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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
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He travels the world on the backs of others Insignificant in his stature and size His journey carries no mission Randomly roaming at the will of his host Sated enough to never question his trek Life is an open adventure without worry If the excitement of his dusty trail dulls Another bus awaits to grant passage With a furry friend to carry him home Ah the wonderful life of a flea |
| I am getting to the point of having to clear out my portfolio, reaching my limit. No one told me what a painful process this would be. It is akin to choosing one of my children for slaughter or tying my dog to the railroad tracks. I have slimmed the pot before but have the desire to strip it bare by New Years. You know, that whole newness is freeing thing. I should probably treat my port as one of my tales of horror with skeletons in my closet and just broom them away.They will be on my computer but deleting from WDC pulls at the heartstrings. There are memories made with each story written, maybe the prompt or just the idea popping into my head. With an empty port, I fear becoming faceless. My persona is wrapped in the weirdness of my writing. It speaks of who I am. Not that there won't be new stories but I am not the same person I was two years ago. The progression of my growth, as a writer, is measured within my port. So maybe it is better, just to whittle away the edges once again. Or maybe, the day will come that I wake up with the courage to start new and fresh. Decisions, decisions! |
| Hello folks, i wanted to pass along some vital tributes and heartfelt bits of gratitude for all the members of WDC. Over the years I have built some incredible friendships. There may be distance and computer monitors between us, but the encouragement and warm welcomes I have received since day one have been amazing. Here at WDC, I get to do two things that thrill me. First, I get to read the heart-pounding tales and the inspirational poetry of incredible writers. It is like reaching deep into a box of Cracker Jacks and finding a prize that you didn't know you were searching for. Imagine being allowed to explore the psyche of great and imaginative artists. With their words written on the page, they open the door to invite us to the cozy seat by the fire. And while sitting fireside, the glowing embers mesmerize and entice. Secondly, I get to unleash the thoughts swirling in my head, I can bring a Kewpie Doll to life or turn the mirror to reflect the ugliness of life. I can take a snowy walk with Frosty or hide from the furry creatures in my closet. I am given the freedom explore the dark side of my cognition or display the goodness of people. I can paint a portrait of stars twinkling in the night sky or depict the fear of mankind. At my typewriter, the feelings pour out with cause and concern for the human race. My weird sense of humor struts freely. Thank you WDC for letting me be me. I must mention the folks over at SCREAMS!! They are incredible. The reviews and encouragement, have made me feel like I'm sipping a drink at the bar with old friends. Whether cheers or jeers, they welcome me with open arms. I have grown as a writer because of them. They push you to do better and tell you that you can accomplish it. Angus, my hat is off to you and i'm toasting you as you read this. . |
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| There is nothing like spending a day with family to rejuvenate you and remind you of the many blessings It was a great day spent with friends, family and food. I am still feeling stuffed this morning. Was bummed this morning to realize my furnace has bit the dust. Coldness is not my friend, nor the vanishing of money that will be needed. It seems each Christmas season we are pounded with added and unexpected expenses making it necessary to cut the budget back to the minimum. I keep telling myself that soon we will have one holiday where we won't have to worry about the dollars It is just a pipe-dream, but what really matters is right where it belongs close to my heart. The health and well-being of my loved ones are all that truly matter in this crazy rough and tumble world. For now, we will make our own warmth without the furnace. It will grow from the glowing embers of our heart. Happy day after Thanksgiving. . |
| A middle of the night brain fart had me seeking the origin of a term that I use often, which is hunky dory. Its origins stretches from the archaic American slang of the word “hunk;” meaning “safe”. There is a Dutch extension from the word “honk” meaning “goal or home” To achieve "hunk" or "hunky" in a child's game was to make it "home" and win the game. With the word dory, it is a description of a flat bottom boat known for its stability. So hunky dory is thought to mean quite satisfactory and fine. This fine night finds me hunky dory. I wish the same for all of my readers. |
| Heritage Each year our large family gathers around the baked poultry, warm German potato salad, and fried yams. For twenty plus years, I have been designated as the broccoli casserole queen. Creamy, melt-in-your-mouth, homemade mashed potatoes with two kinds of gravy are a delight. There are two types of stuffing to fit any fancy, one with raisins and one without the squishy fruit. The odyssey of the two types of stuffing began with my first Thanksgiving. To my new mother-in-law, I mentioned never having had stuffing with raisins. Being the gracious woman that she was, from there on out our table was blessed with a variety to suit us all. That is probably what I love best about this family that I married into, we don’t get so lost in tradition that we forget the blessings sitting next to us. The most important tradition is the warm welcome, the tender embrace, and the smiles of loved ones. Some thirty years ago, I embarked on a new life with my husband. He hailed from a traditional Catholic family with a mother and father and ten siblings. Gatherings were quite extraordinary and populous. There were younger siblings still living at home and older ones with kids of their own. One year, I managed to count fifty relatives celebrating their blessings at the table together. It was all accomplished in a three bedroom ranch filled with love. The newest member of the family each year was seated at the farthest seat from the bathroom. This technique allowed them to learn everyone’s name as they excused themselves past the guests. It was like a fun party game. The part of this family’s heritage that I will always hold close to my heart is the story of Grandma Spiess. I think she was probably seventy-five years old when I met her. She was a fire-spit of a woman. It is her recipe for German potato salad that created the tradition we enjoy today. I can still picture her standing by the stove either cooking or supervising the melding of its tasty ingredients. It wasn’t right until she said it was. Grandma Spiess was also responsible for the toast that kicked off the meal on Thanksgiving. She would raiser a glass in honor of our family. Children and adults, alike, would lift their goblets as the lady spoke. She would begin with a review of how the year had gone for the family. Good or bad, she managed to flip the coin toward the blessing side of life. If a loved one was lost, she talked of the wonderful gift of having had them in our lives. She cheered the bounty of all the children born and the goodness she saw in them. She thanked God for every minute she was allowed to walk this beautiful earth. There were tears for the friends that she missed and the memories long past. By her words, this beautiful woman taught us to sip from the cup we were given, feel thankful for a legacy, and to always toast the moment. Her simple toast of wine showed us the importance of family and its heritage. If we allow it, time’s passage will remind us to say I love you before it is too late. Traditions, such as Grandma taught us, will keep memories alive, loved ones near us, and our hearts filled. Word Count 563 |
| It is Sunday again, which means I have the laundry day blues. But in my yard is a mile high pile of leaves. What to do what to do. I wish my choices were more adventurous and what do they call it, fun. But i remind myself that the toils of life sustain the soul. Hard work isn't the enemy but the means to achieve satisfaction. Nothing feels better than completing the task one sets out to do. At the beginning of the job it seems insurmountable, but with persistence it is whittled down to nothing. All of this is accomplished by your very own hands leaving you to feel triumphant. |
| House cleaning rule #101, just keep trying. It may not be perfection, but the clutter of our discontent will diminish by bits and pieces. Dust will fly happily into the stratosphere.Floors will shine and windows will sparkle from our efforts. The scent of cleanliness will linger in the air.With the laundry woes,our dirty drawers will become streak free. Snuggling up in cozy clean sheets will sooth our battered souls. The paw prints on the tables will disappear like magic. The freshly dusted ceiling fans will spin freely without catapulting furry objects.We will erase the names written in the dust of the television screen. Our aching bodies will scream of rewards for the jobs completed. I promise the satisfaction will last at least until the morrow. |
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