Welcome!

There’s so much content running through my brain as well as content already contained. I’d like to invite you, dear reader, into my world of Busted Flip Flops. We’ll explore observations of life, musings about becoming Mom, Cherry Pearl the snorting pug, the man-chasing Betty Mae, weird dreams, recipes, movies, ’80’s nostalgia, picking up strays (the furry and the non), and unfeigned poetry. Watch for tri-weekly upcoming posts as theseĀ  beach reads begin to build and form like, well, a castle in the sand...

2 Comments

Filed under Observations

Sleeping Under the Piano Bench

Sleeping under the piano bench
her messy golden curls
alight with the sunrise
gleaming through the window

Little grinding of her teeth
is what I hear upon waking

The children’s discombobulated fort
a series of pillows from every room

And stuffed animals– those that resemble
real creatures like the eagle
and the dolphin
and those that don’t
like the rainbow-spotted unicorn

Blankets and beach towels
their rooftop
and warm comfort

I can also hear the birds singing
in the quiet of the morning
A peaceful proposition
among the days of high-pitched squeals
and incessant questions and whining

But here they sleep peacefully
while I sip my coffee
and wonder how their absence will
affect me

Summer visit from a dear friend
and her daughters
we’ve known since conception
keeping the house very much alive
for my son and I

A never-ending spinning dryer
and dirty dishes-filled sink
And their fort in the living room
all week

A reminder of those glorious
childhood days
laughter and innocence
and wonder
and using pieces of furniture
as a bridge between dreamland
and imagination.

IMG_0511

Leave a comment

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Diva Dog

So in case I haven’t been clear about this I am a girl. You would think from my PINK and brown collar people would get this. But no even when Mom has told them “Yes, she is sweet, isn’t she?” They still say I’m a cute FELLA.

But then again I guess I can see this as I am a bit of a tomboy. My human brother and his friends play with me, I chase lizards, and I eat with no grace or reserve. I’m pretty tough. Except when it’s raining outside. Mom calls me “Miss Prissy Pants.” Just because I don’t want to get my feet wet. Come on, what dog does?

This week we’ve had human female houseguests, two of which are on the small side with very high-pitched voices. They helped human brother make a fort in the living room, which I have partially claimed as my own.

They also play dress-up. And graciously shared some of their accessories.

IMG_3309

Not sure if I like this or not. But at least I look like a girl. Or a really cute drag queen.

I guess it could be worse. They could be dressing me as a taco.

-Cherry Pearl, aka “Diva Dog”

 

 

3 Comments

Filed under Cherry Pearl

A Curtain of Dragonflies

A curtain of dragonflies
flowed down from the sky
and came before me
shining like twilight
They weren’t coming
to take me away
but entering from another realm
reminding me to say
the ideas in my mind
in the starry night
the things I hold dear
and dream of
those things which cannot
be taken away
with a thousand wings of flight
or a thousand angry tongues
So sweet and calm and magical
this curtain is
Flow down to me again
tonight
tomorrow
and the next.

images8AD6G9M7

Leave a comment

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Sympathy from a Friend

I saw the tears in her eyes
after our embrace
She felt my pain
She hurt for me
For a moment
she owned it
like she had before
in her own time of
desperation
But I had to take it back
from her
and own it myself
Like we all do
But blessed are we
who can share it
with someone
who doesn’t judge
Yet sheds tears
with ours
Reminding there
is good in the world.

2 Comments

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

The Wonder, Not the Worry

I like to people-watch. And not in a pervy, stalky way either. Get your head out of the gutter. OK maybe that was my head in the gutter.

I like to study how people interact with each other. Wonder what their story is. Listen to their conversations. Relish in their native accents. Imagine what it’s like in their world.

I don’t claim to be a professional people-watcher. I am not out in public every day. Some days I only leave the house to walk the dog. And lately I try to avoid the neighbors too because I don’t want to hear how my bike being parked under the car port is a community violation.

But I digress.

Today I was at a nail salon. I’ve been getting trimmed and buffed and shellacked and waxed there for over a year now. So I’ve become comfortable with the staff and the place. The owner’s 7-year-old daughter is usually there. She is an only child like my son and I like to see how she happily entertains herself when she’s not entertaining the customers. At one point she was staring out the window, singing to herself. Her little fairy-like voice flitting among the sounds of feet being scrubbed and the buzz of the nail buffer.

For a moment I was very envious of her. I wanted to trade places. To be in that child-like state of wonder again. To know Mom was just an arm’s length away. That a hot meal was eventually waiting for me, groddy peas and all.

Then my eyes began to dart over to a fiery woman in her seventies. Her sunset-colored nails were drying so she sat in front of another customer and they spoke about old bastard bosses and the bargain of online shopping. Her Long Island accent filled my ears with happiness. “Can somebahdy give me an excuse not ta go to tha supah mahket?” She asked the entire room as she stood up to leave. I laughed out loud. Only time I ever heard a Long Island accent growing up in the south was when I blissfully watched a Woody Allen flick.

Then there was the lady who was dutifully and a little militantly trimming my cuticles. Her hands were strong but her arms soft. I looked at my own arms, tanned from bike rides and tanning lotion. Toned like someone who has and takes the time to do push-ups and other crap that hurts like hell but feels good when it’s over. I wondered if the lady ever had time for herself. And if she did, what did she like to do? I imagined her strolling in a market, perhaps back in Vietnam, sun shining on her smiling face.

The little girl interrupted my day-dreaming.

“Let’s play rock, paper, scissors. Winner gets to do their favorite trick,” she said with a Chiclets-toothed smile.

“OK.”

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

We both drew scissors. Tie.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

Her scissors cut my wimpy little paper.

She did a funny little dance.

“Nice trick.”

“Again,” she demanded.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

My rock slammed her flimsy scissors.

I flared my nostrils as that is pretty much the only trick I could think of while having my nails poked at and my feet grated.

“Wow, how did you do that?” She was wildly impressed.

When they called me to go to the waxing room the little girl followed me. As the blonde Chewbacca fuzz was being ripped from my eyelid flesh she started examining my tattoos.

“Will this come off?” she asked in her fairy-voice as she stroked the quill tatt on my left arm.

“No. It’s permanent.”

“You have any more?”

I showed her the one on my right arm.

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘wonder not worry’. It reminds me to look at the world in wonder instead of worry. Like the wonder of a child.”

“Like me. Like I do,” she said sweetly. She hummed a little tune as she left the room.

I realized the 7-year-old understood what I meant. And I realized I had been taking my own tattoo-etched advice in those moments before.

I can still be that child with the faraway look in her eye, singing songs, playing games.

And with a few rips, some cold cream, and the diligent hands of a woman 9,600 miles away from her homeland, I can have some fuzz-free unfurrowed eyebrows, too.

IMG244

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments

Filed under Observations

A Bright Mind

The mind–
not always a happy place
It has been taken over
by the dark rumble
of mother nature’s
mocking morning
And echoes of human
mockery
mistaking smiles for
unwelcoming invitations
But perception is reality
and my castle made of sand
my muscles flaccid
But still here I stand
I can’t cower in the corner
let the rumble take me over
although when that storm cell
passed through last night
I imagined it sucked me up
into it
and twirled me around
spinning in its cleansing,
forgiving arms
then spat me out
to be whole again
to let the light back in
to tear the muscles
into stronger flesh
to rid the mind of the rumble
the echoes
the doubt
bringing about truthful smiles
a stone castle
gentle echoes
open heart
and bright mind.

1398132062949

6 Comments

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

These Numbers

A panel of numbers
shimmer in the glint
of the overhead light
Numbers which could be meaningless
to aliens and animals
But to humans
signify freedom

That we rely on this list
of numerical code
is preposterous
Yet still
it is so

For the backbone
the door behind
is what some identify with
in whole

A soul’s opportunity
to shed itself
of material scrutiny
Can in an instance
be trampled
as if by a herd of buffalo
on the wheat-colored plains

And how ironic
those peoples
who hunted those beasts
did not exchange money
and surely not these numbers

Yet here we are
sliding our glimmering plastic
to feed clothe and perhaps
even travel
see the world
on a cadence of
digital emancipation

If it is so.

bank card

Leave a comment

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet