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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
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He travels the world on the backs of others Insignificant in his stature and size His journey carries no mission Randomly roaming at the will of his host Sated enough to never question his trek Life is an open adventure without worry If the excitement of his dusty trail dulls Another bus awaits to grant passage With a furry friend to carry him home Ah the wonderful life of a flea |
| I have three children, three children have I. They share the same parents and grew up in the same exact house. They are as different from each other as they could possibly be. Through the years, when they were kids, that fact caused some controversy or hurt feelings. You can't possibly solve the same problem or fix a booboo the same way for each child. What works for one will most certainly not work for the other. You raise them to be free-thinking individuals or at least that is the goal There are battles and heartaches along the way but the love is the reward. My oldest child, a boy, shares my weird sense of humor and is more laid back. He has a huge heart and is a diligent hard working man. He is into computers and very logical like his father. I love talking to him. He actually misses us when he doesn't get to see us every week. He never complains about what is going on his life. My second child, a girl, is a singer, dancer, and choreographer. She is very artistic and creative. She also has an A-type personality, like her father, always eager to do bigger and better things. That's not a bad thing, I just worry about her wearing herself out, she demands too much of herself at times. I am always amazed at her talent and that is not just a mother speaking. My third child, a boy, is still in high school, so it is still early to tell what his plans will be. I know that he is very loving and kind. I know that the manners we taught stuck. At home, we might roll our eyes at lack of energy or eagerness to help but parents are constantly telling me how sweet and thoughtful that he is. He is funny in a quirky way. He is becoming more confident and willing to try different things. He is not as shy as he once was. He is good with his hands and building. He is not a big fan of school so that is an everyday battle but he is very smart. He just doesn't know how smart. He loves bowling and is very good at it. A parent is often asked if you loved your kids equally or if you have a favorite. My answer to that is that my love knows no bounds. It is as huge, diverse, wonderful, unique, and all-encompassing as it needs to be for the unique and diverse people that they are. I could not feel more blessed to be their mother. |
| Oh, merry Tuesday! Bless this four day work week. The weather is turning cooler and its beginning to paint autumn in our little town. May the pumpkins rise up to meet you with a cheery grin and may the cornstalks be tall enough to conceal you as you hide in the maze. Roast your kettle corn and bob them apples. Don your costumes all eerie and spooky. Drink your shanty beer or apple cider. Toast a new toast with each falling leaf of gold. Experience the wonder that is October! |
| Feeling apathetic today. My desire is to let the world roll by with me waving at the circus ponies as they pass. For one short day, I have stepped off the carousel of painted and decorated steeds that entice. The choppy mechanical music of the ride plays in my head but I am tired and I reject the lure of my inner child. Today, I will shove the money for the ticket's price firmly back in my pocket. I will ignore the sweet aroma of cotton candy that wafts through the air. Funnel cakes in their gooey and delicious presentation will have to wait. Oh circus of life, please visit tomorrow. Today, I'm tired! |
| Writing is a gift that allows us to explore the world through words. Translating our emotions into understandable terms for others to read is always the goal. However, the most important part is allowing the mind to process the feelings of the heart. Writing offers a release of pent up thoughts. It permits the volcanoe to erupt when everything else chooses to put a cork in it. There is an escape to be found in the realm of writing. Placing words on a blank page entitles the writer ownership of thoughts and feelings. They can be shared or hidden words but the perspective is the property of one soul. The creativity of thought is as fleeting as the ship in a harbor. Time and personal orientation change the emotions and the thoughts that surround them. Writing civilizes us. Writing cultivates us. Writing brings about growth. Writing broadens horizons. Talent is not a precursor to writing. Talent is what dawns from the dust created when thoughts are penned. One person reached through words opens avenues for others. Like coffee stirred with the milk and sugar blended, mingled thoughts permit discussion. Similarities and friendships can be found in the expression of ideas. Writing erodes the bridges placed between us. Aloneness withers away through our writing. |
| My neighborhood is under construction, literally! The entire subdivision is penned in by orange cones and striped horses. We have one route into our homes and one route out. I would not complain but this has been the scene now for six months. Now thirty to forty homeowners from the next street over are parking on our street because they cannot get into their driveways. This, in turn, leads to strange people walking through our yard to get home at odd hours of the day. I have entertained people, in my pajamas while drinking coffee on the deck waiting for my dogs to do their business, when they walked to their cars. It has made for awkward moments and interesting conversations. I guess if you're a writer meeting new characters to be used later is a good thing, but I would like be wearing clothes when that happens. It did get me thinking that construction is an ongoing process for not only roads but people. We change physically, mentally, and spiritually. It can be either growth or degradation. It is our choice. |
Welcome to 2018 On dangerous precipice, our country stands Convicted not by the courts of our lands Political arena both judge and jury Stuck in between the media’s fury Gossip and hearsay the only proof Innuendos, haunted cries of wolf With Victim’s call of injury Slope seems wet and slippery Past hindering her memory Concerning tales of lechery True or false, the heated debate One man left to learn his fate Lay not truth in justice’s realm Instead sketch the scene to overwhelm Choose a side or flip a coin Media entices you to enjoin Speak not of survivor’s woe Plaster for all to see a woman’s photo Grieve not for her misery and pain With reputation thrown under the train Speak of evil to discuss her plight Judge her, for only we know what’s right On dangerous precipice, our country stands Labeled a liar at governments hands On dangerous precipice, our country stands A woman scorned our country brands She made it up amongst her dreams Accused and ridiculed for her schemes The man’s a letch, a nation screams Politics first, division to extremes All guilt or innocence previously presumed Each side’s witnesses carefully groomed Validity questioned of each story told Bill of goods this tale by media sold On dangerous precipice our country stands Let news outlets rule the courts of our lands A simple plea for calmer heads to prevail Balance truth weighted on even scale Waste not your trouble to call out names Refute desire to set society in flames Constrain your anger, seek out the truth Let your voice be heard in voter’s booth Dismiss the hysteria, follow no man’s agenda Every member of Congress should be subpoenaed With miscarriage of justice in the clown-like arena For harsh words tossed against Athena And sullying a record of good service Our nation pays the price for their disservice On dangerous precipice, our country stands The case should be laid in jury’s hands All voice of reason lost so it seems With politicians bashing the others teams Forgotten are the women who in silent dread With their cries of malice torn to shreds Weeping in honest sorrows of the past Dimmed vision of man in house glassed Insinuation whispered, profile discarded No semblance of order to be regarded Priority given for society’s panic to ensue Omitting details, they strive to construe Flinging truth carelessly asunder So we fail to notice all of their blunders |
Thoughts of Pumpkins and Scarecrows Molly grabbed a pumpkin orange A carving knife, clean and sharp Paints of autumn’s cheery palette Pattern chosen for her delight Spooky, eerie, sure to frighten She scraped the goo, seeds and all Carved so proud, her jack-o-lantern But in the end, Jack failed to spook His toothless smile instead was cheery Molly put her tools away Saddened by the orange one’s grin Her pumpkin wouldn’t ever frighten Welcome to fall the pumpkin called With nothing creepy or alarming To startle guests and trick-or-treaters Disheartened, Molly said by golly Failed I have to create the scene Of Monsters, villains, or something mean Molly put on her thinking cap Autumn theme readorned Molly hummed the happy song Tons of straw and a floppy hat Overalls of denim, torn and worn Corncob pipe and flower bright Fall’s warm colors of outdoor paint All thoughts of spooky left behind If you can’t lick them join them Molly stuffed the straw so tight Jeans were bursting at the seams She plopped upon his head of straw A hat of hay, stiff and cheery His nose engraved a glowing orange Eyes so wide, all bright and blue Paused she pondered before she drew The scarecrow’s mouth bright and new A smile sweet, she illustrated Molly gazed upon her work of fall She deemed it done and drank some wine A toast she made to autumn’s coming But still all her thoughts of wonder Something missing from the scene She turned her head to see a friend He failed to frighten but wore a grin Apologizing to her jack-o-lantern Without you, there could be no autumn |
| If my Calgon lingers somewhere out in the world's atmosphere, I will search high and low. My pursuit of the calm and peaceful joy is neverending. A bath of sumptuous goodness, a restful haven from the stressors of life invites. No price is too steep if the promised oasis measures up to reality. An Eden-like sauna beckons a provocative song. A siren whistles the pledge of soothing transformation. A melodious oath offers a cleansing release of serenading sanity. Dull aches erased in the aroma of freshness. Vitality restored with the infusion of simple salts through my pores the commercial exclaims. The pounding in my head will cease with the mild massage of wetness. Calgon take me away! I long for your release! I pray the illusion delivers. The turmoil of life is burying me alive. |
| Have you ever woken up to the hell and havoc of hounds? I work nights, thus making me a daytime sleeper. I wake for only two things fire and blood. My kids were taught that a long time ago, My pooches, however, have minds of their own. When you hear furniture flying across the room, it tends to rouse you from a peaceful slumber. This was my eye-opening experience today. I, of course, thought robbers had descended and were angry because my furniture did not measure up to their fancy. Now waiting in bed, fearful to exit the bedroom, your mind tends to fill with all kinds of random thoughts. None of which are good thoughts. The first thought is that they will be coming to kill you next. I quickly focus my plan of attack for when they come to me. It involves throwing shoes and furniture. There is the thought to climb out the window, but stickly thorny bushes below are not inviting. I have the phone on speed dial for 911. Then it occurs to me that I have not heard the barking of my dogs. I am all at once angry and sad that the robber has chosen to harm my beasts. I run to open the bedroom door only to be greeted happily by the beasts I had so worried about. Entering my living room I find a large rocker recliner laying on its side, a coffee table tossed about the room, the shredded remains of a shoe box, and a newspaper that has been mangled beyond belief. I was pretty sure that robbers were not the culprits, as the dogs decided to hide when I found the mess. This is not a good way to wake. |
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