Just a piece of while-washing-the-dishes-prose:
Just On The Tip Of My Tongue
Our cat is licking away the tears on my cheeks and cooing gently. Her private cooing. On a higher realm than purring.
You are there, too, somewhere close wondering – I guess – what more you can do other than kiss me and murmur something insane about love.
And then, whatever it was passes. I sense everything and everyone around me. In my mind, we purr with our cat. The sun is shining. This is what one must do. Get on with it.
photo via pixabay
My arm is declared ‘much better!” An exclamation point in the tone of voice when declared even 🙂
Relieved my arm is getting better and that all the issues leading up to the carpal tunnel inflammation have been addressed and that we can still be in the same room together while we work in the evenings.
The DMV has rescheduled my driving test for Monday. It will be raining here Monday. All these years we’ve begged for rain, and it’s gonna rain on the day of my driving test. I can’t think of any reason some karma is coming back on me but…David is babysitting, so he can’t come with me Monday. My girlfriend will come. She and I practiced in downtown San Jose Friday. OMG! Biggest city I’ve driven in since I left New Orleans – which isn’t so big 😛
Life issues are like cranky crabs that come to bite you on your ankle…I don’t like to fail. I was raised that way. Mostly, not liking to fail has served me well.
I don’t like to take tests. It takes me back 50 years to my high school typing class. So I’m nervous. This really mature part of my personality knows I can fail my driving test this time and many other times and still keep driving.
I’m making bread pudding for dessert this weekend and having biscuits and jam for breakfast. Then Monday morning, on the way to my driving test, Joan and I will have an incredibly unhealthy restaurant breakfast…fat is so soothing to the soul.
I can’t type much longer tonight. I miss being here on WordPress 😞 I miss sharing my work and reading (which entails the dreaded scrolling) the work of others…
your cranky poet,
A little story submitted for Literary Lion’s word this week. The word is ‘dance’ and my story goes this way:
“I have often danced alone, and that’s the truth of it all,” Wanda said matter-of-factly. “There’s no reason to hide anything anymore.”
Wanda and Margot were having a coffee and croissants at the cafe near their home. Margot had assumed her role. Dart board. Shoulder. Ear. The role didn’t bother Margot these days. It had become a game she knew. Just follow the cue.
“Are you hiding something from me, Wanda, after all these years?” Margot asked. “Not some little thing, of course. But – anything?”
“Not much more than that.” Wanda spread butter and fig preserves onto her croissant. Life was decadent, after all. Why not play along with it?
“I have often danced alone,” Wanda repeated. “Even with you.”
You are hiking the hills near here and I am chopping onions and peppers and mushrooms for some chicken recipe I’m making up along the way.
You are that angel
wings whisping softly
up against the stratosphere
to which I ascend
now and then.
Angel wings waving me higher.
And, you are that angel
all dark winged and fire
blazing lightness into
where I descend
now and then
to that angel
Here’s my entry for this week.
After Miss Esther died, Vernal was to himself. He seemed surrounded by a protective aura. Most of us knew they’d been lovers, but most of us knew better than to say anything about that. We mostly just waited and let Vernal grieve his own way.
“What should I say at the memorial?” Vernal asked me.
“What do you want to say?” I replied. Vernal huffed.
The memorial took place at the town’s woodsy hearth where Miss Esther had held her seasonal celebrations of one sort or other.
“Prescott County was damned lucky to have a witch, like Miss Esther, watching out for us all this time,” Vernal said in conclusion to his eulogy.
photo prompt – © – Rachel Bjerke
and boy did I get one! It’s cheerful and colorful…LOL!. It looks painful to the flowers. It’s trying to fit in with bananas and tomatoes and avocado…This picture…pffffft. is one of mine. Sigh. Horrible lighting. But try to think of women with too much eye make-up on and you can imagine it in a golden light.
Then suddenly!….the chocolate Easter Bunny from See’s wants her moment.
Your brother is a few minutes away. He’s driving up to stay with us for a few days. It’s hotter in Los Angeles that it is in the Bay Area. There have been some fires. I feel horrible. .At least I hope that’s the reason he’s coming. Your family is just about as stupidly proud as mine. I don’t usually read the news and we don’t have a television so….unless something – email/blog post/ telephone call clues me in I don’t know what’s going on. Sometimes I even boycott news altogether I’m concerned. The last time he stayed with us I was so concerned I told you he should come live with us. You said no. I mean…he’s not my favorite person but we like some of the same stuff….
I’m probably going to come back later to blog. You and your brother can catch up….I have something important to say later…I’m not sure…I think it’s about relationships. I’m sorry if I don’t get around to many blogs today.
OMG! It’s 30 mins since your brother called – a mile away – and he’s still not here. He’s too proud to call again. Damned Englishmen!
I’ve been trying to decide where to focus my blog. It’s taken over a year. Originally, I was just going to post these short things of a day in my life. Then I saw that people were posting poetry on WordPress. Oh dear! So I thought:
Well, I’ll go on and post a few poems and mix those all in with those short daily things about my life. And then, of course came the Cajun Recipe tangent I go off on now and then. How could I deny that?
So tonight I’m tired. I can’t sleep. I’m facing editing nightmares because of bits and pieces I’m discovering on my desktop. (I posted about that earlier today) I’m listening to one of the Celtic Women CD’s on my whatever cloud thing you’ve put up for me.
I think I have discovered where to focus my blog:
Blogging a poet’s mind while writing and how every sight and sound and breath of every day becomes the poem? So there! That is what I have decided to do. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to do this but do this I will.
I’m tired. Celtic Women now singing Danny Boy…sigh…I have so much to say about so many pieces and parts of life. There are bare parts – of each of us – that we don’t even share with a lover. Somewhere should be recorded these parts. Maybe here…is what I mean about the poet’s mind this poem came when I wrote the words bare parts:
Those Parts (1.1)
There are bare parts
of each of us
that we don’t even share with a lover.
Somewhere should record these parts
just in case we need them
in the future