Tuesday, December 5, 2017

One Sunny Day

One Sunny Day
Crows cawed, circling in a sparsely clouded sky as a breeze spoke through erect pines, that shared their fragrance with the statues in City Park.
Couples and solos meandered, stopping to snap a shot here and there. A group of schoolgirls in uniform following their teacher paused to giggle at a nude.
Crows fussed with each other more loudly, while a pair of silver-haired seniors swatted at mosquitoes as they shuffled along. A gaggle of senior girls stood outside the bathroom with hands on their hips wondering where to lunch.
From what seemed like the zenith of the atmosphere two vertical vapor trails appeared. A solitary white swan floated past and the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker could be heard.

A pair of plumes grew from each object hurtling out of the sky, as a lady contentedly sat on a park bench taking a deep breath after which she sighed in a long, slow exhalation, while a chameleon scurried across the path of bricks. “Thank you, God, for this beautiful day,” I heard her say.

The vapor trails stretched from heaven descending in the distance. A woman stood under an umbrella staring at the golden goddess with one foot perched on a globe aiming an arrow for eternity. The woman twirled her umbrella as she walked away. The earth shook, a wall of heat raced across the land, and life as we knew it ended that day.

Monday, November 6, 2017

South Florida Sojourn

On a virtually cloudless Sunday morning,
I traversed the state of Florida
On a tollway known as Alligator Alley.
Dewy spiderwebs sparkled
On sturdy cyclone and barbed wire.
Behind this cypress, palms, and pines
Gave way to amazingly vast expanse,
God terrie’d in swamp grass
Long enough to dump a wetland
Called the Everglades.

Down the fence lined lane,
Feeling like a penal colony guest,
I drove more than an hour before
Welcomed by a rest area.
In the shade of a gazebo
I chopped a tomato and
Smashed an avocado,
I quickly drowned in buttermilk.
Blinding sun rose towards zenith.

Riders rallied round the restroom,
Strolled the grounds,
Finding respite from the road.
Savoring my salad,
Dreading the final miles,
Under the pavilion I sat.
A fine family of foreigners,
Speaking a language,
I don’t know
Joined me under my canopy.
Without looking my way or
Acknowledging my presence,
All five lit cigarettes
Apparently with no regrets.

Having been flatulent all day,
I couldn’t think of a better way
To say so long than to go up wind,
To huff and puff and hold my breath,
To pass gas that smelled like death.

Friday, July 28, 2017

Just Another Pint

Tired of sad and lonely, tired of depressed; want to make it go away. My love left an ache that just doesn't quit, not one little bit. I loved my life with my honey; we were both assholes from time to time, but other times we clicked along beautifully. We were the average people of this planet in love; because of love, I believe in God. Love takes a hard day’s work and transforms it into a gift for someone more important, yeah, someone more important than you.
Do you know how many people haven’t felt that? People tell me to let go of the past so I can enjoy my now, but I cling to the time when love lived in my life. Now, too many angry people want to hurt each other; who wants to go near?
Place, the other great character in any story needs to provide for the plot. I live on a tropical island bitching about being sad and lonely; why don’t I move? Where would I go?
July, the month my honey died, proves painful annually; the month of widowhood picks the scab off wounds not healed. In July lifting weights only hurts, I feel inches away from crying, but it’s my job to make myself feel better. All I can say is repeated applications of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and hot fudge topping does wonders after four years. 

Sunday, July 9, 2017

What's It Gonna Be

To my dear sweet niece,
At twenty I married your mother’s brother; he liked to hang with the guys at the bar, so I went to the library because I like to read. We were young and in love so we picnicked and made love in the woods, but twenty years later, I’d say,
 “Wanna go to the movies; come on, let’s go.”
“Nah, I don’t want to go,” meant an evening watching TV.
If I wanted to go to the movies, I should go to the movies, so I said,
“I’m going to the movies; you want to come?”
He replied with his usual,
“Nah,” not missing a step towards the family room sofa.
Never had I gone to the movies alone; I held the notion that we should do things together, but had to honor that if he didn’t want to go, it was his right, so when I opened the front door, with my heart pounding, I called,
“See ya later.”
Looking back, I wonder why all the drama; the thought of being a married woman alone in a movie theater upset me, but determined to for once do what I wanted to do even if he didn’t, I left.
I remember my fingers being all sweaty, wanting to sob, but being me, I thought, fuck him and started the car, threw it into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Before I could get into forward gear the front door opened; he threw his shirt on while heading to the car.
“Yeah, a movie sounds good,” 
was all he said in his best nonchalant, cool dude style.
Honey, I don’t know anyone’s life but my own, but I have learned to love and value myself enough to do what pleases me.
Your mom and her brother were tight; she’d tell me stories of things she and her brother did. Oh, my, your family had love.
I remember you with long blond hair and bangs; it seems you were one of the taller kids. What a sweet girl, I thought, you took after your mom.
This much I know; a man who loves you may not go to the ballet with you, but he’ll join you on things he likes because he wants to be with you.
The times I went to things without him, surprisingly, I’d come home smiling. Learning I could have a good time alone helped me get out on my own after he passed.
With or without the love of my life, I must try to enjoy my life or be a miserable old bitch; what’s it gonna be, honey?

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Life's Questions and Lessons

We think; we wonder why we’re here or why this or that happened in childhood. Every age challenges us to grow or decline. Pain, suffering, joy, and happiness color our lives.
Each unique journey weaves in and out with others creating the cacophony of our cultures. When life becomes too painful some reach for booze or drugs, some become mean, others turn to religion. We all have a personal solution; even helplessness is a way of dealing with harsh reality.
In one of the neighborhoods I lived in as a young adult, “Take it easy” or “Don’t work too hard,” people said frequently. Their mantra reflected how they limited themselves; from the south side of Chicago, many had never even ventured into the Loop.
Being a driven soul, I bristled at this advice; being young I argued for my opinion as a better way not yet realizing what mental masturbation means.
Over the years we’re exposed to an amazing amount of energy that we absorb and reflect or deflect; through personal choice, we create who we are. Looking back on a life, wondering how well it served my soul, I’m kinder about my mistakes than when I was young.
Not judging others, do we find that difficult? Come on, don’t add lying. Whether we find them wonderful or awful, we judge. Superior or inferior, we see ourselves in that linear way or safe versus frightening; we find valid reasons for judgment.
In my twenties, I doubted that God exists. If you created us couldn’t you take better care of your creations? Who are you kidding? You created everything; that means you created evil. That’s no kind of god I could wrap my head around, so one day for no reason there was this big bang.
Many nights under the stars with cold wind on my face put my thoughts in a different order to glimpse how complex life is and that order began with God. The understanding I have gives me respect for all life whether I like them or not.
How we live now creates our heaven or hell, so it’s not a stretch to think we’re creating our future (life) according to the law of karma.
So now I’m wondering, how do I best set myself up for my next existence? If this life could be a bank account of knowledge I could send to myself, what wisdom would I impart? What questions should a soul preparing for life ask?
Wouldn’t it be nice to know how we pick our families? How many misplaced zygotes are there? Why was I one? Or was I?
And thanks for this life; it’ been a trip.

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Unsolicited advice

If people want advice, they ask for it, right? What do you think about this? What do you think I should do? If you were me, what would you do?
It’s reasonable and even prudent to get other points of view. Often rather than accepting advice a la carte off the menu, I re-think and revise my plans, but value the input that sparked a new path.
“Thanks, I’ll think about what you’ve said,” has become my closing line because I’ve found it better to consider gradually; I’m really slow like that.
Don’t people get that venting doesn’t require a sage response? It’s a bitch that doesn’t ask for more acknowledgment than, “Poor baby.”
A tale of similar woe response can be bonding, but a monolog on what I should have done annoys me to the point I find myself sharing less with friends, which means I listen to their gripe-moans without my part of the sharing that cements these relationships. Finding my place in a group of friends has been problematic. Either I piss them off or; don’t get me wrong, I have friends.
I hung out with a woman whose immediate response to whatever anyone talked about was I followed by her experience whether related or not, even this never changing non-empathetic conversation I found better than the you shoulds.
Yes, we must take our friends as we find them or move along, but why don’t people understand that if I don’t ask for your advice, please, don’t keep volunteering it; it’s not the gift you believe it to be.
I’ll admit that if someone has a particular experience or knowledge unsolicited advice is helpful, but overwhelmingly it’s just annoying.
Shortly after my husband died, in one day, I ran into three women I know, each said, “Your husband would want you to be happy,” followed by some variation on the theme. Not a one asked how I was doing. That day my eyes crossed and I wanted to bang my head, my tolerance surpassed; surprisingly, I remained polite but went home aggravated.
Advice givers don’t know how annoying that is because they are well intended. Heaven forbid that the advice is eye-roll worthy like recent advice to get out of my closed mind by taking hallucinogenics. Value to this advice was that great scientists from the 70’s opened their minds with drugs; this is apparently the gold standard for tripping your mind, which firmly asserted could cause one to feel remiss, but I didn’t do it in the 70’s; why would I try now that I’m approaching seventy.
Sometimes, I won’t consider an unsolicited suggestion; why do people act so offended? I could keep saying, “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” but now that I’m just a poor, old widow, it comes some days in backhoes.
I don’t wish to lose my manners; there’s too much of that going around these days. Perhaps, I should learn the art of the conversational dodge; did it rain by you last night? What’s the latest presidential tweet? Nah, we really don’t want to go there.

Friday, June 30, 2017

Senior Lady Dating Manifesto

I'm looking for someone to spend a pleasant day with, who has a zest for life. We don't have forever; each day needs to have a little sparkle. Do you spoil yourself?
My day begins with thanks for another chance and a stretch to bring my soul back into the body followed immediately by coffee. Two hours later coffee and I are on the internet before I head for the gym. My days are lovely, my roads wind through tropical forests with sheer facing rock walls before showing me the ocean.
A handsome man to look into my eyes, who enjoys my wit and finds me attractive spells a fine afternoon, but a man with humor and candor makes a day too short.
The laundrymen listing all they have and what their friends have from the moment we meet are in the top five of those to avoid; what do I care? I’m not a young chick in nesting mode.
An interesting attractive man may command my attention for a while, but drone on and on without wondering about the woman you’re with becomes too braggadocio for my taste; I’m not a chick just out of the nest.
When your stories match his, you feel like you’ve met a male kindred spirit. You could do a freaking happy dance because you’re sharing your stories with someone who has the same sense of adventure. Little by little you question, disbelief dampens the flames of desire. Ladies, you know how deflating a liar is, right.
A man with a passion for almost anything, I prefer to the guy who lists his assets, upon deciding that those assets should be enough to attract you slides rather rapidly into fault finding, a constant complainer. Yuck.
I’ve had real love and I’ve had forever, at least forty-five years of it. As I recall, we built that a day at a time.
A man who loves his job can tell me stories about something I don’t understand; I’ll ask questions while admiring the twinkle in his eyes as he speaks, but he must ask about me. I don’t spew or interrupt a man waxing eloquent on himself. A man who doesn’t ask about the woman he’s with doesn’t care who you are; screw that and bye-bye.
A lively conversation, friendly banter and a bit of innuendo don’t mean a thing, but time well spent; I could enjoy that, but too many woe-be-gone faces want to tell me their problems. They remind me of a very talented woman who applied for a job as my secretary. I was liking her for the job, told her I’d call her, and on the way out the door she said, “I suffer from melancholia.”
Companions, partners, or mates should bring us up; some days we struggle to enjoy our day. Before we’ll help each other; we must care. Time well spent together brings that, so don’t tell me about forever; let’s just make a beautiful day and see what happens.
By the way, I’m a spoiler; do you know what that is?
It’s a woman who when she’s happy, she spoils you silly.