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, 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...

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Filed under Observations

Beauty in the World

There are exotic places I’ve been

There are exotic places I dream of
in my cubicle at work

And there is the beauty outside my front door

It makes my 2.5 days of available Paid Time Off
bearable

Twilight’s blue sky
two stars I make wishes to

A spring breeze
carrying live Saturday night
music to my ears
keeping all but one mosquito
away

Palm trees like I dreamed of in
childhood
swaying right before my eyes

The smell of a charcoal grill
and something I would probably
not eat
wafting deliciously in the wind

The Magnolia tree
the flowers flitting so
intoxicatingly
waiting to be plucked
illegally

Norfolk Pine fingers
dancing in twilight wind

A storm miles away
it can’t touch me
but I see the lightning
as if it were touching my skin

I breathe in this night
I breathe in this beauty

There is hope in this world
and I can feel it from
within.

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Reaching Out

When all is quiet
and there is no work to be done
My mind flies high
soaring against the sun
my heart is full
of all of you
all who have reached out
both old and new
For all the tiring
desperate trying times
Among them has been
no searching for earthly
companions
In that aspect I win
So many open souls
willing to give a hand
reaching out
keeping my mind
from falling back into
the chasm
I want to thank you
as I feel the sun
I want to thank you
for everything you’ve done
I might not have always seemed grateful
but I am here
reaching back out to you.
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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

For Judith

For Judith
Who I will never see again

You hang like a lost memory
near the gates of your
oak laden neighborhood

I picked you up there once
because your car was in the shop
or something like that

I still have the photo album
you gave me as a gift
which sat in your car for months
long after we’d stopped volunteering
together

Those days at the nonprofit
you were my solace
you were the one I sought
when I walked in the door

Southern charm and recipes
your clothes ever so pressed
and conservative
yet so approachable

Thick black hair
tiny shiny beautiful
unpretentious jewelry

Your soon-to-be son-in-law
said he hoped his daughter
would look like you when she got
old

But you were not old when you
died

Divorce
cancer
you left the shop

We tried to reach out

But you were too proud
or sad

I should have joined you
for Thai chi
I should have begged
one more time
to have lunch with you at
Joey’s

You always got the soup and
half sandwich
but could never eat it all

Judith I fashioned a character
after you in one of my unfinished
novels

Judith where are you
now

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Burnt Bagels and Mayonnaise Sandwiches

Harried, overwhelmed, inadequate. That’s how I felt one morning while standing over the breakfast I’d prepared for my 11-year-old son. I’d burnt the bottom of a bagel, the last bagel. Among the lapping of the dog at the empty dog bowl, the annoying motor sound of the leaking fridge, there was sobbing. “I’m a crap Mom!” I said out loud while trying to slice off the charred chunk and keep my tears from falling into the butter. “I can’t do anything right.”

I don’t know how my mom did it. She raised two kids, worked, kept an immaculate house.

There are dozens of dog hair tumbleweeds rolling about my floors. And I can’t even toast a proper bagel for my one kid.

Being a working Mom ain’t no joke. Being a Mom period ain’t no joke. I’ve been the stay-at-home and the working. They both have their challenges. Time is never on your side.

I am a perfectionist but I have had to learn to change my idea of perfection. And I certainly can’t compare myself to other Moms. God forbid go onto Facebook and see all the seemingly perfectionism going on there. Makes me want to choke on a bagel. But nothing is perfect. There’s always a burnt bagel or a sob fest or a moment of defeat behind gorgeous repurposed doors.

I can look back at my childhood and glorify and romanticize. But it had its moments, too.

My mom usually packed my lunch. Most of the time it was decent enough for a kid in the 80’s in the South. There was a lot of white bread and pimento cheese and I think maybe a piece of fruit every once in a while. But sometimes the content of the sandwich consisted only of mayonnaise. Which I hated. But the crusts were cut off. And while I choked down the vile thing I kind of felt sorry for my mom cause I knew she was doing the best she could do. And she left little “I love you” notes in my Smurfs lunchbox.

I never wanted her to feel bad about the mayo sandwiches so I never said anything about it.

After I salvaged my son’s bagel I brought it to him while holding back tears.

A few minutes later I heard him call out that it was the best bagel he’d ever eaten. And that I was the best Mom there could ever be.

We may not be perfect. In other people’s minds and especially our own. But we do the best we can. And a special note, gratitude, and some sugar and cinnamon goes a long way.

Caprice Estate

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom

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Filed under Yep I'm Becoming My Mother

To Stop Time

Can I stop time
and keep you this way a little longer?
Keep this moment and innocence
here and now
hanging just in front of me

suspended

until I feel I can move forward
when there has been enough time
to share and give all I can

to laugh and love with all you are

I have stopped time before
in my mind
But there you go
growing and changing
before me and away

and the minutes and days
fly by
with the speed of light

uncontrollably
irrevocably

To stop time

There is never enough

If only I could

  

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

In My Grandfather’s Yard

Today I want to escape
to my grandfather’s yard
like when we were kids

encase myself in the oak vines
to cover these ills

chase the butterflies among
old rusted cars and wood piles
and junk yard treasures

free my mind

become that child again
who is always just under the surface

today I don’t want to be the adult

decisions to be made
mistakes to be rendered
ever binding pressure

today I want to hide
in my grandfather’s yard
and see the freckles on my cheeks
in the reflection of the tool shed window

and see not guilt not mistakes not hate
but what my grandfather saw in me

a happy innocent flying
soul

Papa's yard

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Moonlight Swim

The moon and I had a moment tonight
while I was bathed in its vanilla light

it hung gently between two trees
and it spoke reverently to me

Why are we here? I asked
telepathically

And sooner than it took
the glow of its crest
to reach my hollow chest

I heard the answer

And I knew we were
all here
to savor to care to be

together
most imperfectly

moonlight

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet