Category: Experience

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Stuck in the Mud – Stafford Challenge Day 13

actual photo of where he got stuck last week

he got his truck stuck

in the mud last week

and had to call a buddy with

a chain to pull him out

so now we are dickering

bickering about whether rain spots

on the road are dark or shiny

because that’s what

married people do ~

we dicker and bicker over words

in the car

playfully draw invisible

boundary lines

down the middle

just like kids

spinning tires

stuck in our own mud

all the way to see his favorite 70s band

Atlanta Rhythm Section


we sing all the words

at the show

except that one song

we remember when

link fingers

sneak a kiss

hold hands

all the way home

unstuck

invisible lines erased

humming

It’s just like a dream you can’t remember
Even though you always wish you could
When it’s gone, it’s gone forever
When it’s gone, it’s gone for G – o – o – o – o – D

ARS singing one of their top songs of the 70s
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Grandchildren’s Tea Party Elfchen Poem- Stafford Challenge Day 11

I was so thrilled when my daughter in law texted me earlier this week to let me know that three of my grandchildren had a tea party with my childhood tea set I passed on to them. These pictures just melt my heart, seeing their little hands hold the cups I once held. What a joy and blessing! I’m also grateful for their mother, who creates special moments for them and shares them with me. She is an absolute treasure, and we love her so much!

My

grandchildren had

a tea party

with my childhood china

{{ pictures!!! }}

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Stafford Challenge Day 10 – Valentine Schnoodles Elfchen Poem

Many thanks to my friend and fellow writer Margaret Gibson Simon from Louisiana for introducing the elfchen poem, written in five lines where the first line has one word, the second two, the third three, the fourth four, and the fifth one. Our 3 rescue Schnoodles went for grooming this week and smiled for the camera (well, for the treats dangling in front of the camera) on our front porch. 

From left: Fitz, Ollie, and Boo Radley

Valentine

Schnoodles, groomed

heart neckerchiefs knotted

three sweeties smile (for

treaties)

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Gratitude for Mallory – The Stafford Challenge Day 9

It’s my daughter’s 37th birthday, and I wrote an acrostic poem for her today. She’s celebrating on a trip to Arizona with her boyfriend, and they’re enjoying their time together, exploring the sights! 

My daughter’s birthday

Arizona gift trip

Loving the cactus desert weather

Living the good side of life

Out for adventure

Rock-hounding enthusiast

Youthfully energetic

*She sent me this picture of a random cactus with this explanation: “We stopped for a wee and a fill up. This cactus was at the gas station. We’re 20 minutes from Tucson.”Classic Mallory text. I’m so happy that she is celebrating her birthday today!

Christmas 2018
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Open Write Day 5 : Naani Poems with Leilya Pitre of Louisiana – Stafford Challenge Day 8

Our host today for the fifth day of January’s Open Write at www.ethicalela.com is Dr. Leilya Pitre of Louisiana, who inspires us to write Naani poems. Nanni poems are 4 lines of any topic, with 20-25 syllables. She challenged us to look to the texts on our phones to find a poem. 

Naani Goat

William the goat 

      was a character.

The Sapelo cabin is a story.

The fireplace remains.

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Why I Watch Birds – Stafford Challenge Day 6

Photo by Jean Paul Montanaro on Pexels.com

Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 3 of the 5-day January Open Write is Dave Wooley of Connecticut, who inspires us to write WHY poems in list form, choosing a list of purpose and then explaining it in 10 because reasons. Hop on over and read his prompt and the poems that are born into the world today. I’ve chosen a prose poem to combine with the list poem just because I got rambling a little bit on the bird soapbox……

Why I Watch Birds

Because Eastern Phoebe, see, she’s the forest drunk and she hiccups and calls her own name like she’s forgotten who she is and where she’s supposed to be, and she makes me laugh first and then cry later like that time at the Atlanta Braves game when that lost woman looking for her seat stumbled down to the front of an entire section and yelled up to ask if ANYBODY recognized her

Because Brown-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s always in the middle of a domestic dispute telling somebody how it’s gonna be, telling her man he ain’t got a lick of sense and he ain’t coming all up in her tree stirring up no trouble, better carry his ass on out there and find another nest to be a deadbeat dad, and she makes me cheer her strength

Because White-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s the Social Media Gossip, laughing like an evil circus clown at all the crap she stirs up in the woods, revealing her own true self in the mirror, projecting her sins through the rough-bared face of the forest trees, and she helps me see the weakness and insecurity of people who laugh at others like this

Because Great Horned Owl, see, he’s an all-nighter with all this early morning coffee shop talk across the farm, like he’s an old man sharing some great wisdom when all it is, is a ploy because let’s face it — the man sleeps all day and sheds no light on anything pertinent to school, so why they ever put a cap and gown on him baffles me, and he reminds me not to let his kind fool me

Because Wood Thrush, see, he’s a bird that blends into the scenery, yet his song is the most beautiful of all, kind of like those normal-looking people who step behind a microphone and belt out a song that’ll bring you to tears and give you chills and wonder to yourself, where did that come from? And who else am I underestimating? 

Because Eastern Wood-Pewee, see, he’s always answering roll call, saying his name like he’s entered the building and the party can start, like a kid with a bad case of Senioritis who is perpetually late and wants to be sure he’s marked present so he’s not caught skipping

Because Northern Cardinal, see, he’s a woman-whistler, cat-calling at every woman who walks by, calling her pretty, pretty, pretty, just like some will do – some with good intentions, some with not-so-good intentions, but still giving me the gumption to tilt my chin up and carry on with the day

Because Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, see, she will ask for her food and thank me for it, then hover directly a foot from my face and look into my eyes like she’s blessing me with good vibes of peace and joy to feel like I can make a thumbprint-size difference, reminding me that all hope springs forth and wells up from a tug the size of a tiny thimble into a cascading waterfall

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Frozen Toad – Stafford Challenge Day 3

It was 13 degrees when I woke up to take the dogs out at 5:15 a.m. For three years now, I have risen well ahead of time to leave for work, just so I can get my daily writing done. My goal time is 6:00 A.I.S* in the living room chair where my lap desk, lamp, and computer are arranged. 

I was trying to talk myself out of a shower in this insane cold, but I knew I needed what my husband calls “climatizing” – – water that regulates the body to the normal temperature before heading out into the world to see what the day brings.

Normally, all three dogs get a treat and head back to bed while we get ready, but somehow two of them got shut out of the bedroom and remained in the living room while I took my shower. I heard whining at the door, and when I opened it to go into the living room, Fitz and Ollie made a beeline for the bed to join their brother Boo, who was buried under the covers, snoozing.

That was when I saw it.

Aha! I thought. Making a mess by the couch, I see. No wonder they hung back in the living room.

Not one of our boys wanted to go to the edge of the woods in this cold as they usually do for this kind of business. They’d all three peed and come straight back inside. But not one of them did the other emptying.

I grabbed a paper towel to clean it up, but when I got there, it wasn’t what I thought it was.

This dog mess was a frozen toad. 

I picked it up to toss it back out the door and wondered whether it may still be alive. On closer inspection when I flipped it onto its back in my hand, I saw the poor creature struggling to breathe. 

My Grandmother Jones would be rolling over in her grave, but I clasped the frigid little thing between my palms to warm it and soon felt a stirring. A muscle stretch. A pulse of life. 

But how? I wondered. How had this frozen toad gotten into our house?

I’d brought the plants inside at lunchtime the previous day, ahead of the cold. Perhaps it could have come in that way, but it was far too cold to have slept in the heat of the house. I concluded that it must have been waiting by the door and jumped in when I’d taken the dogs outside. 

As I put my socks on, though, it hit me – – the toad had been quite frozen, too stiff to move. There was no way it could have hopped twelve feet from the door to the corner of the couch. 

What had happened?

After piecing the possibilities together, my husband and I believe that our toad-loving Fitz brought this little buddy inside and hopped up into his favorite living room resting place on the back of the couch with it, guarding it. That must be why he and Ollie hadn’t come back to bed – they’d been toad watching.

We slowly thawed it out, and I took it to work with me – and to the local coffee shop for a meeting – in a little plastic box with the lid half-cocked and taped shut. At lunchtime, I brought it back and released it right here on the farm so that it could return to its family. Not many Pike County toads can say they were brought back from death and taken out for a morning of work and coffee.

But Lazarus can (thanks to Glenda Funk for suggesting the name).

Back-Again Amphibian Tanka

In the house, a toad

Somehow, in from dark night’s cold

Lazarus, jump forth!

Resurrected Frozen Toad

Back-Again Amphibian

A.I.S., as defined on an episode of the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, means ass in seat.

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Melatonin Dreams – Stafford Challenge Day 2

Photo by Vladimir Gladkov on Pexels.com

melatonin dreams

sweet sleep or nightmares?

milligrams matter

It’s always a coin toss. Do I want to get some sleep even with disturbing dreams, or do I want to wake up at 2 a.m. and try to suffer through the day?

I chose the sleep with dreams last night. Ten milligrams brings nightmares, but a five milligram dream is not all that terrible – usually.

In my 5 mg dream, I had been on a cruise ship with my husband’s side of the family, and we’d just returned home when some of us fell ill. And by family, I mean all of the Thursday night dinner crowd: Briar, his dad, his brother and sister-in-law, his son, and me. When two of them tested positive for the flu, some guys in white coats showed up at our door and put us in a van and took us to a medical testing lab to see if we had it, too.

We did. 

They took us into a hall, where everyone was lying on the floor waiting on a bed. All the cruise baggage was still there, and each person was lying next to the luggage they brought. I took a picture of this, because I wanted proof they were making us get on the floor.

One by one, each person was taken down the hall when a bed became available.

I pointed to the copy machine I’d brought. Our office really did get a new one recently, and we’d all had to attend the 15-minute training on how the new one works and what not to do to break it. So it seemed logical that I’d taken the new copy machine on the cruise and now had it with me, rolling it around everywhere, even here in the medical facility.

The doctor came to tell me I’d tested positive and that I was being admitted to the hospital, and he had a little laptop that had my entire history on it. ”Well, if I’d seen that you’d taken pain pills when you had your children, I’d have never prescribed them for you. You’re probably only here for the prescription pain meds,” he accused.

This sent me into a fiery rage, and I unleashed on him. I screamed and caused a scene, right next to my copy machine I was pulling around.

“You %@$&@%^,” I yelled, pointing my finger an inch from his nose, making sure everyone in the building could hear me. “Yeah, you in your professional lab coat. I am not here by choice. Your people came and got me and accused me of being sick, and now you’re falsifying documents to say that I am and you’re forcing me into the hospital against my will when I have to go to work tomorrow. I am NOT taking your medicine.” 

I find myself so satisfyingly bold in dreams, yet never enough like this in real life. 

With that, he motioned to a nurse to come start an IV on me, and I started kicking and flailing my arms. 

“What exactly do you do?” he asked.

“I make sure people can read so they have sense. Something you skipped in school. You have no sense. You did not ever get the help you need, and all these people in this facility think you’re a real doctor, but you’re not. You’re here to try to trick us, and you’re sending us to another planet.” 

Everyone was staring at me, dumbfounded, and my family was all in a deep sleep, too deep to care. They’d already gotten their IV medicine and were being taken away, one by one.

I moved over behind my copy machine, but suddenly it sprang a handle and wheels and started looking more like a wagon, and one of the male nurses pulled it off to the side where I couldn’t get behind it. I was scared my school was going to charge me for it, and I threatened to sue the nurse for damaging this high dollar equipment.

The nurse didn’t care. No one cared.

They put me on a bed and wheeled me to a chamber.

They made us all get into hyperbaric pods so they could monitor us to be sure we were sleeping the fevers off. The chambers slept 4, with beds all around the edges of a capsule shape. Two kids’ beds were at both short ends, and regular twins were on the edges. You had to step up into the chamber on a little step that dropped down, and it looked a lot like a cross between an Airstream camper and a silver space ship. There were even lights on the thing.

They tried to put me in one with an old lady and a young child, and I saw them asleep and started screaming to wake them up. I screamed in the child’s ear, directly in the ear, thinking the child would cry, but she didn’t. 

The door sealed shut like on an airplane, and an engine started revving, and I was beside myself with fear, knowing I was headed to Mars and that no one on this ship knew how to fly it. 

I woke up in a sweat at 5 a.m., more ready than ever to go to work.

I didn’t have a copy machine to lug back to the office, and I was not headed to Mars.

I’m cutting back to 2.5 milligrams of Melatonin tonight. I’ll cut the gummy in half and see if I can get to a more manageable and more normal nightmare.

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Stafford Challenge Kickoff – Day 1

I accepted the challenge thrown at my feet. And by thrown at my feet, I mean the Facebook post stopped my scroll. I clicked on Learn More and read the details. A poem a day for a year, starting January 17. They call it the Stafford Challenge, and registration ends today.

Sounds like my kind of adventure.

I signed up, and my backpack is ready for the year ahead. My computer is charged, my coffee is hot, and my momentum is high. I’m looking around – – where is the inspiration in any writing time? Never farther than a foot away. I see my coffee cup, white with a black butterfly etched in the surface. Me. I see myself – caffeine for the long journey ahead, and the freedom to make it. 

I have a Zoom tonight to see what it’s all about, but for today, all I need is my poem. 

Ready

wings spread, eyes open

every moment, a story

becomes a poem