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, weird dreams, recipes, movies, ’80’s nostalgia, picking up strays (the furry and the non), and unfeigned poetry. Watch for weekly upcoming posts as these beach reads begin to build and form like, well, a castle in the sand...
I pump the pedals of my bicycle
along the paved trail
where once were train tracks
Sunshine gleaming through trees
and the wind at my neck
I have spent miles and miles here
But today I hear those locomotive engines
and the words from the train conductor
at the helm of his mighty craft:
“Sometimes it get lonely out here
so I seek the solace of my position.
For I am not really alone.
I see the backs of these shops and houses
I see the side that is hidden away from view.
I get a glimpse of the back door, the fruit trees
ready to bear their tropical seeds, mothers and daughters
hanging clothes on the line to dry in the sunshine.
I see men tending to gardens
and boys playing chase.
When they hear the horn in the distance
sometimes they crawl outta their sheds.
Some of them pay no mind.
Some of them wave and smile and go on about their business.
But some of them got no smile on their face.
They want to jump right on the train
and go far far away.
Those are the ones that show me their soul.
And all I can do is leave a billow of coal smoke
to remind them of hope.”
And that is what the train conductor say.
I pedal and pedal
along these old tracks
feeling the cool wind
and the heat of yesterday
Photo courtesy of me: JeniferBPhotography
Love does that
It waits in the bushes, the forest, the manor, the hallway when you least expect it.
It comes at you with piercing eyes
And wanton looks and breathlessness
And a spark of hope
And fullness in your chest
And tingling in your nether regions
A blossoming flower ready to unfold and provide nectar for the searching bee
It takes hold of you and reminds you there is nothing else more powerful or intoxicating in this world
Then when the daylight comes round again
Leaves you caressing every grass blade, branch, feather
Hoping to recreate at least one moment of it
And that is when you are trapped
Even when at last there is silence
And comfortable loneliness
It wouldn’t take but one moment of this
And there you are again
Because this is what your heart wants, needs, searches for
Even when it is not searching.
I rang in the New Year just the way I’d hoped. Surrounded by good friends, good people, and the absence of lemon drop shots.
It’s been a good time off from work. The whole holiday break has been fulfilling (except for the head lice
situation nightmare which I may write about when I can just laugh about it).
I have spent quality time with people I have managed to neglect during my nine-hour workdays and various other mom, household, and health/hygiene duties.
I hope the neglected understand.
For this holiday I will remember–
The spicy, fresh smell of a health food store while walking side by side down the aisles with my mom on a mother-daughter date.
Reading incredibly sick yet nostalgic nursery rhymes to my nephew while his little hand rested on mine. “He put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her very well…”
The relaxing and grateful feeling of my sister-in-law, and then my mother, and then my new dear friend combing through my hair to remove nits.
Witnessing my Little Boo exercise good table manners (placing his phone down without being asked and engaging in friendly dinner conversation); quiet chunks of time playing board games with him; a spontaneous Face Time call while he explored his aunt and uncle’s lakeside backyard in the cold Tennessee wind.
The quirky and adorable story my neighbor recited to me in her refined Liverpool accent as we sipped Australian wine.
My cousin’s hearty laugh and the resonation of it throughout the years and over state lines.
And yet there is much more. I am truly blessed.
I’d like to be, and be able to be less neglectful in the coming year.
I rang in the New Year with dear friends. And ended up dancing with a stranger. A little girl with wavy locks the color of caramel and a dress that sparkled like fireworks as she spun and spun like a top that had no way of stopping.
And a strong little bear hug and kiss on the cheek from her before she scooted off into the balmy night.
Happy New Year, everyone.
Photo courtesy of veganfashionblog.com
If I wrote the same thing over and over would it start to somehow make sense? Would what I really want to write, what is in there as far as fiction is concerned, finally make its appearance?
It is very difficult for me to find the time to write most weekdays and some weekends. But with this week off for Thanksgiving/Fall break I have actually had the time and have sat down every single morning to create.
It’s not that I am unhappy with what I’ve written. Not at all. I would just love that itch of writing fiction again to be scratched. But it’s been so long I don’t know quite how to start.
I don’t want to go all insane like Jack.
So I’ll just have this slightly embarrassing blog talk to anyone who happens to read. Thanks for listening.
All work and no play……
A swollen heart
full of everything
the universe has brought
I give gratitude by the lake
by the sea
under the full harvest moon
I give gratitude unbounded
Immense thankfulness for
The late autumn wind
tickling worn tree branches
highlighting the hibiscus
and the pleasure it brings
to my ears
as does the morning birdsong
A delightful symphony
The comfort of a safe haven
The calm serenity of inner peace
Hands for work and art
Movement to travel and see
Self love and acceptance
Love within and without
A good steward for the universe
I am thankful for you
each one of you
In the way you have touched
In the way you were brought
into this world
In the way I will carry you
in my heart
It’s easy to get frustrated with your art. The paintings aren’t selling. There’s two people in the audience. There’s one “like” on your latest blog post.
I’ve been blessed to be acquainted with and very close to some various artists. Singers, musicians, actors, filmmakers, painters, writers. We are drawn to each other.
Regardless of the sometimes lack of response or accolades these people continue to create. Because stopping creating is worse than hearing a cricket in the audience. It would mean giving up.
We don’t do it for the money. We don’t do it to be famous. Although a little bit of that would be nice! We don’t do it to inflate our egos. Because if we did, our art wouldn’t be real. As I type on this keyboard now it feels good. Even if no one reads it.
I’ve given up thinking I could make a real living at writing. And maybe that’s sad and maybe that’s also like giving up. But if I don’t put that kind of pressure on myself then I can just create to create. Because it’s been a part of me since I can remember.
And I thank those who do read. And I hope I can make someone smile, or laugh, or find a different perspective.
Perhaps I will make a living out of it one day. But right now I’m just gonna write when time allows and when my brain, soul, and fingers get that itch. And in the meantime help the kids in class learn how to spell and fill them with the confidence to follow their own passions.
I consoled one of them the other day when she was upset that the other classmates were on her for not doing exactly what they were doing in the Thanksgiving production.
“You be you, ” I said. “You just be you.”
A moment in time
or rather the recesses of my brain
where memories, scents, and images
not to mention a quiet bubbling rush
In this moment there is a gazebo
We stopped to take a photograph
on a Smoky Mountain venture
I can smell the caramel apples
and feel the familiarity of
We held our baby boy so close
chubby legs and dimples on his flushed
The three of us
in a fairy tale reality
protected by wooden spindles
and fall flower boxes
I’m afraid to try and look
for the photograph
Afraid it won’t be there
Afraid the rush of emotion
may evolve into a roaring river
So in this space in my cortex
the sweet memory will remain
And it will linger on days like this
when I need to remember from where
And the journey since
like those elusive vaporous
peaks and valleys
In stillness will always
be just there
like the eternal structure
like the sanctuary
of the gazebo.