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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 |
| They pranced in from the out of doors, rambunctious and rowdy, after finishing their business. On their feet the remnants of snow, mud, and water splashed on the floor and walls as they sought to shake the debris from their bodies. That's what dogs do! And for the millionth time while I cleaned up the mess, I thought about the insanity of dog ownership. I convinced myself, for just a few seconds, that without the beasts life would be much simpler and less work. And then when the were dry, they jumped like rabbits all around the house and they chased each other around in circles. They had discovered a vibrant new burst of energy from dropping their load outside. Because that is what dogs do! Onto the couch, over the chair, down the hall and back again. The little one tried desperately to keep up with the big one, and throw in my son's visiting cat to the mix, it was quite comical. There were three full loops through the house before they calmed, reminding me of the old commercial, "ohh, ohh ,what a relieve it is." You get the picture! I was helpless throughout their rampage. I just watched and I laughed, and remembered why I love animals. |
| These are the type of days that cause me to reminisce, you know, the blistering cold, hide your head under the blanket, do nothing but wait for the predicted storm to roll in, kind of days. It is always a toss of the coin as to whether the predictors will get it right or Mother Nature will withhold the flaky fortunes or pummel them into submission with unrelenting snow. I remember as a kid waiting for the first flake to fall and believing that magic was about to dance right out of the clouds. At the mere mention of snow, I would dig out every hat, glove, boot, and sled ever to grace our closets. It seemed as if I could smell and taste the flakes before they had even fallen, and for a small part of our childhood, time would stand still. And the stage would be set for a jaunty romp through fields of joyous laughter, memory-making, castle-building, sled-sliding, snowball to the face dream-away days. Waking up to snow blasted windows was magical in itself. It was the only time that you experienced the excitement of dashing outside to use, for the first time, the ruler buried in your backpack, that your parents bought at the beginning of the school year. The hard plastic, white lined, 12 inch tool meant for math problems would suddenly transform into a beaker of scientific importance with the ability to make or break a child’s heart. Tradition had my brother and I, as the youngest of the brood, racing out the door to measure the snow banks. If we measured anything above 4 inches we called it good and returned to the indoors to await the official verdict. That announcement would come from some older guy planted in a square box standing in front of a map. We all gathered to watch the television, wrapped tightly in our blankets, squirming with impatience for the screen to scroll around to the “H’s”. There was some aggravation because of all the schools in the area that started with “Holy and the fact that you might miss it and have to go through the whole list once more. Mom busied herself in the kitchen, cooking a kettle of water for hot chocolate and laid out the marshmallows awaiting our screams of delight. She somehow always knew before us what the verdict would be, but she never spoiled the fun. By nature, I was always a rule follower, not a super star in the grade department, but I turned my homework in when expected. Yet, on snow predicted days, I turned into a rebel and pushed the homework off until the magical tomorrow of never-never land. If my magical snow day disappeared, I would sweat bullets the whole darn day, but I wouldn’t trade my blanket covered dreams for anything. |
| The winter's engine has stalled right outside my door. We are stuck in a long and very cold weather system, making it very hard to go outside. It takes my breath away when I walk out the door and my energy is zapped when I make it home. My evening activities involve being wrapped in a fuzzy robe and watching comfort shows with family. So not getting many things accomplished and am certainly ready for Spring. I am off for the next few days but they are predicting another winter storm. I will lead with the good news, I won't have to drive to work in the snow. I promised myself that I would do some home projects and muster some energy from the deep realms of my soul. So wish me luck! It is very hard without sunlight to engage oneself with the world, part of me wants to hibernate. |
| I am a mother of 3 young adults and still I am presented often with the teenager's eye-roll. It is not because I suggest or tell them to do a chore these days, but more for my opinions, stupid jokes, or my Mary Poppins view on life. It is just as infuriating today as when they were younger, but I have lost the ability to punish the culprits. I am not even sure that they realize they are doing it and at times I point it out to them. Other times I just close my mouth and walk away. Our interpersonal communication skills have grown through the years but I wonder if the eye roll ever completely disappears from the parent/child exchange. Will they ever come a time when they fully appreciate our wisdom? |
| Anger is a strange emotion and everyone handles it differently. Some cry, some scream, some internalize, and some bear grudges. It can be long term or short lived. But however it is handled, it makes for good fodder in a story. It gives depth to not only the character experiencing the emotion but the people left to deal with the fallout of the sentiment. An entire plot can be built on the passion found in anger and the resolution of it's depth. Feeling the desire to paint a story red sometime soon. |
| It is Monday once again, and I feel like the weekend disappeared in a cloud of smoke.Now part of that is that I worked Friday night (or ended my shift at 7:30 am Saturday) so I slept my Saturday away.My Sunday due to necessity and yucky weather outdoors was spent in the pursuit of clean laundry. Twas not the exciting weekend I had hoped for. I did have prime rib for dinner Sunday while sitting in my comfy chair so life is good. It seems no matter what shift we work we look forward to the weekends. Expectations are placed on just 2 measly days, when we should probably take the bulk of our week and enjoy each available moment. The fact that I have and continue to have an income is a good thing, even if the job itself is wearing me down. At times I feel guilty about still being able to work and at others I wouldn't mind if someone took my place for a day or two. Vacations seem not to exist in the medical world at this time and I could sure use one. I try to take my two days off (no matter what part of the week they fall) doing the things that I enjoy. Schedules do not always cooperate with that plan, as often times my schedule is one night on and one night off. Lack of sleep tends to leave me slap-happy, but happy is still happy. I guess the message is to find peace and love where they exist. |
| A block, made of cement and porous in nature, resides in my brain when I am introduced to the blank page. Page and I have met many times before, but with each new meeting we are strangers once more. Page and me, we have sometimes spent just moments apart and sometimes days on end. And always, we are different and unfamiliar with one another. There has been change, growth, and character-building exercises for us both. Before each new start we must come to understand the nuances of one another. A sensual escape of the possibilities is required before our communion. Page and I have to agree on the adventure we seek.Even though there is newness to the friendship, I have no doubt of beautiful fraternity that awaits us. |
| It is a rainy,rainy, water-filled, soggy,drippy, precipitating, wet, Monday that makes you want to do nothing but sleep. So I did,good thing I wasn't scheduled to work. My mind is numb at the moment and I planned on writing a bit today. I will need to give myself time to rouse the cobwebs from my brain before I attempt this feat. Wish me luck, because the rain continues to fall and the couch looks so cozy. |
| As the snow begins to fall around me, I reminisce. Nostalgia seems to coexist with the graceful beauty of winter. There is peace found in the picturesque view of snowy fields from the warmth of home. Soup, biscuits, and hot chocolate present themselves as the perfect comfort foods. I can recall the hills I have plunged down on speeding sleds. I remember cozy mornings of my youth wrapped in warm quilts waiting for the school closing announcements. It bothers me that those days are just another thing the pandemic has taken away from our kids. They will now be expected to attend virtually on snow days and will never know the joy of snuggling around the fire waiting for news of a free day. I remember endless snowball fights with friends and family. Never will I forget the shocking way snow down the shirt made you feel. I remember my mom calling after me to put my hat on and doing just that until I was out of her sight. She used to say, "You will stay much warmer if your head is covered." I didn't believe her until I got older and didn't care if I looked like a dork. I remember packs of kids walking to the store during the snow to get needed supplies or just to take the opportunity to socialize. I remember earning money by shoveling snow. I remember wearing bread wrappers on my feet and buying my first pair of moon-boots.It all seems so long ago but very close to my heart as the flakes glide tenderly through the air. |
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