to jump up and say. "Get me out of here,I don't belong with this group. But I don't say that. I sit there and accept my fate that time has hurled me into.
I think, "How in the world did this happen? I'm not an oldie like the rest." The truth is I don't want to be one of them. One of the Oldies. Sitting there waiting for my three dollar lunch piled up on the tray. Smiling at all the others saying, "Isn't this good?" I want to jump up and yell, "Lets untie and pickett this place." Now I am not sure why I would want to pickett it. Its just I don't want to sit there and accept my fate. And we all know what that will turn out to be.
I want to paint up my face, put on my tight jeans and walk to forever. I want to smell the wind that blows in my face. In other words I'm not ready to be old yet. Nor probably will I ever be. Time and age may crease my face. But be for sure it will not crease my soul. My spirit sings inside me. Poems still cry to flow from my finger tips and there is words still that need to be written. So with my short bleached Blond hair I will walk fearlessly into the future. But of course I will probably still go to the Poloyester Place once in awhile. Its good food for only three dollars.
I have walked past my usual turning around place here in Blogland this morning. I stop and look at the unfamilar surroundings. Its sort of like getting older, nothing looks familar. I start back. Talking about getting older has made me a little depressed. But rest assured, I will fight the good fight. I will go down swinging. But I do wonder what I'd look like in Blue tinted hair? Just wondering. But for now, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
MY BROTHER, SMILING BUD, KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Tuesday morning with its cold air that holds the promise of winter is here. Two more days till Turkey Day. I want to run out in the streets and holler,"Run little turkeys, run for your life's." But alas I think I am months too late for saving them. I am sure they all met their demise months ago and have been safely frozen away for Thanksgiving. Bless all their hearts for their great sacrifice.
Yesterday I was quite proud of myself. Very happy. As I have written before it takes very little to make me happy these days. But truly I was stoked. I had learned where the phrase, "Once in a blue moon," comes from. I learned how we get an extra full moon very two or three years. I felt so very smart. I felt like I knew something many others didn't. I wrote the Blog about this so I could spread my new found wisdom around. I felt so smart.
I called my sister before six. I read her my Blog. She gushed, "Oh I didn't know that. I'm so happy to learn something new." I felt even smarter after I talked to her. For now my sister knew something she hadn't known before. Thanks to me.
The morning wore on. I thought about calling my brother,"Smiling Bud". Just maybe he didn't know all this wealth of information. Something inside of me said don't call. "Smiling Bud," knows everything. Surely not I argued with myself. I smiled thinking how good it would feel to ask him a question he couldn't answer. I dialed his number. Smiling as the phone rang.
"Bud," I said quickly when he answered the phone. I went into my spiel about the Blue moon and what it meant. To my horror he started rattling off the facts. Including some I hadn't even read. He spoke of how every so often they had to recalculate the time and there would be extra minutes and so forth. Then every few years there was a extra full moon. I shook my head in disbelief. He had did it again. Upstaged me.
"How long have you known all this?" I asked. He laughed. "Oh I don't think I knew it when I was born," he said. "Oh no," I thought. "But probably since you were two."I knew better than to think I could get one over on my brother. I cursed the day he was born before me and took some of my smarts. I also believe I should have been a singer and he took that too. But I gotta love him no matter if he is smarter than me.
I stop at the corner in Blogland. Reaching down into my ever trusty pocket I pull out the words that I have stuffed down deep. They are wrinkled and slightly torn. "Smiling Bud," is neater than me too. I toss them up and watch as they float away. Gone into the deep recess's of cyberspace once again. I turn towards home. I am wearing a dunce cap this morning. It shifts on my head. Bad enough I have to wear this but it keeps trying to slide off. I betcha Bud never had to wear a dunce cap. Maybe I need ribbon to tie it on. I'll look for one when I get home. But for now, I'm outta here.
Yesterday I was quite proud of myself. Very happy. As I have written before it takes very little to make me happy these days. But truly I was stoked. I had learned where the phrase, "Once in a blue moon," comes from. I learned how we get an extra full moon very two or three years. I felt so very smart. I felt like I knew something many others didn't. I wrote the Blog about this so I could spread my new found wisdom around. I felt so smart.
I called my sister before six. I read her my Blog. She gushed, "Oh I didn't know that. I'm so happy to learn something new." I felt even smarter after I talked to her. For now my sister knew something she hadn't known before. Thanks to me.
The morning wore on. I thought about calling my brother,"Smiling Bud". Just maybe he didn't know all this wealth of information. Something inside of me said don't call. "Smiling Bud," knows everything. Surely not I argued with myself. I smiled thinking how good it would feel to ask him a question he couldn't answer. I dialed his number. Smiling as the phone rang.
"Bud," I said quickly when he answered the phone. I went into my spiel about the Blue moon and what it meant. To my horror he started rattling off the facts. Including some I hadn't even read. He spoke of how every so often they had to recalculate the time and there would be extra minutes and so forth. Then every few years there was a extra full moon. I shook my head in disbelief. He had did it again. Upstaged me.
"How long have you known all this?" I asked. He laughed. "Oh I don't think I knew it when I was born," he said. "Oh no," I thought. "But probably since you were two."I knew better than to think I could get one over on my brother. I cursed the day he was born before me and took some of my smarts. I also believe I should have been a singer and he took that too. But I gotta love him no matter if he is smarter than me.
I stop at the corner in Blogland. Reaching down into my ever trusty pocket I pull out the words that I have stuffed down deep. They are wrinkled and slightly torn. "Smiling Bud," is neater than me too. I toss them up and watch as they float away. Gone into the deep recess's of cyberspace once again. I turn towards home. I am wearing a dunce cap this morning. It shifts on my head. Bad enough I have to wear this but it keeps trying to slide off. I betcha Bud never had to wear a dunce cap. Maybe I need ribbon to tie it on. I'll look for one when I get home. But for now, I'm outta here.
Monday, November 22, 2010
ONCE IN A BLUE MOON
Monday is back. Another week with its promises and unknown twists and turns. This is Thanksgiving week and I am looking forward to it. The family coming. I can eat and not even pretend I am on a diet.So may this week run smooth. I will do my best to make it so.
Yesterday morning I came across a article on Yahoo that said last night was going to have a Blue Moon. Now I grew up with my Mother saying when something out of the ordinary happened, "This only happens once in a "Blue moon." Now here I was reading there is actually a Blue Moon. Hot dog bring it on. Because the article said that there was to be a Blue moon last night.
Now with great anticipation I waited all day for this extraordinary event to take place. "How?" I wondered did I live all these years without knowing there is actually a Blue Moon. I talked of it all day. Now let me assure you that The Emperor does not like when I get super enthused about anything. Because then I talk a great deal about it. Like non-stop. The Emperor does not like it when I talk about anything non-stop. Bless his heart he was bombarded all day about this blessed occurance. By the end of the afternoon I swear I saw cotton coming out his ears.
I told "I" that there was going to be a Blue Moon. And her and I would go outside and see this amazing moon. She looked at me, her ears standing straight up. Her eyes never leaving my face. I know there is times when she is totally amazed at my antics too. I fixed dinner. I did the dishes. I took my shower and dressed in my best pajama's. After all "Once in a blue Moon," only comes "Once ina blue moon." Right?
As soon as dark descended "I" and I went out. We stood side by side scanning the skies. All I saw was dark skies, tinged with a pinkish glaze. No Blue Moon hung in the skies. No Moon of any kind hung in the skies. Totally disappointed we went back inside. Over the course of the evening we made many trips out to stand gazing, searching the skies. But alas no Moon hung waiting to dazzle us with its beauty.
Finally about nine I took "I" and went out for once last trip. I looked back to the East and over the roof was the Moon. A full moon. It hung as if by invisible strings. Grey clouds drifted over it, through it. Making it look as if the Moon was traveling through the clouds. It was beautiful. "Look "I" I whispered, bending down to pick her up. She looked at the moon and then at me as if to say. "You said it was going to be Blue." Oh well "I" we can't have everything. I have to admit here that I truly expected to see a full Moon tinged with Blue. But it was beautiful anyway.
After searching the net I finally came across the answers to a Blue Moon. And the end of this rambling I will include the explanation. But now when they say "Once in a Blue Moon," I will know what in the blazes they mean. The moon was beautiful last night. "I"and I standing there. gazing at this beautiful round ball shining down on us. I waved. Just in case there is human life somewhere up there. I smiled. Maybe there was somebody up there, holding their dog, waving back at me.
I've come to my turn around point here in Blogland. I look up at the dark, early morning skies. That same Moon from last night hangs there in the vast skies of Blogland. Its not blue here either. I am amazed. Cyberspace has a moon too. I watch it as I stroll towards home. I'm singing softly. ""Blue moon of Kentucky." I wonder if Kentucky is close to Blogland. I'm not sure. But for now I'm headed home. I'm outta here.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
This article is about the astronomical phenomenon. For other uses, see Blue Moon (disambiguation).
31 December 2009 Blue Moon with partial lunar eclipseA blue moon can refer to the third full moon in a season with four full moons.[1] Most years have twelve full moons that occur approximately monthly. In addition to those twelve full lunar cycles, each solar calendar year contains roughly eleven days more than the lunar year of 12 lunations. The extra days accumulate, so every two or three years (7 times in the 19-year Metonic cycle), there is an extra full moon. Lunisolar calendars have rules about when to insert such an intercalary of embolismic ("leap") month, and what name it is given; e.g. in the Hebrew calendar the month Adar is duplicated. The term "blue moon" comes from folklore. Different traditions and conventions place the extra "blue" full moon at different times in the year.
Yesterday morning I came across a article on Yahoo that said last night was going to have a Blue Moon. Now I grew up with my Mother saying when something out of the ordinary happened, "This only happens once in a "Blue moon." Now here I was reading there is actually a Blue Moon. Hot dog bring it on. Because the article said that there was to be a Blue moon last night.
Now with great anticipation I waited all day for this extraordinary event to take place. "How?" I wondered did I live all these years without knowing there is actually a Blue Moon. I talked of it all day. Now let me assure you that The Emperor does not like when I get super enthused about anything. Because then I talk a great deal about it. Like non-stop. The Emperor does not like it when I talk about anything non-stop. Bless his heart he was bombarded all day about this blessed occurance. By the end of the afternoon I swear I saw cotton coming out his ears.
I told "I" that there was going to be a Blue Moon. And her and I would go outside and see this amazing moon. She looked at me, her ears standing straight up. Her eyes never leaving my face. I know there is times when she is totally amazed at my antics too. I fixed dinner. I did the dishes. I took my shower and dressed in my best pajama's. After all "Once in a blue Moon," only comes "Once ina blue moon." Right?
As soon as dark descended "I" and I went out. We stood side by side scanning the skies. All I saw was dark skies, tinged with a pinkish glaze. No Blue Moon hung in the skies. No Moon of any kind hung in the skies. Totally disappointed we went back inside. Over the course of the evening we made many trips out to stand gazing, searching the skies. But alas no Moon hung waiting to dazzle us with its beauty.
Finally about nine I took "I" and went out for once last trip. I looked back to the East and over the roof was the Moon. A full moon. It hung as if by invisible strings. Grey clouds drifted over it, through it. Making it look as if the Moon was traveling through the clouds. It was beautiful. "Look "I" I whispered, bending down to pick her up. She looked at the moon and then at me as if to say. "You said it was going to be Blue." Oh well "I" we can't have everything. I have to admit here that I truly expected to see a full Moon tinged with Blue. But it was beautiful anyway.
After searching the net I finally came across the answers to a Blue Moon. And the end of this rambling I will include the explanation. But now when they say "Once in a Blue Moon," I will know what in the blazes they mean. The moon was beautiful last night. "I"and I standing there. gazing at this beautiful round ball shining down on us. I waved. Just in case there is human life somewhere up there. I smiled. Maybe there was somebody up there, holding their dog, waving back at me.
I've come to my turn around point here in Blogland. I look up at the dark, early morning skies. That same Moon from last night hangs there in the vast skies of Blogland. Its not blue here either. I am amazed. Cyberspace has a moon too. I watch it as I stroll towards home. I'm singing softly. ""Blue moon of Kentucky." I wonder if Kentucky is close to Blogland. I'm not sure. But for now I'm headed home. I'm outta here.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
This article is about the astronomical phenomenon. For other uses, see Blue Moon (disambiguation).
31 December 2009 Blue Moon with partial lunar eclipseA blue moon can refer to the third full moon in a season with four full moons.[1] Most years have twelve full moons that occur approximately monthly. In addition to those twelve full lunar cycles, each solar calendar year contains roughly eleven days more than the lunar year of 12 lunations. The extra days accumulate, so every two or three years (7 times in the 19-year Metonic cycle), there is an extra full moon. Lunisolar calendars have rules about when to insert such an intercalary of embolismic ("leap") month, and what name it is given; e.g. in the Hebrew calendar the month Adar is duplicated. The term "blue moon" comes from folklore. Different traditions and conventions place the extra "blue" full moon at different times in the year.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
SPRING WILL COME AGAIN
Sunday has arrived once more. "I" has been out even though its raining lightly. I went as far as the porch letting the crisp, damp air bring me a little more awake. As usual this early I was met by beautiful silence. Just the wind whispering in my ear. "Saul and Sarah," now stand almost bare. Their branches no longer able to intertwine. Now they barely touch. "Sleep well my friends," I whisper. "Spring will come again.
Is it silly for me to think I have spirits that live in my trees? I am smiling as I write. I suppose it is a little strange. Young spirits in my trees. My ex-husband in my house plant. I have written about them all before on here. Why not welcome restless spirits into the fold? I think it makes life interesting.
I wrote a quote I had read several months ago. "Normal is a cycle on the washing machine." I believe that to be true. Because in us humans normal is in the eyes of the beholder. Now society at large has certain rules that if we do not live up to them or adapt to them. Then we are considered strange and different. I wonder why that is? I am always wondering who got to write all the rule books. Like age appropriate and fitting in with everyone else.
I look around me and realize almost everyone is strange in one way or another. Some folks just are better at masquerading it. I for one decided long ago I really didn't want to fit in some small, confined category.
I right along with everyone else though will stare at someone in public that sits and talks to themselves. But really whats so wrong with doing that? Maybe they feel they are the smartest person around to chat with? Actually just leave them alone.
I talk to myself but mostly in my head, where no-one else can hear and jump into the conversation. For my own part I actually think I'm interesting. But I wonder sometimes if people talk to themselves because there is nobody else who will listen to them. Their voices are never heard.
I had a lady call me last night. She doesn't call often. But as soon as she hears my voice she starts talking about her health. Her voice trembles. At first I think, "Oh no." I'm trying to watch this television program and she wants to moan and complain. Shame on me ," I thought. She has nobody to hear her. Her kids don't call. She doesn't get out much. She gets afraid and needs someone to say, "oh I'm sorry. I know its rough on you." Her voice doesn't tremble as much then. Just someone hearing sometimes is all a person needs. Ears to listen, that's all.
The next time you see someone talking and mumbling in public. Just smile and say, "Hi. Maybe they'll take you into their conversation with their otherselve. But then again, maybe they won't.
You don't have to tell me. This has been a scattered morning. Its just I have spent the week thinking of the hungry hearts that surround our life's. Hearts that have been so down trodden. Many caught up in addiction or layered in loneliness. Hungry hearts.
I reach downtown Blogland. If you can call it that. One lonely flashing red light. One store standing with the dark sky as its back drop. I need to come here in the daylight sometime just to see what it looks like. I start towards home. I'm talking to myself as I go. Don't ask what I'm saying. I don't want to share. But for now. I'm outta here.
Is it silly for me to think I have spirits that live in my trees? I am smiling as I write. I suppose it is a little strange. Young spirits in my trees. My ex-husband in my house plant. I have written about them all before on here. Why not welcome restless spirits into the fold? I think it makes life interesting.
I wrote a quote I had read several months ago. "Normal is a cycle on the washing machine." I believe that to be true. Because in us humans normal is in the eyes of the beholder. Now society at large has certain rules that if we do not live up to them or adapt to them. Then we are considered strange and different. I wonder why that is? I am always wondering who got to write all the rule books. Like age appropriate and fitting in with everyone else.
I look around me and realize almost everyone is strange in one way or another. Some folks just are better at masquerading it. I for one decided long ago I really didn't want to fit in some small, confined category.
I right along with everyone else though will stare at someone in public that sits and talks to themselves. But really whats so wrong with doing that? Maybe they feel they are the smartest person around to chat with? Actually just leave them alone.
I talk to myself but mostly in my head, where no-one else can hear and jump into the conversation. For my own part I actually think I'm interesting. But I wonder sometimes if people talk to themselves because there is nobody else who will listen to them. Their voices are never heard.
I had a lady call me last night. She doesn't call often. But as soon as she hears my voice she starts talking about her health. Her voice trembles. At first I think, "Oh no." I'm trying to watch this television program and she wants to moan and complain. Shame on me ," I thought. She has nobody to hear her. Her kids don't call. She doesn't get out much. She gets afraid and needs someone to say, "oh I'm sorry. I know its rough on you." Her voice doesn't tremble as much then. Just someone hearing sometimes is all a person needs. Ears to listen, that's all.
The next time you see someone talking and mumbling in public. Just smile and say, "Hi. Maybe they'll take you into their conversation with their otherselve. But then again, maybe they won't.
You don't have to tell me. This has been a scattered morning. Its just I have spent the week thinking of the hungry hearts that surround our life's. Hearts that have been so down trodden. Many caught up in addiction or layered in loneliness. Hungry hearts.
I reach downtown Blogland. If you can call it that. One lonely flashing red light. One store standing with the dark sky as its back drop. I need to come here in the daylight sometime just to see what it looks like. I start towards home. I'm talking to myself as I go. Don't ask what I'm saying. I don't want to share. But for now. I'm outta here.
Friday, November 19, 2010
WHERE'S THAT DANG JERRY COLBURN?
Here we go again. Friday morning. I personally believe they are running more than one Friday in a week, they come so quickly. Along with Friday has came the cold rain. "I" and I went to the door, stepped out on the porch. A gust of cold rain blew at us. She promptly went back into the house. I whispered loudly. "Don't you want to go to the bathroom?" She looked a me and burrowed into the pillows on the couch. I take that as a no. I can't say I blame her. So as she sleeps again, nestled warmly into piles of pillows. I once more sit here at the computer and grapple with words that seem so ever elusive.
I last posted on Monday. I wrote on Tuesday, I wrote Wednesday, I wrote Thursday but I didn't post them. I reread them and deleted. I could not bring any witty words to mind. They seemed preachy. Now you know how I love crawling up on my soap box, but I really have been trying lately not to do that so much. Its hard. I open my mouth or maybe its pose my fingers and the sage advice just pours out. My son just hates me to do that, preach that is.
So I have tried hard to come up with something interesting. I do not live a very exciting life. But I did go to the Polyester Place for lunch yesterday. Whenever I go and do something dumb I swear I won't go back. But the lure of food always wins in the end. Yesterday was Birthday lunch. Once a month they have a Birthday dinner for everyone that has a birthday that month. They also have cake. The old folks come out in force for that one. Old folks like cake. I like cake. So we know what catagory I'm in. One of those people. A member of the oldies.
I really tried to go and do nothing too dumb this time. Not trip or spill my food off my tray. They pile your food on a tray, just like in grade school. I have noticed more and more as I grow older how people seem to treat us older folks like we are all ten. I may be wrinkled but quite honestly I feel like I am still very sharp. There may be those who would differ with me. But I am not too concerned about their opinion.
When Joan and I was there a couple of months ago we sat at a table with a woman who had grew up around Ninth Street. We mentioned names of some of those kids that lived in that neighborhood. We knew many of the same people, but I did not know her. Do you remember Jerry Colburn," she asked? Oh yes I remembered him He was quite older but even as a twelve year old I thought he was soooo cute. The lady pointed at a table across the room. That's him over there," she said. I looked quickly, expecting to see the hunk I remembered from yester years. I saw a little old white haired man with a ball cap. "This was Jerry Colburn?" Good grief what had happened to him?
I told my sister about it. She knew him. "Did you go say hello and tell him you were a Munch?" she asked. "No," I said. "I would have felt goofy. He wouldn't remember me. I was too young."
Yesterday we sat at lunch. I saw the table where he had sat before. There was a grey haired man with a ball cap. I do not see well. The light was streaming in. I could not see his face. But surely I thought this was Jerry Colburn. My sister had so wanted me to say hi and mention we were the Munch's.
His table started for the line. I leaned forward in my chair. "Excuse me," I said softly. "Aren't you Jerry Colburn?" His wife shot daggers at me across the room. He stepped back, "No," he said quickly. "My name is Spiva." He hurried away.
Through lunch the occupants of the table nodded my way as they talked furiously. The bleached blond lady who stumbles around the lunch room had accosted this poor Spiva man. The same lady who dribbled taco sauce all over the floor a few weeks ago. I hate them damn trays.
I told my sister it was her fault. She denied being the cause of me doing something dumb. Danged old Jerry Colburn anyway. I really didn't want to speak to him. It was only for my sister.
I'm standing here watching how the flashing red light sends erie movement against the sky. I'm thinking I might give up The Polyester Place. I don't seem to make too good of impression whenever I go. But gee it only costs three dollars. I think of Jerry Colburn again and what he use to look like. Dang getting older seems to be hard on the looks. I start singing, "Hey good looking." I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
I last posted on Monday. I wrote on Tuesday, I wrote Wednesday, I wrote Thursday but I didn't post them. I reread them and deleted. I could not bring any witty words to mind. They seemed preachy. Now you know how I love crawling up on my soap box, but I really have been trying lately not to do that so much. Its hard. I open my mouth or maybe its pose my fingers and the sage advice just pours out. My son just hates me to do that, preach that is.
So I have tried hard to come up with something interesting. I do not live a very exciting life. But I did go to the Polyester Place for lunch yesterday. Whenever I go and do something dumb I swear I won't go back. But the lure of food always wins in the end. Yesterday was Birthday lunch. Once a month they have a Birthday dinner for everyone that has a birthday that month. They also have cake. The old folks come out in force for that one. Old folks like cake. I like cake. So we know what catagory I'm in. One of those people. A member of the oldies.
I really tried to go and do nothing too dumb this time. Not trip or spill my food off my tray. They pile your food on a tray, just like in grade school. I have noticed more and more as I grow older how people seem to treat us older folks like we are all ten. I may be wrinkled but quite honestly I feel like I am still very sharp. There may be those who would differ with me. But I am not too concerned about their opinion.
When Joan and I was there a couple of months ago we sat at a table with a woman who had grew up around Ninth Street. We mentioned names of some of those kids that lived in that neighborhood. We knew many of the same people, but I did not know her. Do you remember Jerry Colburn," she asked? Oh yes I remembered him He was quite older but even as a twelve year old I thought he was soooo cute. The lady pointed at a table across the room. That's him over there," she said. I looked quickly, expecting to see the hunk I remembered from yester years. I saw a little old white haired man with a ball cap. "This was Jerry Colburn?" Good grief what had happened to him?
I told my sister about it. She knew him. "Did you go say hello and tell him you were a Munch?" she asked. "No," I said. "I would have felt goofy. He wouldn't remember me. I was too young."
Yesterday we sat at lunch. I saw the table where he had sat before. There was a grey haired man with a ball cap. I do not see well. The light was streaming in. I could not see his face. But surely I thought this was Jerry Colburn. My sister had so wanted me to say hi and mention we were the Munch's.
His table started for the line. I leaned forward in my chair. "Excuse me," I said softly. "Aren't you Jerry Colburn?" His wife shot daggers at me across the room. He stepped back, "No," he said quickly. "My name is Spiva." He hurried away.
Through lunch the occupants of the table nodded my way as they talked furiously. The bleached blond lady who stumbles around the lunch room had accosted this poor Spiva man. The same lady who dribbled taco sauce all over the floor a few weeks ago. I hate them damn trays.
I told my sister it was her fault. She denied being the cause of me doing something dumb. Danged old Jerry Colburn anyway. I really didn't want to speak to him. It was only for my sister.
I'm standing here watching how the flashing red light sends erie movement against the sky. I'm thinking I might give up The Polyester Place. I don't seem to make too good of impression whenever I go. But gee it only costs three dollars. I think of Jerry Colburn again and what he use to look like. Dang getting older seems to be hard on the looks. I start singing, "Hey good looking." I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
Monday, November 15, 2010
RELUCTANT HERO
Monday is back again. "I" and I hit the floor at four but was greeted only by silence. But I know she awaits me, Miss Monday. Hopefully with promises of a good week. "I" walked around a few minutes, listened with her ears up straight and tall. But like me she heard nothing. Refusing to go outside she promptly went back to the bed with The Emperor. Leaving me alone with this keyboard and not many ideas. This routinely is a a problem I encounter.
So as I sit sipping my hot chocolate. The coffee isn't brewed yet. I will try in a few words to tell you what really is on my mind. I have tried to think of a funny story. Or something catchy to write about. But my mind keeps coming back to "Sixty Minutes," I watched on television last night. They interviewed a young man born in 1985 Which now makes him twenty-five years old. A kid, just starting out in life. The difference with this young man and many others the same age. He is getting ready to receive "The Medal of Honor." The highest award given and approved by the President himself. There will be four given. The first passed out since the Vietnam war. Out of the four he is the only living recipient.
He broke down in tears several times during the interview. He would turn his head, his voice catching. "This seems unreal," he said. His eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking. "I am not a hero," he whispered. "I was doing what a hundreds of others were doing." The pain you could audibly hear in his voice.
Salvatore A. Giunta and his unit were in caught in Taliban fire in 2007. The enemy making a arrow shape around them, they opened fire. They had few places to hide. Other units were too far away to respond for help. Many were wounded. Salvatore seen one of his friends take five shots, he tried to get closer to him. Then in horror saw two of the enemy pick him up and start carrying him away. There was too much enemy fire for anyone to save him. But Salvatore did. Jumping to his feet, running into the melee, firing his gun as he run. He scrambled towards his friend, shooting the enemy as here ran. One went down, the other ran away. Salvatore and by then another buddy got to the wounded man. They tended to him as they waited for help. Talking to him, telling him that he would be alright. He died later that night at a hospital. But he died surrounded by his fellow comrades, not tortured more and left to die alone at the hands of the enemy.
This happened in 2007. It was announced in September 2010 that there would be four "Medals of Honor," given. The other three lost their lifes during the actions of their bravery. This young man with the haunted eyes and the scars he carries in his mind will be receiving his Medal as the only living recipient. I heard on the program last night that there is only seventy-eight living recipients left with this honor.
They asked him how he could have run into that torrent of bullets, straight into their midst. He looked at the man who was interviewing him. "They were carrying away my friend. I could not let that happen. What else could I have done."
This young man touched my heart. We all go about our daily life's, complaining of all our little aches and pains. Our grievances against the world and how we feel unfairly treated. "Why me," we grumble as we plod along. And at the very same time we have hundreds of our young men and women coming home from daily terror. trying to pick up their life's while they are haunted by scenes that will never go away. He doesn't think he is a hero. He doesn't think he deserves any special treatment. He is haunted by the memory of his dying friend, as he knelt beside him. Whispering to him, "You will be okay. We'll get you fixed up. You'll have stories to tell someday." But only those who survived that terror filled day are left to tell the story. And they all tell of one young man. Who at the sight of his wounded friend being carried away, jumped and ran into enemy fire, to save his friend. I'm not a hero," he kept saying. Yes young man you surely are.
I am troubled as I walk towards the outskirts of Blogland, my mind keeps going back to that young man. I wonder after three years if he is able to sleep the night through yet without the sights and sounds of that war terrorizing him through the night. I doubt it. So I make my way towards home. "Thank-you all," I whisper. And for another day, I'm outta here.
The statement from The White House on the Medal of Honor awards.
Then-Specialist Salvatore A. Giunta distinguished himself by acts of gallantry at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a rifle team leader with Company B, 2d Battalion (Airborne), 503d Infantry Regiment during combat operations against an armed enemy in the Korengal Valley, Afghanistan on October 25, 2007. When an insurgent force ambush split Specialist Giunta's squad into two groups, he exposed himself to enemy fire to pull a comrade back to cover. Later, while engaging the enemy and attempting to link up with the rest of his squad, Specialist Giunta noticed two insurgents carrying away a fellow soldier. He immediately engaged the enemy, killing one and wounding the other, and provided medical aid to his wounded comrade while the rest of his squad caught up and provided security. His courage and leadership while under extreme enemy fire were integral to his platoon's ability to defeat an enemy ambush and recover a fellow American paratrooper from enemy hands.[23]
So as I sit sipping my hot chocolate. The coffee isn't brewed yet. I will try in a few words to tell you what really is on my mind. I have tried to think of a funny story. Or something catchy to write about. But my mind keeps coming back to "Sixty Minutes," I watched on television last night. They interviewed a young man born in 1985 Which now makes him twenty-five years old. A kid, just starting out in life. The difference with this young man and many others the same age. He is getting ready to receive "The Medal of Honor." The highest award given and approved by the President himself. There will be four given. The first passed out since the Vietnam war. Out of the four he is the only living recipient.
He broke down in tears several times during the interview. He would turn his head, his voice catching. "This seems unreal," he said. His eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking. "I am not a hero," he whispered. "I was doing what a hundreds of others were doing." The pain you could audibly hear in his voice.
Salvatore A. Giunta and his unit were in caught in Taliban fire in 2007. The enemy making a arrow shape around them, they opened fire. They had few places to hide. Other units were too far away to respond for help. Many were wounded. Salvatore seen one of his friends take five shots, he tried to get closer to him. Then in horror saw two of the enemy pick him up and start carrying him away. There was too much enemy fire for anyone to save him. But Salvatore did. Jumping to his feet, running into the melee, firing his gun as he run. He scrambled towards his friend, shooting the enemy as here ran. One went down, the other ran away. Salvatore and by then another buddy got to the wounded man. They tended to him as they waited for help. Talking to him, telling him that he would be alright. He died later that night at a hospital. But he died surrounded by his fellow comrades, not tortured more and left to die alone at the hands of the enemy.
This happened in 2007. It was announced in September 2010 that there would be four "Medals of Honor," given. The other three lost their lifes during the actions of their bravery. This young man with the haunted eyes and the scars he carries in his mind will be receiving his Medal as the only living recipient. I heard on the program last night that there is only seventy-eight living recipients left with this honor.
They asked him how he could have run into that torrent of bullets, straight into their midst. He looked at the man who was interviewing him. "They were carrying away my friend. I could not let that happen. What else could I have done."
This young man touched my heart. We all go about our daily life's, complaining of all our little aches and pains. Our grievances against the world and how we feel unfairly treated. "Why me," we grumble as we plod along. And at the very same time we have hundreds of our young men and women coming home from daily terror. trying to pick up their life's while they are haunted by scenes that will never go away. He doesn't think he is a hero. He doesn't think he deserves any special treatment. He is haunted by the memory of his dying friend, as he knelt beside him. Whispering to him, "You will be okay. We'll get you fixed up. You'll have stories to tell someday." But only those who survived that terror filled day are left to tell the story. And they all tell of one young man. Who at the sight of his wounded friend being carried away, jumped and ran into enemy fire, to save his friend. I'm not a hero," he kept saying. Yes young man you surely are.
I am troubled as I walk towards the outskirts of Blogland, my mind keeps going back to that young man. I wonder after three years if he is able to sleep the night through yet without the sights and sounds of that war terrorizing him through the night. I doubt it. So I make my way towards home. "Thank-you all," I whisper. And for another day, I'm outta here.
The statement from The White House on the Medal of Honor awards.
Then-Specialist Salvatore A. Giunta distinguished himself by acts of gallantry at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a rifle team leader with Company B, 2d Battalion (Airborne), 503d Infantry Regiment during combat operations against an armed enemy in the Korengal Valley, Afghanistan on October 25, 2007. When an insurgent force ambush split Specialist Giunta's squad into two groups, he exposed himself to enemy fire to pull a comrade back to cover. Later, while engaging the enemy and attempting to link up with the rest of his squad, Specialist Giunta noticed two insurgents carrying away a fellow soldier. He immediately engaged the enemy, killing one and wounding the other, and provided medical aid to his wounded comrade while the rest of his squad caught up and provided security. His courage and leadership while under extreme enemy fire were integral to his platoon's ability to defeat an enemy ambush and recover a fellow American paratrooper from enemy hands.[23]
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Manny Pacquiao Overwhelms Antonio Margarito to Win Eighth Title
It is Sunday morning, almost five o:clock. I have not opened the door to look out, to make sure its really there. I know it is still wrapped in darkness, waiting for the breaking of the day. I have been up since three. When I wake so early I try hard to go back to sleep with no luck. Once the brain kicks into gear, its over. So Sunday I am up and ready for you. Please make this a good day.
I am not a fight fan. I would like the fights if it wasn't for the violence. If I try to watch one I spend my time with my hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers. But this week I have been following the pre-fight hype over Manny Pacquiao. I would have watched it had it been on HBO but it was pay for-view. He won his eighth Title last night. I have been rooting for him. They write he is a violent fighter. Quick, his fists lethal weapons. I love him because he is Philippino. My great-grands, four of them are half Philippino. So I have acquired this pride of anyone that is Philippino. My great-grands fellow kinsman.
I have read much about him. A poor young man from the Philippines who saw boxing as a way to remove himself and his family from poverty. He has certainly accomplished that goal. I saw a documentary on him. When he was very young he went to small gym there in the Philippines, it was just a old store building. And without his Mother knowing he started training. They saw very quickly he was a natural fighter. So for two dollars a fight he fought all he could. Bringing home the money to his Mother to help buy food. His Mother not knowing for a long time that was what he was doing. He now holds eight titles and is a Millionaire, many times over I'n sure. But I am proud, he is Philippino.
It shows what persevering can do. The desire to overcome all obstacles and succeed, no matter how hard the fight. Manny Pacquiao, a poor boy from the Philippines. Not very tall, not very big. But with natural skills and constant training has overcome all obstacles to be a champion.
I have heard Rea talk about life in the Philippines. The poverty and lack of so many conveniences that we take for granted. But she went to college. Become a physical therapist, came to the states. And the rest is history. We are proud she is a member of our family. And they are the proud parents of four amazing, bright, beautiful children. Of course I hope none of them become boxers.
Now I am sure you probably are not interested in Manny Pacquiao but I just thought I would share this news with you anyway. Just in case you might be a fight fan. "Go Manny, go." I feel a pride just as if I was Philippine too. I have read they love him so over there. He has even run for a political office and won. And is still fighting. It just goes to show what determination can do.
You can see as I struggle to take my words from my ever trusty pocket that they are sort of rambling and scrambled yet another day. I always mean to do better. "The best laid plans of mice and men," my Mother use to say. "Here's to you Manny," I say as they float off into oblivion. As I walk I do a little punching in the air, as if I am shadowing boxing. I need to work on my foot movement though. But for another day I'm on my way. I'm out here.
I am not a fight fan. I would like the fights if it wasn't for the violence. If I try to watch one I spend my time with my hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers. But this week I have been following the pre-fight hype over Manny Pacquiao. I would have watched it had it been on HBO but it was pay for-view. He won his eighth Title last night. I have been rooting for him. They write he is a violent fighter. Quick, his fists lethal weapons. I love him because he is Philippino. My great-grands, four of them are half Philippino. So I have acquired this pride of anyone that is Philippino. My great-grands fellow kinsman.
I have read much about him. A poor young man from the Philippines who saw boxing as a way to remove himself and his family from poverty. He has certainly accomplished that goal. I saw a documentary on him. When he was very young he went to small gym there in the Philippines, it was just a old store building. And without his Mother knowing he started training. They saw very quickly he was a natural fighter. So for two dollars a fight he fought all he could. Bringing home the money to his Mother to help buy food. His Mother not knowing for a long time that was what he was doing. He now holds eight titles and is a Millionaire, many times over I'n sure. But I am proud, he is Philippino.
It shows what persevering can do. The desire to overcome all obstacles and succeed, no matter how hard the fight. Manny Pacquiao, a poor boy from the Philippines. Not very tall, not very big. But with natural skills and constant training has overcome all obstacles to be a champion.
I have heard Rea talk about life in the Philippines. The poverty and lack of so many conveniences that we take for granted. But she went to college. Become a physical therapist, came to the states. And the rest is history. We are proud she is a member of our family. And they are the proud parents of four amazing, bright, beautiful children. Of course I hope none of them become boxers.
Now I am sure you probably are not interested in Manny Pacquiao but I just thought I would share this news with you anyway. Just in case you might be a fight fan. "Go Manny, go." I feel a pride just as if I was Philippine too. I have read they love him so over there. He has even run for a political office and won. And is still fighting. It just goes to show what determination can do.
You can see as I struggle to take my words from my ever trusty pocket that they are sort of rambling and scrambled yet another day. I always mean to do better. "The best laid plans of mice and men," my Mother use to say. "Here's to you Manny," I say as they float off into oblivion. As I walk I do a little punching in the air, as if I am shadowing boxing. I need to work on my foot movement though. But for another day I'm on my way. I'm out here.
Friday, November 12, 2010
A HAT LIKE MAD MAX'S.
Friday morning has arrived. I will say the same thing that I always say. Its seems like only yesterday it was Monday. Days whirling past me so fast. At least twice a week someone reminds me of the dreaded number that awaits me in about one hundred more days. I refuse to say it outloud. But I don't want to fuss too much or the powers that be might decide I don't need any more birthdays. We all know what that means. So I will suffer in silence. Please check out the picture at the top of the page. Mikayla has gotten to start school. Happy days. This was taken on her first day.
Its been a couple of days since my letter to God. So far there has not been lightening striking me but then I don't want to get to comfortable. It may not be over yet. I have quieted down a little the last few days. I have been trying to keep my mind off of it by wearing my new hat around the house. I am really proud of this hat. Its black and has sparkles. Its sort of crochet and sort of a Beanie but not really a Beanie. Have you got the picture in your mind? I have seen these hats on television. I have wanted one badly.
"Mad Max wears them to dance rehearsals on "Dancing with the stars." They sort of droop down in the back. Like one maybe a mad artist would wear. I happened on a site on the Internet that carried them. I wanted one. A black one. I couldn't afford it. But I bought it anyway.
I stand in front of the mirror trying it on. My wispy hair gathers under it and I look bald. I turn it a different way. Looking for the Charisma "Mad Max," has when he wears his. The charisma seems to be missing.
I have worn it all day yesterday but around the house. I need to get my bravery up a little before I venture outside. I'm thinking I need to wear it to the Bowling alley. My daughter would like that I'm sure. Seeing her Mother with a odd shaped beanie and looking bald. But the good part is that it has sparkles. Surely she would appreciate that fact.
Oh I know you don'' t have to quote the age appropriate rules to me. I've heard them many times. I looked through the rule book and can find no where it says a older lady cannot wear a hat with sparkles. Actually I think it does make me look artistic and mystic. I wish I had one in red too. To wear with my red cowboy boots, Whoop! I would be something in those two.
So I turn to leave Blogland. The light is flashing as usual against the dark morning sky. I look to see if there might be anyone around. I have on my hat. I'd like to show it off. I pass the store and see my reflection in the plate glass window. I smile, looking good. But for now folks, I'm outta here.
Its been a couple of days since my letter to God. So far there has not been lightening striking me but then I don't want to get to comfortable. It may not be over yet. I have quieted down a little the last few days. I have been trying to keep my mind off of it by wearing my new hat around the house. I am really proud of this hat. Its black and has sparkles. Its sort of crochet and sort of a Beanie but not really a Beanie. Have you got the picture in your mind? I have seen these hats on television. I have wanted one badly.
"Mad Max wears them to dance rehearsals on "Dancing with the stars." They sort of droop down in the back. Like one maybe a mad artist would wear. I happened on a site on the Internet that carried them. I wanted one. A black one. I couldn't afford it. But I bought it anyway.
I stand in front of the mirror trying it on. My wispy hair gathers under it and I look bald. I turn it a different way. Looking for the Charisma "Mad Max," has when he wears his. The charisma seems to be missing.
I have worn it all day yesterday but around the house. I need to get my bravery up a little before I venture outside. I'm thinking I need to wear it to the Bowling alley. My daughter would like that I'm sure. Seeing her Mother with a odd shaped beanie and looking bald. But the good part is that it has sparkles. Surely she would appreciate that fact.
Oh I know you don'' t have to quote the age appropriate rules to me. I've heard them many times. I looked through the rule book and can find no where it says a older lady cannot wear a hat with sparkles. Actually I think it does make me look artistic and mystic. I wish I had one in red too. To wear with my red cowboy boots, Whoop! I would be something in those two.
So I turn to leave Blogland. The light is flashing as usual against the dark morning sky. I look to see if there might be anyone around. I have on my hat. I'd like to show it off. I pass the store and see my reflection in the plate glass window. I smile, looking good. But for now folks, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
DEAR GOD.
A beautiful fall Wednesday awaits me. I can't seem to get enough of this weather. The sights and sounds of Fall. I am storing it away in my memory for those cold, bleak January days. To take out and turn over in my mind. Sending me back to the glorious days of Fall.
Dear God,
I am sure you have been expecting to hear from me. Just probably not by letter. I know usually when I am not happy with the way I think you let things work out I just holler alot. I'm very upset this time. I mean so upset I sat in the recliner all yesterday afternoon with my head covered up with an Afghan. I haven't done that for awhile, have I?
I know you are God, the creator of all things. I know you are in control of all that happens. So you will have to excuse me if I ask. "Just what in the blue blazes is going on? Why have you allowed a grave injustice to take place." Now of course you know what I'm talking about.
You know you have people dressed up in righteousness, running around making decisions that ruin other peoples life's and doing it in your name. I really know we should never question you. But could you please explain, just why in the heck are you letting this happen?
I read about forgiveness in the Bible. Then I see these people that are in charge condemning and dealing out punishments. And I do not see Christian love and forgiveness anywhere in this picture. I have always read in John 8, 2-11, "You who are without sin, cast the first stone." I see stones being thrown and I do not believe the throwers are without sin. I don't think any of us are.
Well I've said my piece. I sure hope lightening bolts don't come down. I may have pushed a little hard this time. But truly God I an really upset. But I will close this off before I get in any deeper trouble. Thanks for your time.....Billye
This letter I am throwing into the winds here in Blogland this morning. Just as I do my words so often. I watch as the letter flutters in the breeze. The it floats upwards and out of sight. I strain to see if it goes on upward. Heaven I take it is way higher than cyberspace. I walk slowly back. Back to my everyday world. I sure hope I haven't made God too mad with my letter. But its on its way now. "I sing a little as I walk, "Casa Sierra Sierra, What ever will be will be." For now I'm outta here.
Dear God,
I am sure you have been expecting to hear from me. Just probably not by letter. I know usually when I am not happy with the way I think you let things work out I just holler alot. I'm very upset this time. I mean so upset I sat in the recliner all yesterday afternoon with my head covered up with an Afghan. I haven't done that for awhile, have I?
I know you are God, the creator of all things. I know you are in control of all that happens. So you will have to excuse me if I ask. "Just what in the blue blazes is going on? Why have you allowed a grave injustice to take place." Now of course you know what I'm talking about.
You know you have people dressed up in righteousness, running around making decisions that ruin other peoples life's and doing it in your name. I really know we should never question you. But could you please explain, just why in the heck are you letting this happen?
I read about forgiveness in the Bible. Then I see these people that are in charge condemning and dealing out punishments. And I do not see Christian love and forgiveness anywhere in this picture. I have always read in John 8, 2-11, "You who are without sin, cast the first stone." I see stones being thrown and I do not believe the throwers are without sin. I don't think any of us are.
Well I've said my piece. I sure hope lightening bolts don't come down. I may have pushed a little hard this time. But truly God I an really upset. But I will close this off before I get in any deeper trouble. Thanks for your time.....Billye
This letter I am throwing into the winds here in Blogland this morning. Just as I do my words so often. I watch as the letter flutters in the breeze. The it floats upwards and out of sight. I strain to see if it goes on upward. Heaven I take it is way higher than cyberspace. I walk slowly back. Back to my everyday world. I sure hope I haven't made God too mad with my letter. But its on its way now. "I sing a little as I walk, "Casa Sierra Sierra, What ever will be will be." For now I'm outta here.
I LOOK LIKE RED COWBOY BOOTS.
Tuesday is here. It didn't seem as cool in here this morning. So I am sipping my coffee without the warmth of the stove. I guess I better enjoy the warmer weather while I can. I am sure it won't last long. I had another offer yesterday to rake our leafs. I feel the urge when asked that question to hurl myself out the front door and lay out strecthed over as many as I can. "Please leave my leafs alone."
Have you ever wondered how you look to other people? How they perceive you. I have one friend when years ago we would go to a Thrift shop or Rummage sale and the gaudiest, flowered, Lacey dress would be hanging on a rack and she would say, "That looks just like you." Well, excuse me. I do not think I look like that flowered monstrosity. I was always offended. Now I realize my choice of clothes might not always make Marie Claire magazine but I do think I have some taste.
Yesterday my son brought his friend by. She is around thirty. I had a pair of boots I had ordered.I thought they stood out to far from my calf's. I told Jer to bring her by to look at the boots. He did.. She tried them on. They fit. I gave her the boots. She was excited. "Let me show you the other pair of boots I bought," I said.. You probably won't like them but I do.." I proudly brought my new red cowboy boots in. I have never owned a pair of cowboy boots in my life.
Now I really don't classify them as cowboy boots. They are red, leather, black lace at the top and black laces up the back. I love them but I do not think I look like them. She looked at them quietly. "They look like you", she said. I was rather stunned. I thought I was stepping out of my comfort zone in buying them. But never did I think they looked like me or my personality. I now know I personify red leather boots with black laces. I can live with that, it just caught me off guard.
Now I am comfortable with the fact my family does not think I dress age appropriate. I am sure it bothers them more than it does me. I still am looking for the person who was authorized to write this age appropriate rules anyway. I would like to have a short chat with them. I can see myself talking to them in my low neckline, tight jeans and red boots. Oh yes, with black laces up the back. I will plead my case. They will call the fashion police and it will all go downhill from there.
I am happy with my boots. And the thing I love most about them is the soles. The brand name is "Romantic Soles." They have a heart on each sole. Awww, isn't that sweet. When I wear them I walk on hearts. Its really very cool. I am not a cool person I know, but at least may boots are. If you see an older lady walking around with red boots, black laces and short reddish blond hair, that will be me. Give me a shout out, okay? But I best scoot on out of Blogland this morning. I'm wearing my boots.. I'm breaking them in. I'm trying to yodel as I walk, but I don't know how. I sound more like I'm howling at the moon. Its still dark here, its early you know.. But for now, my boots and I are outta here.
Have you ever wondered how you look to other people? How they perceive you. I have one friend when years ago we would go to a Thrift shop or Rummage sale and the gaudiest, flowered, Lacey dress would be hanging on a rack and she would say, "That looks just like you." Well, excuse me. I do not think I look like that flowered monstrosity. I was always offended. Now I realize my choice of clothes might not always make Marie Claire magazine but I do think I have some taste.
Yesterday my son brought his friend by. She is around thirty. I had a pair of boots I had ordered.I thought they stood out to far from my calf's. I told Jer to bring her by to look at the boots. He did.. She tried them on. They fit. I gave her the boots. She was excited. "Let me show you the other pair of boots I bought," I said.. You probably won't like them but I do.." I proudly brought my new red cowboy boots in. I have never owned a pair of cowboy boots in my life.
Now I really don't classify them as cowboy boots. They are red, leather, black lace at the top and black laces up the back. I love them but I do not think I look like them. She looked at them quietly. "They look like you", she said. I was rather stunned. I thought I was stepping out of my comfort zone in buying them. But never did I think they looked like me or my personality. I now know I personify red leather boots with black laces. I can live with that, it just caught me off guard.
Now I am comfortable with the fact my family does not think I dress age appropriate. I am sure it bothers them more than it does me. I still am looking for the person who was authorized to write this age appropriate rules anyway. I would like to have a short chat with them. I can see myself talking to them in my low neckline, tight jeans and red boots. Oh yes, with black laces up the back. I will plead my case. They will call the fashion police and it will all go downhill from there.
I am happy with my boots. And the thing I love most about them is the soles. The brand name is "Romantic Soles." They have a heart on each sole. Awww, isn't that sweet. When I wear them I walk on hearts. Its really very cool. I am not a cool person I know, but at least may boots are. If you see an older lady walking around with red boots, black laces and short reddish blond hair, that will be me. Give me a shout out, okay? But I best scoot on out of Blogland this morning. I'm wearing my boots.. I'm breaking them in. I'm trying to yodel as I walk, but I don't know how. I sound more like I'm howling at the moon. Its still dark here, its early you know.. But for now, my boots and I are outta here.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
MY CARPET OF RED MAPLE LEAFS.
It is 4:25 Sunday morning. At four I was stumbling around the back yard as "I" barked at shadowy silhouettes in the alley. In my best stage whisper I hissed "I" shut up, come here. To my great amazment she trotted right up to me and we came back up front and in the house. Leaving behind the menacing, shadowy creatures. That very well could have been only the trash cans.
Our front yard is carpeted with beautiful reddish orange leafs. I stand mesmerised at the front door watching as they glide slowly from the trees to rest on the ground. People come by to knock on the door. Asking if we would like our leafs raked? "No," I quickly answer. I do not want the leafs to disappear. I wait all year on Fall just to see the beauty of them. Let them lay. I walk through them kicking my feet and listen to the sound of their rustling under my feet. If it wouldn't shock my neighbors too much I would lay and roll around in them. My beautiful leafs. But then when have I ever cared what neighbors thought?
I have always had this connection with trees. I have said I think I must have been a squirrel in my previous life as trees hold much joy for me. I have always wanted to live deep in the woods, surrounded by trees. I could not believe my luck when we moved in here and I found the two trees in the front yard was Red Maples. One of my very favorites. I love the mighty Oak but its the beautiful red Maples in the fall that holds the beauty that is so awesome.
As I I look at the yard, blanketed with the leafs and hear the ducks next door I feel like I am in the country. The Clampetts have added ducks and chickens to their fold. Now I know you're not suppose too have animals in the city but who am I to complain. I am getting use to the quacking of the ducks and squawking of the chickens. The Emperor roars, "I told you they are the Beverly Hillbillies." I smile. I'm not surprised by the animals. After all these are the people that cre carrying the dearly departed Wayne's ashes in pill boxes on key chains. So I'm sure not going to complain about a few Ducks and Chickens. I feel it could be much worse.
So I am enjoying the beauty of Fall and the cooler weather. Of course ask me in January when its five degree's and I might not be liking the cooler weather so much. I like it cool, just not too cold. The days are flying by rapidly. The Holidays will be upon us before we know it. Days becoming more days. As I grow older I realize just how quickly they fly by. But I drink in the beauty that surrounds me. Age is something that conquers us all. So I will enjoy the beauty. I will will treasure the days.
I think I may be in one of my funny moods this morning. I guess I'm always just a little quirky. I look around me here in Blogland. Its funny but I don't see any leafs laying around. How sad if they don't have any. I walk a little faster. I'm ready to go home. I hum a little as I walk. Its a little creepy here before daylight. I might bring a bag of leafs with me when I come tomorrow though. Every place should have a few red maple leafs fluttering about. But for now, I'm outta here.
Our front yard is carpeted with beautiful reddish orange leafs. I stand mesmerised at the front door watching as they glide slowly from the trees to rest on the ground. People come by to knock on the door. Asking if we would like our leafs raked? "No," I quickly answer. I do not want the leafs to disappear. I wait all year on Fall just to see the beauty of them. Let them lay. I walk through them kicking my feet and listen to the sound of their rustling under my feet. If it wouldn't shock my neighbors too much I would lay and roll around in them. My beautiful leafs. But then when have I ever cared what neighbors thought?
I have always had this connection with trees. I have said I think I must have been a squirrel in my previous life as trees hold much joy for me. I have always wanted to live deep in the woods, surrounded by trees. I could not believe my luck when we moved in here and I found the two trees in the front yard was Red Maples. One of my very favorites. I love the mighty Oak but its the beautiful red Maples in the fall that holds the beauty that is so awesome.
As I I look at the yard, blanketed with the leafs and hear the ducks next door I feel like I am in the country. The Clampetts have added ducks and chickens to their fold. Now I know you're not suppose too have animals in the city but who am I to complain. I am getting use to the quacking of the ducks and squawking of the chickens. The Emperor roars, "I told you they are the Beverly Hillbillies." I smile. I'm not surprised by the animals. After all these are the people that cre carrying the dearly departed Wayne's ashes in pill boxes on key chains. So I'm sure not going to complain about a few Ducks and Chickens. I feel it could be much worse.
So I am enjoying the beauty of Fall and the cooler weather. Of course ask me in January when its five degree's and I might not be liking the cooler weather so much. I like it cool, just not too cold. The days are flying by rapidly. The Holidays will be upon us before we know it. Days becoming more days. As I grow older I realize just how quickly they fly by. But I drink in the beauty that surrounds me. Age is something that conquers us all. So I will enjoy the beauty. I will will treasure the days.
I think I may be in one of my funny moods this morning. I guess I'm always just a little quirky. I look around me here in Blogland. Its funny but I don't see any leafs laying around. How sad if they don't have any. I walk a little faster. I'm ready to go home. I hum a little as I walk. Its a little creepy here before daylight. I might bring a bag of leafs with me when I come tomorrow though. Every place should have a few red maple leafs fluttering about. But for now, I'm outta here.
AMAZING GRACE
Saturday morning has arrived. I certainly hope she has on a jacket, for it is rather cool out there. I sit here at the computer sipping my tea and bask in the warmth penetrating from the stove. I love this old stove much more than I like forced air heat or central heat. You cannot back up to a vent in the floor and get the same effect. I feel like the stove and I have something in common. Out of date but still carrying on.
I haven't written on here since Monday. Well I wrote, one I thought was kind of cute but the computer ate it up and left nothing but a memory of the Blog. I remembered some of the silly words but have decided I would for the time being let them rest in peace. I think there is more than one of these Blogs that I have published here that the computer should have eaten.
This has been a rough week. Someone I care about is going through a bad time. No matter how we tell ourselves not to worry we do. As I have grown older I find the the problems of the ones I love seem to hit me harder than than they do them. I eat and sleep the problem, pray, weep. The Angels in Heaven have gathered shaking their heads. "Its her again, we just went through this a month or two ago." Yes I am afraid its me again Lord, standing in the need of prayer.
I have no patience with people who wrap themselves in sanctimonious righteous, dealing out verdicts and altering people's life at the drop of a hat. It brings to mind King David who sinned but become a great man of God. He wrote the beautiful Psalms and danced with joy in his love for God. I think its good that King David did not go to "OCC Christian College." There is a chance we would not have the beautiful Psalms that I love so. It was from Davids pain, mistakes and human frailties that the Psalms came into existence. Shame on people that deal with problems with a rule book and not their hearts.
Now you see why I haven't written all week. I knew what would happen once my fingers touched the computer keys. I suppose I should be asking God for forgiveness for my criticizing attitude. But I'm pouting right now, consumed with anger. I hate it when I do that, let myself be consumed with anger because its such a fruitless act. Nothing good comes of it. Nothing.
So I have spilled my retorts out into the vastness of cyberspace. Hmmm, I wonder if by a chance I could be a tad self-righteous myself? Oh surely not. I turn to leave Blogland. I am kicking a can as I walk. I need to kick something. I am singing as song to myself as I walk. "Amazing Grace." I wonder if the administration at "OCC" knows the words to that song. I'd be glad to sing it to them. But for now, I'm outta here.
I haven't written on here since Monday. Well I wrote, one I thought was kind of cute but the computer ate it up and left nothing but a memory of the Blog. I remembered some of the silly words but have decided I would for the time being let them rest in peace. I think there is more than one of these Blogs that I have published here that the computer should have eaten.
This has been a rough week. Someone I care about is going through a bad time. No matter how we tell ourselves not to worry we do. As I have grown older I find the the problems of the ones I love seem to hit me harder than than they do them. I eat and sleep the problem, pray, weep. The Angels in Heaven have gathered shaking their heads. "Its her again, we just went through this a month or two ago." Yes I am afraid its me again Lord, standing in the need of prayer.
I have no patience with people who wrap themselves in sanctimonious righteous, dealing out verdicts and altering people's life at the drop of a hat. It brings to mind King David who sinned but become a great man of God. He wrote the beautiful Psalms and danced with joy in his love for God. I think its good that King David did not go to "OCC Christian College." There is a chance we would not have the beautiful Psalms that I love so. It was from Davids pain, mistakes and human frailties that the Psalms came into existence. Shame on people that deal with problems with a rule book and not their hearts.
Now you see why I haven't written all week. I knew what would happen once my fingers touched the computer keys. I suppose I should be asking God for forgiveness for my criticizing attitude. But I'm pouting right now, consumed with anger. I hate it when I do that, let myself be consumed with anger because its such a fruitless act. Nothing good comes of it. Nothing.
So I have spilled my retorts out into the vastness of cyberspace. Hmmm, I wonder if by a chance I could be a tad self-righteous myself? Oh surely not. I turn to leave Blogland. I am kicking a can as I walk. I need to kick something. I am singing as song to myself as I walk. "Amazing Grace." I wonder if the administration at "OCC" knows the words to that song. I'd be glad to sing it to them. But for now, I'm outta here.
Monday, November 1, 2010
I WAS A PRINCESS IN MY BLUE SATIN DRESS.
Monday has came again. I have made it through another week. Now Monday is waiting with promises of laughter, worry and joy. It seems every week holds a little of all. So with great anticipation I peer out the font door into the darkness. "Please days," I whisper, "Make it mostly laughter this week." I listen through the darkness but nothing echos back to my ears.
Halloween is over. The ghosts, vampires,Zombies and Ghouls have gone back from whence they came. At least I sure hope so. I have had enough of them for awhile. Left over candy sits on the coffee table, trying to lure me with its shiny wrapping. I am trying hard to resist temptation. The sweet lover whispers in my ear. "These little candy bars are so small, it won't hurt to eat a couple." I tell my evil self I would not be happy eating two. Once started I would whip through the bowl at lighting speed. All that would be left would be scattered wrappers and five extra pounds on my hips. So I am trying hard to be strong.
As I thought yesterday about the Halloween party Billie had. It brought back memories of the first real Halloween party I ever went to. Now I'm not talking school parties. I'm talking the real thing, with adults and all. I was twelve. Five foot nine and around ninety pounds. Not a raving beauty. I had a friend Patty Snow. Some of her Mother's family was having a Halloween party, at night. Patty asked me to go with them. I asked Mother. She said yes. But there was nothing to wear. Patty's Mother took a long satin dress, a beautiful blue. Pinned it up to fit me. Everything was to big for me back then. It had cap sleeves, lace and touched the floor. They pulled my hair up with a comb and a light touch of lipstick. I stared at this stranger in the mirror and wondered who she was? Patty's Mother then clipped on a pair of sparkling earrings and I was a Princess.
Their house was big. People everywhere. They were laughing, joking, music was playing. Kids and adults milling around. I stuck close to Patty's side. The house, the people overwhelmed me. Then he appeared. He probably about fourteen. An older man. Her cousin. I have tried for the life of me to remember his name. But I cannot. From that minute and for the rest of the night he stayed by my side. He liked me. Even dummy me could tell that. We bobbed for apples. We laughed. I felt just like Cinderella. And before we left, he told me I was pretty. Everything stopped for me right then. Nobody ever had said I was pretty or cute or anything. This young man whispered in my ear. "You are so pretty." And you know in my satin dress with the large safety pins I felt pretty.
I never saw the boy again. But I have always remembered that night. When I wore the Blue dress and learned how to flirt a little, even at twelve. And I think in that night was born my love for clothes and how they can make you feel. Because for that one night a Blue Satin dress turned a skinny, akward twelve year old into a Princess. I am sure Mrs. Snow has passed on to wherever but I hope she knew and knows. That one small act of kindness, making this ugly duckling feel like a swan has never been forgotten. So to you Mrs. Snow I say thank-you. For being one of those who took the time for a random act of kindness.
I have rambled again. Trying to weave memories into words. And not always pulling it off. But as I turn to go, leaving Blogland I take my words from my pocket and throw them to the wind. I look around as I go. Somebody trick or treated here last night. There is candy wrappers everywhere. I smile remembering the candy at home. Whoop whoop, I'm outta here.
Halloween is over. The ghosts, vampires,Zombies and Ghouls have gone back from whence they came. At least I sure hope so. I have had enough of them for awhile. Left over candy sits on the coffee table, trying to lure me with its shiny wrapping. I am trying hard to resist temptation. The sweet lover whispers in my ear. "These little candy bars are so small, it won't hurt to eat a couple." I tell my evil self I would not be happy eating two. Once started I would whip through the bowl at lighting speed. All that would be left would be scattered wrappers and five extra pounds on my hips. So I am trying hard to be strong.
As I thought yesterday about the Halloween party Billie had. It brought back memories of the first real Halloween party I ever went to. Now I'm not talking school parties. I'm talking the real thing, with adults and all. I was twelve. Five foot nine and around ninety pounds. Not a raving beauty. I had a friend Patty Snow. Some of her Mother's family was having a Halloween party, at night. Patty asked me to go with them. I asked Mother. She said yes. But there was nothing to wear. Patty's Mother took a long satin dress, a beautiful blue. Pinned it up to fit me. Everything was to big for me back then. It had cap sleeves, lace and touched the floor. They pulled my hair up with a comb and a light touch of lipstick. I stared at this stranger in the mirror and wondered who she was? Patty's Mother then clipped on a pair of sparkling earrings and I was a Princess.
Their house was big. People everywhere. They were laughing, joking, music was playing. Kids and adults milling around. I stuck close to Patty's side. The house, the people overwhelmed me. Then he appeared. He probably about fourteen. An older man. Her cousin. I have tried for the life of me to remember his name. But I cannot. From that minute and for the rest of the night he stayed by my side. He liked me. Even dummy me could tell that. We bobbed for apples. We laughed. I felt just like Cinderella. And before we left, he told me I was pretty. Everything stopped for me right then. Nobody ever had said I was pretty or cute or anything. This young man whispered in my ear. "You are so pretty." And you know in my satin dress with the large safety pins I felt pretty.
I never saw the boy again. But I have always remembered that night. When I wore the Blue dress and learned how to flirt a little, even at twelve. And I think in that night was born my love for clothes and how they can make you feel. Because for that one night a Blue Satin dress turned a skinny, akward twelve year old into a Princess. I am sure Mrs. Snow has passed on to wherever but I hope she knew and knows. That one small act of kindness, making this ugly duckling feel like a swan has never been forgotten. So to you Mrs. Snow I say thank-you. For being one of those who took the time for a random act of kindness.
I have rambled again. Trying to weave memories into words. And not always pulling it off. But as I turn to go, leaving Blogland I take my words from my pocket and throw them to the wind. I look around as I go. Somebody trick or treated here last night. There is candy wrappers everywhere. I smile remembering the candy at home. Whoop whoop, I'm outta here.
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