Busted Flip Flops

January 13, 2014 · 12:12 am

January, at its Best

How many cold, winter nights
have we sat by the window of some smoky place
and contemplated the state of things
or nothing at all
And how such a winter's night
could be so mild
'tis a strange thing but all the same
Fine by me for bitter winds
only add to the shame of man
For no man has not a care in the world
lest he have not a mind or soul
Would that I could take things like
that soulless man
My existence would not have reason
And my mind would think silly thoughts
through the window of murky winter.

Written when the Tennessee winter was more than I could bear.
The endless days and weeks of cloudy skies, barren tree limbs, and freezing temperatures took its toll.

It robbed the best of me, leaving a fallen, desperate shell.
Now my Floridian January is a celebration.

The cool winds keep the warmth from stagnating.
And I am smiling as the vivid colors of a blue sky backdrop promise me sunshine and breezes
and greenery.

And birds gracefully gliding in their sunny winter dance.

3 Comments

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Tagged as Florida, Poetry, Tennessee, Winter

January 9, 2014 · 4:59 pm

My grandfather liked to burn things. Many an afternoon or early evening you’d find him in the backyard, standing over a black barrel watching the smoke rise. He found things– various objects around the neatly cluttered yard to put in his kettle of contentment. There were branches that had fallen from the tall oaks in the wintertime. Brown leaves which had lost their vivid color and moisture in the fall. Rubber from an old tire. Perhaps a worn shoe void of its mate. These were the items that made the smoke black. But Papa stood there anyway, inhaling the plumes and diligently placing things in his cauldron and stirring and poking them with a metal rod.

He spent hours out there. When he came back inside for biscuits and gravy or to play solitaire on his cushioned coffee table he’d be all white-faced. He was a retired Nashville firefighter. He smoked Winston Reds.

I never really understood his fascination with fire. My brother and I burned the faces off our Star Wars figurines with some August sunshine and a magnifying glass. But that was just kids being scientifically experimental and stupid. My first bonfire at Girl Scout camp when we roasted apples wrapped in biscuit dough gave me a bit of an inkling into the fascination. A fire can turn raw dough into one of the best breakfasts I ever had?

Fast forward to high school when I joined my brother and his friends for camping trips at Cedars of Lebanon State Park. There was a lot of smoking going on there, some of which was the bonfire. We sat around it staring at the flames, telling stories and relishing in the quiet nature surrounding us.

A scattering of warm moments around bonfires happened since then. And even though I adore living in Florida there are rarely occasions to enjoy a flaming fire. But this past week or so it’s been unusually cold. Now I have a new fire pit sitting on the lanai. We’ve made great use of it– hotdog and marshmallow roasting with kids, a great New Year’s Eve house party, and delighting in it with a visiting friend from across the pond. Each time mesmerized by the dancing blaze and comforted by its warmth.

One time I tried to build the fire on my own, but to no avail. My son came over, poked and turned it with a stick, and got it going again. Both hubby and our male Brit friend had no trouble either. Apparently you must have balls to get a proper fire started. I joked about this on Facebook and several female friends commented it was no problem for them. They were my lesbian friends.

I guess the Girl Scouts didn’t quite teach me to build a fire. But I can damn sure make a kick-ass breakfast!

Isn’t it amazing how a fire can be so deadly, yet so hypnotizing at the same time? A contained fire brings people together, away from the television, from crap small talk, and into a primitive state where words are spoken that might have otherwise just hung on the tongue. It warms your toes. It makes food charred and toasty and yummy. And if you have a wood-burning stove you can heat your entire house. My brother has one. I can see him now, chopping wood and placing it in the black metal heater, stoking it with the poker.

5 Comments

Filed under Observations

Tagged as bonfire, Brothers, fire, Girl Scouts, Grandfather

January 2, 2014 · 9:11 pm

Sunshine on a Rainy Day

Wow, this is one of two awards bestowed to me by another blogger. Thank you, Samara. It’s a rainy day over here in usual sunny Florida, so these golden rays of accolades are keeping me all warm and fuzzy (the good kind, not the kind where you need to shave). Samara is the creator of A Buick in the Land of Lexus, one of my favorite blogs. I get excited when I open my reader, whether it’s over coffee in the a.m. or snug under the covers in the p.m. and see that she has posted something. There’s sure to be at least a half dozen laugh-out-loud moments as well as gritty insights into her world as a dedicated Mom with a wild ride of a past. I am in awe of her way with words and her all-out ballsyness to put herself out there, virtually naked.

So in accepting this award, I must follow a few rules. The first is to list 11 random factoids about myself. Here goes…

1) I like my cereal soggy and my oatmeal lumpy.

2) One summer my brother and I watched The Goonies every single day. One day we watched it twice.

3) I’ve had a major crush on Keanu Reeves since 1988.

4) It takes me an entire day to pack for a trip.

5) I once sat next to the Italian prime minister’s family at a bonfire in the Australian outback.

6) I saw Titanic twelve times when it came out at the theatre, each time accompanied by different people, and each time I bawled like a baby.

7) I cannot curl my tongue but I can flare my nostrils to any tune.

8) My favorite band of all time is Midnight Oil. I got to meet the lead singer Peter Garrett and shake his hand.

9) I hate math.

10) I used to forge parent signatures in middle school. And probably some in high school, too.

11) I can’t win an arm-wrestling match but I gave birth to my 8 lb son in the water with no drugs.

Now another rule I must follow is to answer 11 questions Samara has asked me:

What is the first thing you do as soon as you wake up in the morning? Turn off the white noise machine.

What is your greatest fear? To be trapped in an insane mind for eternity.

Do you have a new years resolution for 2014? Keep looking at the world in wonder instead of worry.

What is your favorite song at the moment? It’s a toss-up between “Atmosphere” by Kaskade and “Reflektor” by Arcade Fire.

What is your favorite childhood memory? Oh wow, so many. Probably snow sledding with my brother at night. The street lights had this bluish hue while the fat snowflakes fell and we screamed in sheer joy as we skidded down the steep street across from our house. We weren’t usually allowed to play outside after dark, so it was doubly intoxicating. I don’t think I got cold as a kid. Now I shiver if it gets below 70.

Facebook or Twitter? I’ve never tweeted but I do FB. I usually check it when I’m on the john. TMI?

What did the last text message you received say? “I decided to add some color to our lanai. We were out in the rain all day running errands. Now comes actually doing the tasks. Not so much fun.” (smiley face with tongue sticking out). I love that my mom can text now.

What bugs you the most? Complaining. And not the casual, light complaining that you wish it would stop raining. The rude, I-have-seen/done-this-better complaining. And especially the I-should-be-grateful-to-have-food-in-my-belly-but-I’m-gonna-bitch-about-how-this-ethnic-food-does-not-taste-like-its-country-of-origin complaining. We are not in Mexico. We are not in Italy. Eat your freaking taco.

What do you consider to be the most important appliance in your house? The air conditioner. It’s Florida! And I have night sweats.

If you could have one song that would play whenever you entered a room, what would it be? “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds.

What’s your favorite movie quote? Oh there are soooo many. But this is the one I keep thinking about lately. “I just want them to know that they didn’t break me.” Molly Ringwald as Andie talking to her dad in Pretty in Pink.

Now I am to nominate 11 bloggers I would like to recognize for the Sunshine Award. There are so many wonderful bloggers out there but these have definitely brought sunshine through their words and stories: The Surfing Pizza, Phoenix Flights, Sophie’s Pug Pause, Crossroads, Vampire Maman, MONOCHROME JUNKIE, The Blogging Mama, Steve Says, who could know then, My Kaleidoscope, and No, You Go Outside. They have to answer the same questions I did.

I have to say that WordPress has brought me more pleasure that I could have imagined. I love this blogging world, what it has done for my sanity and creativity, and the fellow writers that are on this journey with me. Cheers to a beautiful 2014.

5 Comments

Filed under Observations

Tagged as Arcade Fire, childhood, growing up in the '80's, Kaskade, Keanu Reeves, Molly Ringwald, Pretty in Pink, Samara, sunshine award

December 29, 2013 · 2:57 pm

I Remember

I remember a September wind
the scent of cigarettes and mint
a green car
you took me far
away from a life spent
I still have the jagged limestone
thrown on my balcony
I was unaware you saw me there
I waited so patiently
I remember a January frost
a dark hallway
I was lost
the green car took me once again
and I felt the warm sun
on my skin
Many a freckle came to begin
darken then fade all over and then 
I remember a May breeze
the green car traded 
with the sway of the trees
and leaves grew back 
and some did die
flitting swirling flailing
before their ultimate demise
And we watched them dance 
in an orange cloudy sky
I remember a September wind 
and the scent of cigarettes and mint
And it came to be from that moment 
all that life has meant.

Post Holiday Snoozing

Hi, it’s Cherry Pearl. Mom said I could guest blog again (so soon? Sweet!). Forgive me if I make any typing mistakes. Not easy to ~~tickle~~ tap the keyboard with nails like these.

Also Mom says I need a bath. She says I’m stinky. But the way she’s been running around here picking up this and that and sleeping til almost lunch time I think I’ll dodge the suds for a time or two. Not that I have any concept of time. Except for three o’ clock when I instinctively know it is time to feed. Inhale, if you will. Except when it’s the last of the feed bag and all that’s left are the crumbs and dregs. I won’t go there. I just won’t. Yes, me being a pug you might find it hard to believe I’d turn my smooshed, snorty nose up to anything. But that stuff is just unacceptable. My human dad and brother understand. They won’t even eat the last of the cereal. Mom is a weirdo (sorry, Mom). Sometimes she actually crunches her cereal with her hands to give it that last-of-the-feed-bag consistency. Weird.

So the house smells like a mixture of me, burned out candles, and leftovers. I haven’t chewed on the legos piled up on the floor, despite what Brother might think. I have not done that in at least three weeks. Oops, I forgot I said I’ve no concept of time.

Mom has had to vacuum twice to suck up all the fluffies my new toy leaves behind every time I ~~mangle~~ play with it. But it is so awesome! Only bad thing is it doesn’t resemble a squirrel.

So Mom will be back to posting next week. She’s got a lot on her mind and finds it difficult to focus and get back into her routine. At least that’s what she keeps saying. I don’t understand this a lot on your mind thing. Maybe that’s why Mom sometimes looks at me and says she wishes she could be me for a day. Or maybe it’s because I get to snooze any time I flippin want to.

Speaking of….

6 Comments

Filed under Cherry Pearl

Tagged as holidays, pugs, snoozing

December 20, 2013 · 5:00 am

Rainbows: Sign or Science?

I freaked when I saw this just beyond my patio fence a few weeks ago. A phenomenal beauty right in my own backyard.

I can’t remember the very first time I saw a rainbow, but I remember the first time a rainbow made me stop, mid-trek, and catch my breath. It was my first of two trips to Europe. I was fifteen and hiking with some new-found friends in Northern Italy. There was a clearing, and up above the most vivid, striking rainbow my southern-American eyes had ever laid upon. It curved in a miles-high arch, each end disappearing behind lush mountain evergreens. Every band of color popped, emanating an unmitigated saturation that did not bleed into the other. I must have stood there with my mouth wide open for minutes.

Told you so

I grew up going to church on Sundays and Wednesdays at a Church of Christ—very strict, puritanical, and God-fearing. It was because of that church I was introduced to the very people who would lead me on that unforgotten trip to Europe. But it was also that church that made me question the very existence of rainbows. In their doctrine, as they gathered from the King James version of the Bible, rainbows were a gift to man. God had created a great storm that had flooded the lands and killed everyone except Noah and his boat-load of animals. Because God was sorry for being such an asshole (my words, not the church’s), he would provide his disciples and worshipers the gift of a rainbow after each rain so they would forgive him, and remember to build a damn ark the next time he said a flood was a comin’! Actually, it was a symbol pledging he would not destroy the earth with water a second time. Hmmm, sort of a morbid thought to have in the back of your brain while standing in awe of such a natural beauty.

If you listen to science instead, a rainbow is an arc of light separated into bands of parallel stripes that appear when the sun’s rays are refracted and reflected by drops of mist or rain. Still more explanations, the Greeks believed it was a sign from the gods to foretell war or heavy rain. Native Americans presumed that arc of light to be a bridge between life and death. And the old saying that a pot of gold lies at the end of the rainbow came from the lucky mouths of the Irish.

Not literally

After my beloved dog Napoleon died back in 2003 the vet sent a sympathy card along with his ashes. In the card was a poem titled “Rainbow Bridge”. It speaks of a place “just this side of heaven” where an animal goes that has been especially close to someone on Earth. At Rainbow Bridge pets are “made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.” Every time I read that poem I bawl like a baby. Strangely I had witnessed a rainbow just a couple days after Napo died and before receiving that card. The rainbow I witnessed looked just like a bridge, each short arc ending in a puffy, white cloud high in the late summer sky. I’d never seen one like it before. I continued seeing them almost every week for months after that.

One of the many rainbows I’ve seen on my way to kickboxing.

There have been other instances when a rainbow has presented itself to me at opportune times, like after spending an afternoon with a dear friend, thinking of someone long gone, or needing a lift during a trying day.

Even Kermit the frog waxes mystical about rainbows, in the song “Rainbow Connection” from 1979’s The Muppet Movie. “Someday we’ll find it” he muses after he questions the meaning of rainbows, and whether they are just illusions, although in the next few lines he reveals he doesn’t quite believe that. Kermit and The Muppets were a big part of my childhood. I was in my bedroom getting ready for another grueling day of high school when I heard on the radio that Jim Henson had died. The DJ immediately played that banjo-infused melody and I cranked my boom-box’s volume to ten. My mom and brother came into my room and we clutched each other and cried and swayed. That moment, for me, symbolized the death of what was a long, innocent girlhood.

No matter where on this rock you are from, what religion you do or don’t practice, your heritage, or what movies you adored as a child, that beaming spectrum of colors in the sky cannot be denied. I don’t believe it to be a remorseful gift, but a sign and science. And whether you believe the sign and the science came from God is yours to own. To me rainbows connect them all, and every one of us. As Kermit would sing, “the lovers, the dreamers, and me.”

1 Comment

Filed under Observations

Tagged as God, Jim Henson, Northern Italy, Rainbow Connection

December 16, 2013 · 8:20 pm

Just a Shadow?

This morning on my chilly bike ride I saw her. Again. She is usually near the park, but today she was a bit farther north, just before the tunnel.

On happy days I ignore her dark, dead eyes then roll my own bright blues after I pass her. She never says hello, never a word. I don’t know how it is humanly possible for someone to walk that slow and not fall. Among the bikers and joggers and roller bladers and parents pushing strollers there she moves at a snail’s pace. Except a snail has a purpose behind its travel. I gave up smiling and saying good morning to her long ago. And those hats! A different one every day. Neither too fancy nor too casual, yet totally impractical to moving about on the trail.

And her clothing. It’s as if she’s dressed for a day at an open market someplace I’ve never been but only seen on TV. Long, flowy skirts and tunics. Even when it is sweltering outside (which it is here half the year) her entire average-sized body is fully covered.

But it’s not just her outward appearance that shakes me. It’s what I feel when I see her.

I know when she is up ahead on the trail. Not just because of the cadence of her mechanical walking, but because of the energy. Whatever I am feeling I know she senses. On my happy days I try to send her light or at least surround myself with irradiation so she may become momentarily blinded. But when I pass her with this glow she does not falter.

On my sad days (which thank god are not often anymore) I also avert my eyes to hers. But I try not to direct this melancholy towards her. Instead I feel she knows this. She gives no solace yet she takes no energy.

But this morning she was not walking. I saw up ahead a figure standing beside the tunnel, looking out onto the horizon. I thought to myself what a beautiful photograph that would be. The figure posed better than you could tell a model to pose while looking outward. A shadow before it stretching out toward the early morning sun. When I came closer I saw that it was her. And like usual when I see her there is no one else around.

And like usual she did not look at me, did not speak a word, did not even seem to be breathing.

I biked past and just a tad more north where I always turn around and grab my water bottle from its nest underneath my ripped, cushioned seat. When I got back to the tunnel she was gone. I didn’t even see her anywhere else on the trail as I made my way back towards home, cold sweat on my forehead I had to wipe off on my little sissy Florida gloves.

I have always wondered if she is a ghost. I could ask one of my occasional biking companions about her but she is never there when I have company. And to be honest I don’t really want to know. She is my mirror. Although unsettling, she reminds me to keep peddling and singing and sweating no matter what dark eyes try to pierce inside.

2 Comments

Filed under Observations

Tagged as Cycling, Depression, Energy, Florida, ghosts, Tunnel, Walking

December 16, 2013 · 1:10 am

Ode to JKF

Sing to me a song of sweet bitterness
love songs are not pitiful but fearless
parting is not such sorrow as the
waking hours of distance
Tomorrow our day will come
and happiness the smile of sunshine
as realization of always comfortable
will be in the heart, in the mind
Divine candles of burning flame
end night and torture
Through fantasies would come the conclusion
of laughter and holding hands.

                           ---May 11, 1990

—Once again I am almost astonished at the amount of love I had in my fledgling high school body.
I did love this boy very much. We went to his senior prom together (I was just a sophomore).
In the after hours we came back to my house and my mother had set up the downstairs den with candles, music, and breakfast with roses on TV trays (she usually hated my boyfriends).
We never shared our bodies but did share a love of writing, poetry, Jethro Tull, and environmentalism.
I became a vegetarian (for quite some time) because of him.
I looked up to him and knew we had a kindred spirit, although he never let me in fully.

2 Comments

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Tagged as hand holding, Poetry, Romance

December 11, 2013 · 6:43 pm

Introducing Cherry Pearl

Hi. I’m Cherry. My human brother named me that as he was eating a cherry lollipop. I wish I could get my paws on one right now. I’m on a diet. Not by choice, of course. What self-preservating pug would do such a thing?

Mom is kind of stressed right now about holiday shopping and getting ready for a trip so she said I could FINALLY guest blog. She also said she has so many stories swirling in her head she can’t focus or sleep. I took a break from napping to write for her. Not much going on in this head, other than dreaming of chasing those taunting little squirrels outside the window. I will catch them one day. Mom always asks, “What in the world would you do to them if you caught them anyway?” To tell you the truth, I haven’t really thought that far ahead.

Hmmmm. I hear a rustling in the kitchen. Mom’s getting into the chocolates this early? She must be stressed. Next thing you know I’ll hear a cork pop.

So I’ll tell you a little about me. I was born on Leap day. I don’t chew on shoes anymore (no it was not me who busted Mom’s flip flops, she did that herself). I do still rustle through the trash every now and then. I make some crazy noises when I yawn, or eat, or sleep, or see another dog I know. There are lots of dogs on my block. Spencer and Buddy are my favorite. Mom gets embarrassed when I sniff and lick them in their happy places. She says I linger there a little too long. You don’t see them complainin!

Last week I got into some of Mom’s dark chocolates. She couldn’t believe I ate the wrappers and everything. She almost blamed it on Dad. I was fine. But then last night Mom and Gramps fed me a carrot. I barfed that up all over Mom’s favorite chair. Dang diet.

I hope I see you all again. I’m gonna go lick myself then take a nap. Hey, what would you do if you caught a squirrel? On second thought, don’t answer that. Mom doesn’t eat mammals. Or rodents.

4 Comments

Filed under Cherry Pearl

Tagged as dogs, Family, holiday stress, Parenting, pugs

December 9, 2013 · 3:09 am

Fadeaway Friend


Your subtle entry encased in smallish chit-chat
similar musical interests and a love of photography
my chilled white wine next to your pink Cosmopolitan
The infancy of a grave friendship
Oh, the concerts we attended!
The lush green park that day when we photographed
the crooked wooden fence and the giant knot on the oak
You were never ready when I picked you up
You asked which shoes looked best
the tall leather boots or the black strappy heels?
No longer matronly
Oh, the dance floors we graced!
I still have those dancing shoes
the ones tossed on your living room floor
on lazy days by the karaoke machine
I remember that conversation on the phone
tracing the rough edges of a stone wall
while you cried for the twentieth time
All the times I talked you down from the edge of darkness
All the times you did the same
The divorce, the deaths, the foreclosures, job losses
My hands acquainted with your belongings in boxes
more than once
Your car full of my office supplies 
transporting them when the business failed
Oh, the parties we hosted!
Your famous macaroni
you made sure to include a vegetarian dish
I made sure there were no nuts in my famous slaw
You never ran out of wine
Afternoon movies sitting in the back row
Five times we strolled the beach
You never liked yourself in a bathing suit
My confidant
Then the wine became sour
the Cosmo tainted
I winced when the phone rang
I couldn't talk you down anymore
You didn't like who I'd become 
all of a sudden
Jealousy, competition, disgust
miscommunication, anger, judgement
control, betrayal
These are the wicked that turned it toxic
Senility came to our friendship
and it exited with harsh words and sobbing
The waiter gave me a look 
as I was making a scene
The dying plant you gave me is green as spring
its vines entrenched in the ground
and crawling up the slats of the picked fence
Your photographs are still in my frames
But I cannot listen to Blondie anymore.

–Some friends are meant to stay and some are meant to fly away.
I believe we are here to connect with each other.
But some connections are better off severed.
We can mourn this loss but we can also learn from it.

4 Comments

Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet

Tagged as divorce, Friendship, Karaoke, Poetry, Wine

Busted Flip Flops

January, at its Best

Fire Good

Sunshine on a Rainy Day

I Remember

Post Holiday Snoozing

Rainbows: Sign or Science?

Just a Shadow?

Ode to JKF

Introducing Cherry Pearl

Fadeaway Friend

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