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...


Filed under Observations


A photograph of you welcomes
anyone entering my door
It was taken years ago

The scent of tobacco leaves fill my
olfactory memory
Chats by the kitchen table
Home-grown tomatoes and buttermilk
Scribbled artwork on the fridge
Crumpled tissue next to the snuff cup

We have the same middle name

Decades of holidays and summer visits
tree climbing
autumn leaf pile jumping
Tag in the backyard
Old toys smelling of age
Walks in the cemetery

You always bought me pajamas and
kitchen towels for Christmas
Now shredded and worn thin

Your birthday card consistently the first
in my mailbox
But this year it never arrived

You always stood at your front door
to watch me drive away

And this is how I will remember you
Furiously waving as if never wanting to say


Rest in Peace, Emma Marie. Granny. You will be greatly missed.

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet, Yep I'm Becoming My Mother

A Dance in the Garden

This morning I sat on my lanai
and there I watched a butterfly
it flitted from leaf to bulb to twig
then soared along the crest
of October wind

The bees
they were present too
preparing loquats born
below winter’s moon

And beyond the shrill hull
of locust call
a songbird chirped her
pleasant psalm

And all these things
before the hour of ten
Would if I could have
this morning again

To sit in solitude
with nature
at my shoulders
To notice perhaps
what do not others


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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Fried Pies

These are the apricot fried pies my mom used to make when I was a kid. I’ve mentioned them here before.


This is a photo taken a couple years back when she revisited the recipe in response to my nagging about wanting some. Forgive my crappy food photography.

But can’t you just taste them? The golden, buttery crust. The sweet, sticky apricot. Why have I now tortured myself so? My mom is out of town, taking care of my ailing grandmother. There is no way I’m getting a bite of these. I’ve tried recreating some of her recipes to no avail.

There are other tastes from my childhood which linger on my tongue. Granny’s backyard garden tomatoes, crimson, bursting with robust nectar. Nana’s pancake corn bread, the edges crispy and the middle a fluffy intoxication of milled corn. Nanny’s sweet rice, solidly puffed, dewy with cream and sugar, peppered with a hint of nutmeg.

Can you get I was raised in the South?

Now I’m one of those gluten-free, non-mammal eaters. Don’t hate me. My digestive system, conscience, and waist line appreciates it.

I’m grateful to have these culinary memories. I hope to provide the same. I do make a pretty mean grilled cheese for little man. And this Moroccan chicken stew. And coconut rice that tastes almost as good as Nanny’s.

What sumptuous dishes do you remember from your childhood? Have you ever tried recreating them?




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Filed under Recipes from an Unpretentious Kitchen, Yep I'm Becoming My Mother

To Create

Creators and inventors
before our time
Could they have had an inkling
of what’s to come?

To understand our future
is to know our history
That’s what I tell the children
when they sigh in boredom

All the Haikus in the world
The undiscovered
scribbled poetry
Every painting made famous
long after the painter
left this realm

Can one word
one stroke
one snapshot
one chord
change the world?

The question as ridiculous
as toy glass

But we must continue to ask it

Don’t put away the pen
The world’s heart cannot survive without


Image courtesy of waldenwritingcenter.blogspot.com

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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

For Today

When we clothe ourselves in the past
we are suffocating our future
like a wool scarf wrapped around the neck
during a long, stifling summer

These photographs on the wall
a reminder of all we have worked for
all we have accomplished
the adventures and the love

I could cry like I did yesterday
and long for the good times
the beginning of a journey
that would indefinitely change its course

I could enshroud myself in regret
and guilt and longing
like I have many times
looking through the cracked mirror

But then I am not breathing
am not truly living
So I must inhale the air of the present
nod to those smiling photographs

Know I have done good in this life
and there is much more to do
unravel the woolen suppression
unbound by the virtue of today’s truth.


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Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

When the Sea was Calm

When the sea was calm
I was restless
awaiting the flip
of a mermaid’s tail

And when it did not
come into view
I closed my eyes and
floated for a few

Then the swish of the
shimmering propeller came
and I welcomed it joyfully
and she the same

The sea swirled around us
and we became a team
swimming underneath
the stars and sun
Our movements synchronized
our thoughts one

And the swirls continued
and the restlessness passed
nagging loneliness
lifted at last

Her gleaming essence
my solace in waters of blue-green
her songs always calling to me
Her fondness growing as well
as she inhaled breaths
of my starry air

Then swirls became waves
and waves became storms
we held tight to each other
never washing upon the shore

But there was nowhere to dock
nowhere to keep moored

Our cadence continues
on the high seas
her fins never tire
my feet never sleep

We sometimes dream
when all was composed
when restlessness
was all we owned

But the truth among
the swish and the stars
is that our sea
was never really calm.


Photo courtesy of http://sapphiresirendreams.com/mermaid-lore/


Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Spirograph and Worn Antiques

I have been thinking a lot about my grandmother lately. The one who is deceased, not the one who is alive. Granny is still dipping snuff and listening to country music in her ranch-style home. Nana is somewhere with that great spirit in the sky, perhaps noshing on walnuts and dancing to Glenn Miller.

But I have felt her presence lately. I’m not sure why she has decided to visit but I will welcome it nevertheless.

The other day I was sitting at the dining room table, a worn 1920’s set I inherited from Nana’s mother. For a moment I was ten again, or rather wished I was. I could hear echoes of my cousin’s laughter and smell the buttered toast Nana would broil for us every morning. I could see her spinning in the front room to the sound of the jazz album. I could feel the spongy firmness of the big eraser I used to delete scattered lines from my latest Spirograph design.

There was always something to do at Nana and Papa’s. Whether it was trudging and scavenging and playing among Papa’s junk yard or dancing to the music from the turn table and playing “Office” in the living room or being a guinea pig in one of my older cousin’s traps or home-made haunted houses in the basement.

Sometimes it feels like those times were a hundred years ago. But thank god I have those memories at least.

I love that my own son now plays around that worn antique set. Does his homework there. Builds Legos. Has chatty weeknight dinners with me there. I bought him a Spirograph set a while back. He didn’t quite take to it like I thought he would.

I think my Nana would be proud of me for the most part. Maybe that’s why she visits from time to time. Just to let me know.

And to remind me to keep dancing.

glenn miller dancing




Filed under Yep I'm Becoming My Mother