LAVERN'S WEDDING CHAPEL

Tuesday morning March 1st. I was up at three. The Emperor is working today and I had to get him up at four. Coffee thermos's to be made, clothes to get ready before I could wake him up. He is rather cranky when he gets up that early. But then you know how Emperor's are, right? I let "I" out and we both stood on the porch, peering out into the darkness. My Momma always said, "If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb." The chilly air, carried on a little wind nipped at us. I heard no roaring but then not a "Baa," either. Lion or Lamb, I'm just not sure. Maybe the day that lies just beyond the still dark skies will let me know just which it is.

I went with someone to get married Friday. Just the three of us, down to good old Miami. I certainly believe there has been thousands upon thousands making that trek to the little Wedding Chapel known as "Lavern's." It certainly hasn't changed much over the years. An entrance room, a smiling man keeping sentry by the door. Then the chapel itsself, decorated with an arch with plastic flowers. It brought back memeories, some good, some not so good. Many dreams has started from those few minutes spent in that little chapel. Some dreams taking a firm hold and bursting into flame that still burns after fifty years or more. Then of course is the dreams that lasted not much longer than the short, corny kind of special ceramony did.

I hope the one I attended does that very thing, bursts into a long lasting flame that will burn forever. Marriage is not an easy comitment these days. Not that it ever was. Its just it seems that years ago comitment was taken a little moire serious then than these days. Where divorce is almost as easy as buying a new car. Maybe easier if you don't have good credit. A few hundred dollars and its over, one piece of paper replaced by another. Then the two parties move on, looking for another to fill that empty spot. They fan a new flame with someone else and the process repeats itself.

Many will say and have said these last days that this marriage will not, cannot last. The problems they are facing probably much too strong to keep the flame burning long. But you know, I believe that Love can be a strong force. Stronger than any wild gale that may try so hard to extinguse the flame. Maybe all anyone needs is just someone who will say, "I will love you regrdless of your demons, regradless of your weakness's. But because after all don't we will all have demons or weakness's one way or the other. I prefer to believe God's love and one man's love can raise a wall so strong that life cannot ever put out their flame. Maybe I'm just a romantic but I believe.

My words this morning are tied with a red satin ribbon. Red stands for love you know. I think of all the dreams that every day are fighting the odds and burning brightly. I perfer to think of those and not the broken ones. I do not untie my words today. I throw them high, still tied tightly. Hoping they have more force that way and not bescattered. I think of the young couple as I head back home, "Good wishes," I shout. "May God always have your back." I'm outta here for one more day.

THIS WON'T BE ABOUT MY CUP.

It is Sunday morning. I opened the front door and "I" marched out into the darkness. I knew it was not raining because "I" does not do rain. I stood on the porch as she made her way around the yard. I could not see her but her growls at unseen dangers kept me tracking her. She is back in, under the blankets, once again sound asleep.

I have not written again for several days. I prewrote one last night but as I reread it this morning I sadly shook me head. It was about my chipped coffee cup. Enough said on that subject, right? Days have been rolling by. I caught up in my own little world. Its funny but its what we humans do. Starving children in India and I moan over the slights I think have been lodged against me. Nothing sadder than a self pity party. I have been trying to strictly have mine alone. I hate it when people invite me to theirs. I have been trying to keep my guest list down. So if I happen to call you. Just don't answer it will probably be much better. At least for you.

Days do seem to whirl by lately. I with my list of things to do clutched in my hand, watching as the hours slide by and nothing being done. I have learned no Spanish yet. I have not started training for my "Katy Trail Walk." I scream silently to myself, "Get started on something." But I don't, instead I limp around the house sure I have wounded my knee in someway. I wonder if maybe physiologically I am trying to find an excuse that I can't male my walk. Who knows,? Not me.

My family are use to me wild dreams that never transpire. Writing a book, climbing a mountain, giving up sweets. Always something I want to do but never get to it. I am a weaver of dreams but only in my head. Never to I actually start to weave. I have come to the conclusion that it is good to have dreams but it takes gumption to actually start the work to make those dreams come to life.

Today I am concentrating on looking for my gumption. Any journey has to start with the first step. I sit and ponder. Which of the long list of things I want to accomplish over these last thirty years I hope to have should I start on first?


As I pull my crumpled words from my ever trusty pocket I wish again I just would have told you of my chipped cup. Sighing I release the words. I almost think I hear Blogland skies laugh at my feeble attempt. So many beautiful words released here everyday and I have come with this small, pitiful few. I wish I had tried for whimsical but I didn't. I turn to leave. A idea comes to my mind. Maybe I should just try for a long walk in Blogland. I shake my head no. The view would not at all be like the "Katy Trail." I jog towards home. I have to get some practice in somewhere. For now, I'm outta here.

INTERACTIVE TELEVISION

February 19th. I have been up and about since four. "I" is stalking around the house but refuses to go outside. Probably the neighbors will be happy she hasn't gone. I am sipping on coffee trying to engage my brain. I speak of that as if I really have one. But I am desperately trying to kick the day off. I've thanked God I am still here. I half way did my little jig, my knees hurt, so I did not do a full jig. This I am finding out is what happens when you hit the big 70.

I realize more and more as the days go by that I have less and less contact with the outside world. Most of my conversations are on the phone. For someone who loves to talk and has very few to talk too its rough. Hence comes talking to the Television. Now for quite sometime I wasn't really aware that I was doing it. However I have began to notice what I do but continue to follow the practice.

I watch a television show called, "Cash Cab." It comes on at five on cable. I don't watch television in the daytime. But around five I lower the blinds to block out the sun and turn on the TV. I like to answer the questions. I try to answer them before the people in the cab can. Sometimes they do not know the answer but I do. I call it out to them, they still don't get it. I sometimes jump to my feet, yelling the answer louder. Its long distance you know. Still they don't get it right. I holler out loudly, "I told you the answer dummies."

Last night as I watched and The Emperor was in the other room. The driver asked what birds fluid did Geisha's in Japan put on their faces before they perform. I knew it, excitedly I called out, "Nightingale." They hemmed and hawed around. I repeated the answer more loudly this time. "Nightingale." They answered "Whippoorwill." I snorted in disgust. I told you stupid," I shouted at the Television. The Emperor looked at me very strangely. "You do know," he asked, "That they can't hear you?" I answered him huffily, "Of course I do."

But the truth I would not want him to know is sometimes I forget. I have become engaged in interactive television. I do this with "Dancing with The Stars." dance when they do. I clap when a favorite does good and holler "Good job," at the top of my lungs. I cry when a young person gets sent home from American idol. Interactive TV. I yell at the bad guys in movies and watch the "Animal Planet, getting irate when some pet has been abused. Interactive TV.

I suppose I need to try and find a way to get a little bit more life going but actually I have come to love all my friends on television. I just get mad when the dummies get into the cab. The Emperor thinks I am senile. I am not. Him and I just handle watching TV differently thats all. I think the only way I will need to worry about my actions is if I think they are talking back. I have not come to that place yet but the day could come I am afraid. Just the other day "Ben Lyons, the driver on Cash Cab looked right at me and smiled. I'm starting to think he may know I'm here.

I hope Spring comes early in Blogland as I am hoping it does at home. These early mornings can get a little chilly. Two days of Spring like weather and I am cold at fifty degrees. Its quiet here this morning. No lights shining from the one plate glass window. Nobody gets up early in Blogland. I start for home. I wonder what Bloggers look like. I catch my reflection in the lone store window. I look pretty rough this morning. Maybe I don't want to see another Blogger. I'm sure they wouldn't want to see me. For now though, I'm outta here.

OLD RYAN WHAT'S HIS NAME.

Friday morning has came again. As i stumbled around the yard about four-thirty, hissing "I"s name. I marveled at the weather. Yesterday it made it to seventy-five. Yah, yah. Its probably fifty out there now. I would love to think Spring is already here. But Missouri being what she is may have another winter trick or two up her sleeve. She has been known for dumping snow on us is March. So I know not to get too excited.

A couple of mornings ago my daughter called me. "Ryan and I have to run an errand. "We'll come by and pick you up and go to breakfast," she said. I hurried around getting ready. I was thrilled. Her van pulled up and as I crawled inside, Ryan safely tucked in his seat in the back. Billie said he uttered the words as I came out the door, "Good grief she's messed with her hair again." Now when five year olds groan in despair you know you may over do abit. I smiled at him. "No Ryan," I said. I have had blond on my hair for awhile. He snorted, "But you didn't have the black in there too."My roots are showing.

As we rolled on our way Billie announced, "Ryan doesn't want to be called Ryan. He is tired of his name." Now she told me his new name. It was "Cool Boy" I think. Sort of catchy but truthfully I'm not sure just what she said.

Ryan is a pip. He is a cool boy. Cute, funny, those dancing Blue eyes. The orneriness shining out of them. I think I wrote before my brother calls him "Cotton Top." I will sound like a great grand Mother but he is special. All the great grands are. But that Ryan, oh excuse me, "Cool Boy." I think. Has that extra little kick in there. I pray I live to see him grown. When he starts school in the fall I am anxious to see if he wraps those girls around his finger.

So my breakfast was fun. This Birthday i moaned about got me two Breakfasts and one lunch. I've made a note to whine more often. I feel like I have slid into this stress wracked age fairly well. Though my knees may be aching a little more and hold onto your hats. I may be a tad bit more out spoken. Audible groans. A nice church lady came early yesterday morning. She brought oranges, Little Debbie cakes, canned goods, bread." So nice and sweet of her. Then I announced I didn't believe in organized religion. She hastily left. I have a feeling she won't be bringing me any more food. I wanted to rush after her yelling, "Carol I didn't mean it. I'm really Catholic." I have to quickly add I believe in God. Love Jesus with all my heart. I just think these Church's have too much law and not enough grace. I'm sorry but that's how I feel. I'll miss those big oranges though.

I have made my way into Blogland. The Valentine lights are not on anymore in the little store. Another Holiday only a memory. I head for home, limping a little. Its these dang knees I tell you. But I'm on my way. I'm outta here.

MY BLOG

It is Wednesday. As I stood on the front porch surrounded still by darkness I happily surveyed my yard. There is still dirt that covers our space. It had been covered by snow so long I wasn't sure the ground was still there. This is only February so there is still a chance for more snow. I am hoping this will not turn out to be the case. Bring on the sunshine. I am ready even for summers melting heat.

I didn't write yesterday. My sister called about six Am and asked me to read my Blog. I"I didn't write one today," I told her. "What am I going to do with you," she asked? "There are many who could come up with an answer to that," I said. I hope she doesn't ask them.

I didn't write a Blog yesterday because I was still embarrassed by the one I wrote on Valentines Day. I write these things then hours later read them again. "Good grief," I will mutter. "What a sad excuse for a Blog." Sorry but its all I've got. I'm amazed at times that I am still writing this. I will tell myself, "Give it up silly.' But I go a few days and presto I do it again. Now I want to assure you that I do not believe there are people waiting to hang on my written word. But still I take days when I feel driven to do it again.

Maybe I just don't have much of a life. But I love to write, even if its just this silly Blog.

I have always been amazed by words, the written words. Books, books, books. As I have said before I have my Mother to thank for that attribute. The love of reading is a attribute I strongly believe. Both of my children are big readers. If you read you can go anywhere and be for the duration of three or four hundred pages or more, someone else. I get my books as I have mentioned from "Wolfner Library." The greatest program the government has ever produced. I would truly be lost without them.

I keep thinking all those books I listen to should help me have better tools for writing myself, but they don't. For my Blog seems to have turned out to be just a rambling of my personal thoughts. I guess that's what they are suppose to be. I am not totally sure as I have never written one until about a year ago. Then I started as a dare to myself. And here I am months later still turning out these rambling self produced thoughts.

Will I ever quit, I don't know. I keep thinking soon I will find something really important to say. I write about The Emperor, my kids, Brother and Sister, grandkids, greatgrands, he list goes on. Wait a minute, those people are important, at least to me. Anyone reading this knows I'm addicted to "Little Debbie Cakes." I talk too much and dress to young for my age. I loved being a kid on Ninth Street and hate people who whine. Then have the nerve to get on here and whine myself. Especially on my Birthday. Anyone that knows me, knows I will always have an opinion about something. And I never good at keeping those opinions to myself. So this Blog could go on for a long time at least while I'm still breathing.

I've scattered my words. Once again unleashing them on Blogland. I smile as I watch them whirl away. Even if nobody sees them. I know they are still there. Isn't that what a Blog is all about? I head in the direction of home. I'm outta here another day.

A VALENTINE FROM GARY

Monday morning, Valentines day 2011. My pal "I" and I were up at four-thirty. When I opened the front door to let her out I stepped out onto the porch. Just in case I might see little cupids flying around or something. After all it is Valentines day. There was none. Just patches of snow that still cling to the ground and four plastic candy canes hanging from the trees. I have forgotten to take them off and put them away until next year. Oh well it probably would have scared "I" and I to death if we would have seen any.

I learned what Valentines Day was really about at East Central School. Valentines Day was a big event from the first grade on through grade school. There was always a party. Room Mothers would come with cupcakes and punch. I don't think they have room Mothers in grade school anymore. No home room parties. About a week before Valentines Day, the teacher gave everyone colored construction paper,scissors and glue. Everyone brought a box of some sort from home Mine was usually a oatmeal box. We decorated them and wrote our names on the top. Do you remember these?

Then we sat them on a table, all lined up and waited for the big day. Everyone brought Valentines and put them in the boxes of the ones they chose too. They were little paper ones, which came with twenty-eight to a pack I would go in before class and shake my box, Checking to make sure there were some in there.

In the first grade, my first Valentine's party was when I loved Gary Churchwell. I learned to write his name and wrote it all over the pantry wall. I wanted a Valentine from Gary. My world rested on getting one from him. When we were told to get our boxes, I dumped mine all on my desk. Looking for that one that was signed Gary Churchwell. There nestles among the others was one that had a heart, it also had the words love printed on the front. I sang, my heart sang. Gary Churchwell loved me too. Now all these years later I realize that he had of course given one to everyone in the class. And that probably all were alike but I didn't know that then. Looking back I realize Gary never loved me. I think he loved Barbara Danner. But for that one fleeting Valentines day I believed, in romance, magic and Gary Churchwell.

I tied my words in a pretty pink ribbon this morning. Carefully I untie the bow and set them free. I wonder as I watch them float away, will there be Valentines in Blogland today? Oh I am sure there will be. Love lives eternal everywhere I think. I sing a little as I walk, "Stupid cupid stop picking on me." I head for home where my two Valentines wait, The Emperor and "I". For now I'm outta here.



Valentine's Day

Observed by Many countries

Significance Love and affection celebrated between lovers
Date February 14
Observances Sending greeting cards and gifts, dating
Saint Valentine's Day, commonly shortened to Valentine's Day,[1][2][3] is an annual commemoration held on February 14 celebrating love and affection between intimate companions.[1][3] The day is named after one or more early Christian martyrs, Saint Valentine, and was established by Pope Gelasius I in 496 AD. It was deleted from the Roman calendar of saints in 1969 by Pope Paul VI, but its religious observance is still permitted. It is traditionally a day on which lovers express their love for each other by presenting flowers, offering confectionery, and sending greeting cards (known as "valentines"). The day first became associated with romantic love in the circle of Geoffrey Chaucer in the High Middle Ages, when the tradition of courtly love flourished.

Modern Valentine's Day symbols include the heart-shaped outline, doves, and the figure of the winged Cupid. Since the 19th century, handwritten valentines have given way to mass-produced greeting cards.[4]

LIFE LEAVES ME TOTALLY CONFUSED.

Sunday morning is here. I opened the front door. "I" and I both peering out. Snow still lies on the ground but slowly some of it is melting. The air was cold but not the icy blast of some days last week. "I" stood quietly, just staring into the darkness. "Don't you want to go out," I asked? She walked away, towards the bedroom. Some mornings she looks out into the darkened yard as if to say. "No way I'm going out there." I shut the door. I guess we'll wait till daylight to open it again

I was weary by the end of the day yesterday. Just plain worn out. Sometimes just trying to figure people and situations out can leave me totally confused. Just when I think I have it all straight, something or someone throws a monkey wrench in it. It leaves me wondering if everyone thinks they are the only one living on this planet. Duh! There's a whole bunch of us running around here just trying to do our best.

If I only thought I could handle it I would take a vow of silence. I can hear the shouts going up now, Praise "The Lord". You'll notice I said if I thought I could handle it. Anyone who has ever met me knows talking is like breathing to me,. Always going on but I would be much better off I could stay silent. It seems like that will be the only way I will ever be capable of staying out of the dog house with someone or somebody.

I got up yesterday thinking this is going to be a great day. I had coffee and then the world started waking up around me. It went down hill from there. I don't remember my Mother telling me that I don't play well with others but she should have. Because I don't seem to be able to handle that well at all. I'm thinking a cave somewhere if I knew there would be no Bats or Bears. I don't think I would play well with them either.

A cave by a creek. I'd have a little garden and only come to town once a month or so. Maybe I could communicate with animals better than I do people. I use to think I was a people person. NOT!!!! I realize at this late date I have been fooling myself for years. If I can't find a safe cave maybe a travel trailer down by the creek. But I would need two trailers as I would need one for my clothes and shoes. I guess a old river rat wouldn't need many clothes. But regardless of how weary I get from the chaos of people I'm not sure I could give up my clothes for anything.

So this coming week I am going to try and not talk much. If you should see me and I am only nodding my head and not speaking to you. You will know why. Because If I do speak I will probably only irratate you. So we will both be better off if I don't talk at all. There seems to be logic in this thinking. Don't you agree? I'm going to give it a shot anyway. So here's to the coming week. One of almost silence. I'm laughing. I'll sure need luck on this one. Keeping my mouth shut.

I'm at the corner of Blogland again. My words such as they were released once again. The snow is slowly melting here too. I see lights in the one store window. There hasn't been any since Christmas. I move closer and peer in. It's lighted Valentimne hearts, awwww. There's love here in Blogland somewhere. How sweet. I turn towards home, kicking the slush as I walk. I have heard it said, "Love makes the world go round." I'm not sure about that after yesterday. Oh well, one more day I'm outta here.

TALKING SMACK TO JER

Saturday morning has arrived. She like all the others this last days is cold and snowy. But the weatherman teases us with promises of sunshine and warmer weather. It has been a little warmer but still the days surround us with cold winds and snow. "Enough already," I shouted out my back door. "Bring on warmth and melt
this dang snow.

Jer came over yesterday. Our street finally getting to the point it can be navigated safely. Its the parking at the curbs that still are treacherous. But he braved the white, icy substance and came to have coffee with me. I enjoyed it. I had not seen him for over a week. That's a long time not to be able to tease Jer. He calls it talking smack. Can you imagine me talking smack? Well he says I do.

He pointed out after about an hour that I had suggested several ways he should spend his income tax. A vacuum cleaner. Who can live without one? Brakes fixed on his car. The list went on. "Mother," he said. In his not overly friendly voice. I have been here less than an hour and you have told me a hundred things you think I should do." I can run my own life." Hmmm, I bit my tongue. I wanted to say, "You're not doing that good of job of it." Somehow I maneged to keep my ever opening mouth closed.

I switched the subject. We started talking about walking. I told him I could walk him into the ground. He scoffed. "You're talking smack again," he said. I challenged him. Sometimes when I have been alone alot I tend to get a little carried away. When the snow is gone come over and we'll walk to Ryan's for Breakfast eat and walk back. "Ryan's being a restaurant about six miles away. He scoffed. "Come on," I taunted. "Lets see who's talking Smack. He agreed, neither of us really sounding confident.

So the challenge has been laid down. Jer has picked it up. We'll have to see if a slightly out of shape thirty-five year old and a wacky old lady can make it or not. Geez, I gotta quit talking that smack.

Pulling my silly words from my pocket I glance down at them before I turn them loose into the wind. Sometimes I surely ramble. I toss them anyway. Turning to go I think about that long walk to "Ryan's" Maybe I better sprint I think. Strength my legs you know. I start trotting instead. Maybe I'm just not up to sprinting on all this snow. Six miles. I shake my head. I'll never learn. For now, I'm outta here.

MEET MRS.OLSON

It is Thursday morning. "I" has went out braving the cold, wet snow. She did not linger long. I stood on the porch , watching my beloved trees, Saul and Sarah. They seem to shiver from the cold. Their branches reaching out to each other, its as if their straining just to feel each others touch.. I feel their pain as they stand dark against the whiteness of the cold snow. "Spring will ome," I tell them. I thought I heard Saul whisper,"Sarah
but it may have been only the wind.

In the above picture I would like you to meet Mrs.Olson. Known to The Emperor and I as Lana. We met in 1994 when I went to work where she was already working. Lana is one of those women who can do just about anything,definitely not afraid of hard work.

A couple of days ago I heard a knock on my door. On opening I saw a figure standing there. The sun and snow behind her blocking out her face. "Lana is that you," I asked? She laughed. Opening the door she placed a birthday sack in my hands. "Now don't be whining about your Birthday anymore," she said. "How did you know I complained about my Birthday," I asked? "On your Blog, she answered." I looked down at the gift sack in my hand. "Who says the written word isn't powerful.

Lana has always been nice to me, always friendly. I have worked with her, drank coffee with her and even sang with her. Though of course she sounds ten million times better than me, but I never minded. Lana is fun. But this last year I have developed a great admiration for her. Lana has become a caregiver. In case you have never been in this situation it is a twenty-four hour a day job. Its not like you can push the time clock after eight hours and go home. You are already home. This can entail lifting,tenderness, patience, laughter and love.

The fact that stands out to me about Lana when I talk to her is that she doesn't complain. I know there is times she must feel overwhelmed, tired, over worked and under loved. But I feel for the most part she does this with a smile. She tries her best to give Joe a normal life as much as she can. Lana here on this little insignificant Blog I would like to say I think you are awesome. People can declare their love for another but when trouble comes not everyone steps up to the plate. You most certainly have. Good job Lana. You are one of the special people.

By the way my sack contained a cake. A birthday cake that I complained I never had for sixteen years. A bottle of homemade bread and butter pickle's, a necklace and a beautiful card. Now of course I know I should be ashamed for going on this Blog and whining. All I can say its that it worked. I have been having bread and butter pickle sandwiches. When I run out of pickles I may be whining on here again.

I have tossed my words. I have looked around at all the snow that lies all over Blogland. I start for home. There is a star shining brightly in the sky. "Please bless Lana for all her efforts and caring," I whisper to the star. Who knows maybe wishes on Stars really do work. With my head down I start walking again. I'm outta here.

BUTCH, IF ONLY.

Wednesday is here. It surrounds me in the dark outside my door. It is also snowing. I cannot say I am thrilled. I opened the door about five. "I" stood at my side. She did not go out. She looked at me as if to say, "Not again." She hung her head and went back to bed. I stood there a moment, the icy wind biting at my face. Shaking my head I said, "No not again." But I didn't go back to bed.

I would like to tell you about the young man who graces the top of the page. Leon Evan Eugene Doty. Better known to family and friends as Butch.He was born January 14th 1956 to his Mother Nancy who was only a child herself. She was only fifteen when he was born. They grew up together. When Ashley put this old picture on Facebook the other day, I just said, Awww. Memories came flooding back of him as this smiling little fella. Butch when you left this world a talented young man's light was forever dimmed. I look at the lost years and say. If only, if only.

The last time I saw Butch was at his Mother's not long after Jeremy's birth. Jer was only a couple of weeks old. The first thing Butch said after everyone looked over the baby was. "Come listen to this new song I learned" and he played "Autumn Leaves." It sounded beautiful', flawless. His earnest face bent over the keys, his fingers flying. He made the song come to life. The amazing part was he never had a lesson. The music, the talent lay in him. And at a young age it found its way out. He played more than one instrument. His serious face, his smile, his talent. All made up Leon Evan Eugene, known lovingly as Butch.

His story should have a happy ending. I would love to write a tale for you. Tell you how his talent was discovered, how his life played out easy and sweet. That sadly is not how his story ended but it should have been.

On February 18th 1977 at he age of twenty-one he stepped from this world as we know it. His music stilled, his gentle smile frozen forever in our hearts and minds. A loss, a heartache etched into his Mother life. The pain at times to much to bear. Why with all the talent, all the sweetness in his nature, was there a sadness that tugged at his soul? We that cared will never know. A troubling place inside him that one day took him away.

I wondered as I looked at his picture on Facebook what kind of a man he would have become? Had he only been given the chance. Would he have played the piano at a Piano bar. Maybe the lazy blues. Would he have tried out for America's Got Talent? Or maybe played at church while his Mother sang? The questions that will never be answered.

But somewhere he plays. Call me silly, call me corny. But the soul never dies and somewhere the soul and Spirit of Leon Evan Eugene Doty lives on. Play my young friend, someday your Mother and I will hear you again. Maybe accompanied by your Uncle Frankie on the Sax. Your place here in this world will never be filled. Play on.

The snow is piled up here in Blogland too and its snowing again. As I toss my words into the darkness they mingle with the snow. I wanted to write a tribute to Butch. Somehow I feel my words failed. But upward past the vastness of Bloglang land, high, high beyond the skies. I know he sees me and he smiles. Because you see he knows I tried. With the past echos of his music ringing in my ears, I head for home. I'm outta here.

CAKE AND SELF PITY DON'T MIX.

Miss Friday with her white coat on has arrived again. She is cold and shows no signs of showing any mercy today at all. Brrr, please Spring come early.

Well, I made it through yesterday. I may very well be five pounds heavier. In fact I am sure of it. I learned a valuable lesson. Self-pity and Birthday cake do not mix. At least not in my case. I better have learned my lesson because I might not survive another yesterday.

The day started off not too bad. The Birthday hung over my head though like a black cloud. But I got up from bed still able to move, I made coffee, wrote on my Blog. This old Birthday won't get me down I bragged to myself. At about six my sister called. Seventy jokes, a little song. I smiled, I laughed. I'll make this I thought. Then my daughter called. She didn't even rub in my age. I sat in the rocking chair by the fire. That is what old ladies do isn't it? Then slowly the self pity came knocking. Opening up the door I yelled, "Come on in." The trouble started from there.

I wouldn't be able to get out. One lone Birthday card set on the television. My sister had sent it. I had gotten one present. My sister sent it early at my insistence I should add. There would be no brightly wrapped gifts, no songs, no cake. Tears stung my eyes. How long had it been since I had a birthday cake. !995. Sixteen years. Pity really did flow then. I was alone. Only The Emperor around. There would be no cake or presents coming from that source.

Jumping up from the rocker I rushed to the kitchen. Digging through the cabinet I came across a cake mix and a half bag of coconut. By dang I would have a cake. The world might not care, but I would have my cake. I couldn't get the oven to light. I hurried to the roaster oven, turning it on I put the cake in. I burnt it. Taking out my sad cake I cried. Without even icing it I tore off the end of the cake and wildly stuffed it into my mouth. By then I was to far gone to reason with. I would cake myself to death I thought. After several minutes of stuffing the dry, burnt stuff into my mouth the heartburn set in. I heaved a sigh. I could not even overdose on cake. I was a loser. A old loser at that. I stumbled back to my rocker. I set there in my birthday despair.

The phone rang. It was Smiling Bud, my Brother. He hadn't forgot my Birthday. "Happy Birthday," he said. He told me he had a card for me but would have to wait for the snow to go before he could bring it in. I assured him that was fine. Then before he hung up he dropped the bomb. "You know what they say about turning seventy don't you?" I was afraid to ask. He told me anyway. "They say when you turn seventy you are officially elderly." I groaned. Smiling Bud doesn't lie. Back to the kitchen and another round of cake.

Hours and much of the cake later I found myself in a sugar daze. I decided maybe I better try to lose the pity and move forward with my life. But by that time I was too fat to move. The moral to this sad tale is, Don't bake yourself a birthday cake when you are feeling blue. I am better today. I am hoping this cake binge will rid me of my "Little Debbie," addiction. But I truly doubt it.

The words I pull out of my pocket this morning are written with guilt. Today I am truly ashamed. I hear noise's. I look around. I see nothing. I hear it again. Good grief, its pigs oinking. They even know about me in Blogland. They know I am a pig. In shame I start running. I'm outta here.

DANG MRS.HORNACHER AND HER SUGAR WATER.

It is Thursday morning, February the 3rd. "I" has been out and I stood at the door as she did her business. All of this snow has made her very nervous. How do you go to the bathroom when the snow is higher than your head and you keep sinking down. She suffered great trauma for twenty-four hours. The second day The Emperor shoveled a path. Now she quickly hurries a few feet from the house, squats and hurries back. She has this dazed look on her face. "What the heck has happened to my yard?"

I'm back! Its been several days since I have been on here. Self imposed exile I guess. But since the big day has arrived. The day I have fought against and then have tried to embrace. OLD AGE. Oh I know there will be those that will say I have been here for awhile. But something about this one, the big 70 that has me gasping for breath. Where has the years gone. Sucked away as if by a big black hole. Disappeared, never to be seen again.

I slipped out of bed this morning slowly. Not sure how I would feel. Would everything still be working? Placing my feet on the floor I waited for new pains to shoot up my legs. No new ones. I headed out of the bedroom. Should I try a little dance step?" I thought. I usually dance little in the mornings. "I" moved with me, casting me a nervous glance as if I might slide over like the little man from"Laugh in," use to do. But I didn't, I danced my usual few steps and headed on to the bathroom. Thank God everything seemed to still be working. Maybe I will handle this milestone after all.

On February 3rd, 1941 in the small town of Sheldon Missouri. My mother at about six pm took her little packed bag and walked across the street. To Doctor and Mrs. Hornachers small hospital they had in their home. Aunt Dora had come to stay with Bud and Geri. There had been a flu epidemic and the Doctor and his wife had been up for over two days and nights. Things were looking better. "Lets have this baby before it gets too late Pearl," he said. Maybe we can get some sleep tonight. At a few minutes after nine I entered the world. Mother said I never stopped crying all night. The doctor did not believe in giving a baby anything to eat but water for twelve hours after birth. At around five in the morning Mrs. Hornacher came into the room with a bottle. "Sugar water," she whispered to Mom. "Don't tell the Doctor." Mom said I drank the sugar water down quickly. Then finally shut up and went to sleep. Bless my heart I was hungry. I came into the world hungry and will probably go out that way. I haven't shut up since birth either.

And Mrs. Hornacher wherever your spirit may be. I hold you responsible that I have such a strong love of sweets. When a cupcake is your best friend you know you have problems. Miss Debbie has me in her grip and it started all those years ago with Mrs. Hornacher and her dang sugar water.

I am not sure what this next year will hold. I am determined I will walk The Katy Trail, I guess we will have to wait and see. I am told I should be proud for making it this long. Now I'm happy to have made it this far. I just wish I didn't show so much wear and tear. But I am happy to be here, very happy.

I make the turn around in Blogland. My first time for days. The sky is dark and clear. No stars twinkling. Its snowed here too. I wonder if they have snow plows in Blogland? As I throw my words into the wind, I sing out. "Happy Birthday to me." Only silence echos back. I shrug and start towards home. The wind blows something into my path. Reaching down I pick up a foil banner. Turning it over I read the words, "Happy Birthday." Smiling I head towards home.. "Thank-you," I cry into the darkness. But for now, I'm outta here.0

THE LITTLE TOY SOLIDER.

Monday again. We are edging into the latter days of January. Can it be that already a month in our New Year has slipped past? I now stand at the count down of day Eleven before my birthday. The day I slip into being very elderly. As I dance around the house singing my silly songs. I remind myself I need to start acting more serious. Wheeze and cough a little as I complain about the pains in my back. NOT!

I always have many random thoughts racing around in my head. But the last few days I have been thinking about growing up with a Mother who loved the written word. Read to us as children. She kept books in the house and loved poetry. This poem she use too recite when I was young. In doing a search on Google, my old friend, I came across a a remark about this poem. Calling it one of the saddest poems ever written. So for my Momma who have loved to have read this one more time. "Little Boy Blue," By Eugene Field.


Little Boy Blue

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,—
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there

.

Eugene Field
Born September 2, 1850(1850-09-02)
St. Louis, Missouri
Died November 4, 1895(1895-11-04) (aged 45)
Chicago, Illinois
Occupation American writer
Children Eugene Field, Jr.
Eugene Field, Sr. (September 2, 1850 – November 4, 1895) was an American writer, best known for his children's poetry and humorous essays.

THEY DIDN'T CALL MY NUMBERS.

Sunday morning is back once again. She's cold but the snow is almost gone. Very slight patches lay around the yard. "I" went out about four. I only went as far as the door. Even she hesitated at the door, like she does when its raining. Sometimes she stares into the darkness as if she thinks there may be something out there she doesn't want to walk into. She went but not for long. We both do not seem to be snapping into today too quickly.

I started waking up by three. I didn't get up until four. I had lying on the desk two tickets. One for power ball, one for Lotto. Lotto had went up to four Million. For me I had convinced myself. Power Ball was ninety-six million. For me I convinced myself. The family was going to love me. Everyones life's would change. Nobody would ever remember one of my past transgressions. I would be very popular.

For the last few days I have been dividing it up in my mind. Who would get what. Maybe a family business I thought. My daughter and son-in-law would never work again. Of course I would have to win the Power Ball for them to retire, but why not? Jer could start a church. I would put the Grandsons in a business. I was sure I would do that. I even worried they would argue over running it. Maybe I would just put them both in separate ones. Ninety-six Million, the skies the limit. Oh and my Brandi. A new car, a house, cash for everyone.

When I got up at four I hurried to the bathroom, then jumped on the computer. Going to the lottery site the first thing I did was look at the money amounts for next Wednesday. It was starting Over. Both of the money amounts had been won. With trembling hands I picked up my tickets. Squinting hard so I could read them, my heart plummeted. I had not won. No joyous shouting, no best friend to my family for life. I was still poor. The Great Gambling Gods had did it to me again.

Somewhere there is shouting, somewhere happiness fills a house. But its not here. The Emperor is still sleeping. "I" has went back to bed. Her dreams of a cushy new home shot to heck. I feel very sad. Then I realize there is aways next week. The money amounts won't be so high, but I'm not greedy. I smile. Too much money would have probably been the ruin of us all anyway. I am totally convinced I will win the Lottery some day. Please don't try to bust my bubble.

Downtown Blogland. On the street I find a old lottery ticket. Hmmm, they must gamble here too. I know people think gambling is a waste of money. I suppose it is. But I will keep on buying my tickets. I will always be a dreamer. I head towards home. The wind is very cold here this morning. I won't be buying a new coat anytime soon. I start running. I'm going home. For today, I'm outta here.

I'M SERIOUS ABOUT THE KATY TRAIL

Miss Saturday is here once again. She smiled her frosty smile at me as I chased after "I". The quiet of the morning enveloped me as I made my way over the snow which still covers much of the yard. My Saul and Sarah seemed to shiver as they stood bare in the darkness. "Hang on," I whispered. 'Its only two months till Spring'

I have a goal this year and that is to walk the Katy Trail. The Katy Trail is a state Park across part of Missouri. It was once where the Katy Railroad ran. It now is a biking and walking trail. I want to walk at least half of it, then turn back and walk my way back to Clinton Missouri. Half way is about one hundred twenty-five miles. So total would be about two hundred and fifty miles. I personally think I am up to it. I would have to save some money to pay for lodging and food. Now the money part I am not so sure of but my Mother use to say, "Where there is a will there is a way." So I am setting my goal for September.

I want to back pack Mexico but unless there was someone to go with me, I know its out of the question. The Katy Trail would be right up my alley. All the assistance I would need would be a ride to Clinton. I could walk about thirty miles a day, stop at night and start again the next morning. Can you even imagine the scenery I would see. The historical value alone would be worth the trip. Stepping back in time as the old trains puffed across Missouri.

If I closed my eyes tight enough I might see solders from the Civil war or maybe even an Indian. It would be safe enough, no cars or trucks to mow me down. Its patrolled in day hours and I would take my phone. I want to go so bad. Just a back pack, with a few changes oof clothes and I would be set. This could be a great adventure.

I have made up my mind. I'm walking that dang trail. I'm making a wish. I'm going to make it come true. So as soon as the weather breaks I'm going back to walking. I need to get up to thirty miles in a day. But I am perfectly sure I can handle it.I have decided I am making this next thirty years worth remembering, even after I'm gone.

The picture at the top of the page is of a bridge on The Kathy Trail. Can't you just see me walking across that bridge? The sun on my hair? I can. At the bottom of the Blog is a short Bio of The Katy Trail.

I make my semi-daily turn around in Blogland. It is quiet here too this morning. I think of all the pictures, poems, rantings and information that fills Blogland. The amazing thing is I never see it when I come. Or hear one peep from anyone. Only when I hit the next Blog button. I head for home. My mind on The Katy Trail. What in the world would I do without dreams? I'm outta here.


The Katy Trail State Park is a recreation rail trail that runs 225 miles (362 km) in the right-of-way of the former Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad. The nickname "Katy" comes from the phonetic pronunciation of 'KT' in the railroad's abbreviated name, MKT. The trail, widely known as the Katy Trail, is a Missouri state park and one of the longest Rails-to-Trails trails in the United States. Sections of the Katy are part of the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail and the American Discovery Trail. Most of the trail follows the northern bank of the Missouri River. The trail is open for use by hikers, joggers, and cyclists year-round, from sunrise to sunset. The trail is made up of "limestone pug", creating a hard flat surface.

WHY I DON'T GO TO THE MOVIES ON SUNDAYS.

Miss Thursday is here. And with her she has brought snow. About five I opened the door to let "I" out and was greeted by the white flakes. Our front yard already blanketed with the white fluff. Brrr, It looks so cold. I use to like it when it snowed. Now I just worry. My daughter getting off work late at night My son driving in this with bad brakes. I wish we all lived in Florida.

I've always loved movies, from the time I was very small. Movies of almost any kind. Growing up Mom always tried to come up with a quarter on Saturdays to go to the movies. A dime to get in. The other fifteen cents for a coke and popcorn. Those were the days. But Mom never wanted you to go on Sundays. Sunday was the Sabbath. I would beg sometimes and she would always say, "What if Christ comes back? Do you think he will come in a Movie theater to get you?" I always wondered if that meant he would collect me there on Saturday but just not Sunday.

I grew up hearing the Bible thumping preachers talking about the rapture. How Christ would come on the clouds, scooping up his righteous and leaving behind the sinners. I was always watching the clouds for signs of his arrival. I wanted to get a quick I'm sorry in. Just in case any stray sins lingered in my young heart.All of those words over the year left me very nervous.

But then a Sunday came when there was a movie on in downtown. At the Fox theatre. I wanted to go. I begged. "Just a dime Mom," I pleaded. "Its Sunday," she said. "What are you going to do if Christ comes? You'll be left behind." There was a tad bit nervousness but the urge to see the movie won out. She gave up the dime and I was on my way.

The movie was a musical. I danced all the way home afterwards. Straight down ninth street, joy in my heart. I got home. Dad was off that day. The car set parked in the driveway. I entered the house to the radio playing. I walked through the four rooms, calling Mom's name. A half cup of coffee set on the kitchen table. Bud's bike on the front porch. Nobody was home. The doors open, music playing. Mom, Dad, Brenda and Bud were gone. The late afternoon sun glistened off the car. Terror rocked my heart. It had happened. Christ had come while I was in the movie. Just like Mom had said. "Good grief" I had been left behind.

Tears sprung to my eyes as I looked around the quiet house. "What was I going to do?" I was only twelve. How would I pay rent, buy groceries. Thoughts raced through my head. "Why," I asked myself, "Couldn't he have least came to the lobby and called my name?" I flung myself down on the couch. Fresh tears flooding my eyes. Then a thought entered my mind. Was there others left behind? Surely there was. There had to be other sinners. The movie house had been full. Then Bea McDonald sprang to mind. I heard talk about Bea, she lived around the corner. A trouble maker. Surely she hadn't been taken. My ace in the hole. She might be a part time sinner but she liked me. Maybe she would at least give me food. Then the realization hit me, they had a television. The Springfield channel played "Howdy Doody and Pinky Lee," five days a week. Maybe she would even let me sleep on her couch. I felt a little better. Though I knew I would miss my family.

Just then I heard the scraping of tire wheels on the gravel driveway. I rushed to the window. It was Helen and Leon Schrocks car. And Mom, dad, Bud and Brenda were getting out of the back seat. Joy flooded my heart. They had returned and in the Schrocks car. Hallalugh,

I rushed out the door, flinging mysef into Mom's arms. "You've come back I gushed. "We only went to look at a house with Helen and Leon," she said. Eyeing me strangely. Of course Mom always eyed me strangely. I firmly believe to this day she thought Aliens from another planet had sent me with the stork on the day of my birth. I was so happy. I hadn't bit the bullet. The rapture had not took place. I had another chance to make it with the Holies.

As we sat around the supper table I beamed at all of them. I loved the chatter. The smell of food. I was not alone. But the one small fact lingered in my mind. "What would it have been like to watch "Howdy Doody," everyday. I never got to find out.

I watch the skies as I send my words into the wind. They mingle with the snow. Oh yes its snowing here too. The sky looks a little funny here this morning. I wish I was Catholic so I could do the sign of the cross. Just in case there is any sins floating around me. I have hopes of making it thorough another day. But for now, I'm outta here.

THE UNSUNG HERO

Wednesday morning awaits right outside . I opened the door about four, "I" and I peering out. But neither of us decided to start up with her yet. "I" went back to bed, snuggling close to The Emperor. I have a cup of tea here by the computer. I sift through thoughts as I try to arrange a few words in my mind. Hoping they hop over to the computer in clean crisp form. Of course I never do anything clean and crisp. Why would I think I would start today

After receiving a very nice email from my cousin Margie I am truly going to try and get a new attitude about this fast approaching Birthday. As of yesterday evening I am embracing my age. Now this is a big step for me, the only thing harder is giving up "Debbie Cakes." Which giving them up isn't that hard because I've never did it yet.

I sat down the other night with a box of "Miss Debbie." Her sweet face smiling at me from the box. "Deb," I said, "We have to stop meeting like this. Your looks are staying the same. I am getting fatter by the day." Debbie looked at me not saying a word, just smiling that phony smile of hers. This last year the more I've worried about my age the more sweets I've ate. Oh the endless circle I have been running.

Last night I made a new vow. I will no longer run from mirrors. I will proudly stare right at myself in every mirror I see. Though I do have to be honest, I see very little of my face in the mirror. It seems though the wrinkles always shows through the haze. I will no longer cry when the word seventy is spoken in my presence.I will be brave. I tremble as I write this.

I am like most people. I do not feel my age . I feel like I have been trapped in a time warp from which there is no escape. My daughter is fifty-one and I don't feel I should even be that age. She seems to take aging much better than me. But she is eighteen years younger than me. I don't think I got so upset at each Birthday at her age either.

I intend to live to be a hundred. I want to be like my neighbor Evelyn at age ninety-seven she is still going strong. I think her secret is she drinks Walnut Tincture every day and has the most enquireing mind I know. I think that is the secret right there. Keeping your mind young and active. I will take this next thirty years as the opportunity to learn and have new experiences. So watch out world I am just getting started.

And to my cousin Margie I think you are amazing. I think about the Essay your grandson has written about you. You being his Unsung Hero. How neat that you at eighty-five have impressed him as an Unsung Hero. He is only twelve. Margie's said in her email if she had given up at seventy and said it was over. She would have never had her grandson in her life. Her statement set me back on my heels. How very true. Who knows what lies a few years up the road. You have given me words to grow on Margie. Thank-you.

As I stand at the corner of Blogland I notice a light burning in the one store window. Its been very dark in there since they took the Christmas lights down. I move to the window and stare in. I smile. Its a "Happy Birthday" sign. Surely they don't mean it for me. I watch as the bright neon sign flickers. I take it as a omen this means the year ahead will be great. Maybe I will write a book this year. Maybe I will walk the "Katy Trail." Who knows. Its still two weeks till my birthday and I'm already excited. Oh yeah, sure I am.But for today, I'm outta here.

HIS MIDDLE NAME IS PAUL

Tuesday is here. When I got up at four I was afraid she might have brought along freezing rain but all seems dry from my spot at the front door. I hope it continues to be that way.

I haven't written much the last couple of weeks. I write, then don't post. After rereading them, I shake my head and hit delete. I wanted to write about Mike, my grandson. I wanted to tell you he turned thirty-five on Sunday. I also wanted to tell you that his middle name is Paul after his Doctor that delivered him after not meeting his Mother till minutes before his birth. It was important you know what a wonderful Dad I think he is. But alas with the touch of delete the words went sliding into oblivion. But this was information that was important you know.

I get these moods, actually I have not noticed them so much until the last few years. But truthfully I was probably always this way but just don't want to admit it. Indecisive. I am having an early melt down because the dreaded day is coming soon. When I wrote I had a breakdown over my last birthday you can imagine what this one is doing to me. I can't even say the words let alone be it. I am turning into a Codger. A little shiver slides down my spine as I write the words. You can close your eyes when you look in the mirror, you can pretend your knees don't creak. But nothing changes the fact when you turn that number that has a seven in it, followed by a zero. It pretty much is over. "Groan, Groan."

I have always thought I would have time to do all these things I have always wanted to do. Back-pack Mexico, learn Spanish, Walk the Katy Trail, write a book, climb a Mountain, learn to swim, take a plane ride, run the New York Marathon and stand on the top deck of The Empire State building. Folks I may be running out of time.

My sister who I have always thought so sweet not ornery and mean like me. Has faithfully been giving me a count down everyday so I won't forget how close I am coming to the dreaded day. Today is seventeen days. I am getting mighty nervous. If anyone even dares to say that age out loud I am not sure how I will react. The words keep being whispered in my ears. "Codger, Codger." I am thinking I may need to put a blue tint in my hair. I think I may be officially becoming one of those. "The Blue Hairs." How did this ever happen?

I get to the turn around corner in Blogland. I slip my hands into my pocket. Taking my words out I start to toss them to the wind. I happen to look down and see my hands. "Good grief," I have old lady hands. A tear slides down my cheek. I slowly start making my way back home. I'm moving slow. Us Codgers walk this way you know. But for now, I'm outta here.

BETWEEN MY MOTHER AND LYDIA ITS BEEN A ROUGH WEEK.

Miss Thursday sits out in the front yard. She does not look friendly, just very cold. About four I opened the storm door a crack and peered out. Her deadly chill caused me to hastily jump back in the house. Miss Thursday may very well roam around out there without me. Its just too cold for a lady of my advancing years.

I haven't written for a few days. I've been busy learning stuff. In the last five days I have learned back in the old days we poor kids were discriminated against. My sister Geri called me . She said our brother, "Smiling Bud" had called her. Lydia Passmore had died at ninety-eight years old. Miss Passmore was a teacher at East Junior High School. She was also the teacher who terrorized me several times a week by taking me out in the hall and asking if I was hungry and did my parents ever feed me. I do admit at five foot nine and about ninety pounds I looked anorexic, I wasn't. Geri then informed me that Miss Passmore had kept her from trying out for cheer leading by saying we were too poor to buy the uniform. I called Bud and talked about it. He told me how several teachers had labeled him because of where we lived. Ninth street, the shabby kids. I would like to go picket the school or something but it was tore down years ago.

I have also learned that my sister thinks my Mother was a Beautician besides teaching school. Now I am not sure what left field that came out of. Geri swears its true. When did my Mother ever be a Beautician? Why was this secret kept from me? Was it because she didn't want to fix my hair and instead let me run around all scraggly? If she really was a beautician, why didn't I have good hair? I sure have a bunch of questions and nobody to ask.

I have also learned that I will not be able to keep my New Years resolutions. Miss Debbie has never left the house and I have not learned one word of Spanish. In fact I haven't even been speaking English good lately. The year has not started off with a bang. But we're only two weeks in, so maybe things will look up.

So here we are at Thursday and I am reeling from the fact that there were Teachers who find out where we lived and thought we were low class and not too smart. I am still incensed over this fact. I asked Bud, "How do you think they knew we were poor? I didn't know." He laughed. "They knew we came from Ninth street. They knew we were poor." Just because our house had no paint, how did they come to that conclusion? They sure didn't look at Ninth street like I did and still do. I personally thought it was a magical place. So with the unleashing of old memories at Lydia's passing and learning my Mother had another life she kept from me. Its been a very rough week.

I'm downtown Blogland. I haven't been here for a few days. But it still looks the same and very cold, very. I let the bitter wind spin my words off. The words that make very little sense. But gee, what can you expect from a kid from Ninth Street anyway. I turn towards home. I smile as old memories race through my mind. Those teachers had no idea just how lucky us Munch kids were. So for now, I'm outta here.

DESIDERATA

Miss Tuesday is back again. "I" and I have been up since three and we have made our noisy run around the yard. I have tried writting two different Blogs this morning. The words stared back at me with an accusing glance. "Who are you?" they asked. "To rattle on with such hypocrisy?" I have deleted them both and instead put this poem on. I read it for the first time probably forty years ago. I loved it then. I love it now. It is as follows.


Desiderata - by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann c.1920

A FEW THINGS I LIKE AND LOVE

It is early Monday morning. Another brand new week is back. Seven days lay stretched out before me. Hmmm, what shall I do with them? I honestly must admit probably not much. I constantly tell myself I need do be more productive. I'll work on doing that very thing.

I have written on here before about stuff I like and dislike. As I lay in bed around three this morning I thought about some of the things that really pleasure me. This came tumbling into my mind as I lay listening to the wind chimes on the front porch. I've had wind chimes but not the ones with the big metal cylinders. The Emperor bought them for me at Christmas. They sway in the breeze, metal against metal. Sending off the most delightful sounds. I really love and enjoy them. I like my trees out front but they are bare and lonely looking right now. But they still stretch their bare branches out to each other. "Saul and Sarah." Doomed lovers from days gone by. I truly love my trees.

I like the rain, sad songs and flowers. I like laughter, its actually the best medicine going. And I like people. When God created us he sure made us a diverse group. From very strange to serious. I have a feeling I fall into the strange category. But I love watching them all. People are so funny .

I love teapots, Miss Debbie cakes. I am trying hard to fight the addiction this New Year. I appreciate people who have Moxy and can take it on the chin. I like positive attitudes. Curly hair, which I don't have. I love clothes and shoes. i really love my new Black purse. I love education and learning new ideas and information. I like words. I love tomorrows and the promise they bring.

Most of all I love my family. My children, grandchildren, Sister, brother, great grands. I love The Emperor and sometimes his grouchy ways. I'm not overly fond of his attitude. Wait a minute , he's not fond of mine either. But I like his mind. If you look through his rough ways you will see a very smart person.

I have went through a wonderful Christmas season and it has left me with Joy and perspective. My friend Joan says she's on the last leg of her journey. I say not me. I'm looking forward to many more legs. I think this leg I might take up fortune telling. I wish I could buy a crystal ball cheap. Have you heard of any? So many possibilities.

This morning my Blog has been sort of lame I know, but its all I have today. The ramblings of a slightly daffy older woman. But really whats wrong with being a little strange. Okay, okay alot strange. But I've walked this way all of my life. I shall continue my journey the same for the rest of the way.

I've stopped here at the corner in Blogland. Its cold but the skies are clear here this morning. No snow. None at home either. I wonder if the words I toss almost daily just drop quickly back to earth after I release them? I like to think they drift upward and spin into the vastness. Forever floating somewhere in the dark recess of Cyberland. Something today to ponder on. But for now, I'm outta here.

THERE WILL BE NO ALL SEASON TREE.

Sunday morning that feels like it should be Monday morning because yesterday felt like Sunday not Saturday. Does that make sense? Anyway Sunday January the 2nd. Two days into the New year and I haven't messed up yet. Yah, yah. Of course I've not been out of the house either. Give me time, I'll be starting the goofing up soon enough.

There will be no All Season Tree. When I told The Emperor my plans for an All Season Tree he got just a tad bit upset. Words like "Chopping it up" and "throwing it out the door," were bandied about. So yesterday morning I decided I would take it down. Now when the tree went up I sat in a chair and watched as Billie and Richard efficiently assembled it. This will be a snap I thought. "Not." After two hours or more of climbing, cussing, unwinding, falling, staggering the tree was finally down. As I worked to unwind the lights I recalled someone saying, "Wrap that around the tree topper so it won't fall off. Believe me if hundred mile an hour wind hit that living room the tree topper would not have toppled.

As I climbed on a chair and reached to unwind the lights at the top, I raised my head up and hit the top of the doorway. Dazed I fell forward catching myself on the tree. The tree started moving I grabbed for the doorway to steady myself. The chair started going over, I grabbed the tree again to right myself. It was one of those slap stick comedy moments but at least I stayed upright for the most part. My heart beating wildly I finished the job out of breath.

What made things more difficult was that the tree was green. The light cords were green. I could not distinguish one from the other. I patted the tree, felt of the tree until I believe the tree was smiling from all the attention. But thank goodness the living room is back to normal. I personally liked it better with the tree. It feels vacant in there now. I still am walking sideways through the door.

The Emperor got up about ten. The job all done and everything put away. "Its all done," I said with satisfaction. "I about killed myself but its finished. The Emperor smiled. "If you would have asked I would have helped." I looked at him and answered. "Sure you would have after the drama, tenseness and fight." He smiled, "You're probably right," he answered. I know I was.

So now its wait a year until the beautiful tree is back up once again. Hey Billie and Richard, would you please put me on your tree list, right up there at the top.

I stop here at the corner. I swear I saw the taillight's of a car. I have never seen a car here in Blogland before. I wonder what goes on when I'm not here? I need to try a different time. Its hard to tell what I'm missing. But its too cold this morning to hang around and see. I'm heading home to get up close to the stove. I'm outta here.

MY RESOULOTIONS FOR 2011

Happy New Year. It is Saturday morning, January 1st 2011. "I" and myself went out to the front yard about 4:30. I wanted to see if the world looked different.In going out that early I thought I might catch a glimpse of 2010 as she trudged away, but everything seemed quiet. Our Christmas lights that we burned for the last time this season seemed even brighter show cased against the darkness. I was asleep when the New Year rolled in. So I rang in a welcome myself by clanging the wind chimes once real hard. I hope the Baby Year appreciated it. For I'm sure the neighbors didn't.

I have given some serious thought to what my resolutions should be this year. I bought one last box of "Miss Debbie's" yesterday. As I opened the wrapping on cake one I broke the news to her. This is it "Debbie" I said. We can't go on this way any longer. You are clogging my arteries and enlarging my hips. We must part ways once and for all. So that is number one this year. "Miss Debbie has been thrown out of the house. Well, at least when I finish the box.

Number two, is that I am going to hold my tongue better with "The Emperor." Now I truthfully admit I am not sure how I will accomplish this resolution. Maybe surgery on my mouth. Having it clamped shut. I greet him in the mornings, "Good morning Mr. Sunshine I sing. A low growl exits his throat. Leave him alone," my inter voice says. But I chirp a string of constant chatter until he bellows, "Leave me the H--- alone." The Emperor has a low tolerance for chirpiness. So I will try harder to not annoy him. This one I am sure is doomed for failure.

Number three I am for sure going to accomplish. I want to learn Spanish. I say this every year. This year I mean it. I can learn over the Internet. So this time next year when I am writing this Blog in Spanish you will have to learn too. I see myself in my bright yellow skirt, peasant blouse, sandals, talking away in a foreign tongue. If I ever get to go to Mexico I will be ready.

The last one number four is that I will learn more tolerance. I talk a good game. Accepting others as I want them to accept me but I wonder at times if I really do. I want the world to see it all my way. Of course I still have enough smarts to know that is not going to happen. Tolerance, the following is dictionary meaning,
tol·er·ance-1. The capacity for or the practice of recognizing and respecting the beliefs or practices of others. So maybe this one should have been Number one instead of four. Learning to smile at The Emperor when he is feeling cranky. Tolerance. Hmm, I certainly will try.

I'm downtown Blogland. Laying on the street corner is a paper hat and horn. Gee, they must have partied here last night. There is no sign of human form or animal either for that matter. I know there are thousands that occupy this land but when I am here there is nobody to be seen. I loosen my grip on my words. My first of the year. I wish they could have been more poetic or sage. But alas I had none of those sort of words in my pocket. I head towards home. "Happy New Year," I call to the darkness. I'm outta here.