Bluebird

the bluebird by Charles Bukowski
from The Last Night of the Earth Poems

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be sad.

then I put him back,
but he’s still singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

Let's Make A Deal

{one of my primary responsibilities with R. is to make sure he shaves on a regular basis. i'm encountering some resistance on this front so i decided to take a different approach last night.}

setting: R.'s kitchen. He's eating. We're talking about the tasks he would like me to do – mop the kitchen floor, clean out his "icebox" and clean out his shower. {and yes, it took me a good 45 seconds to remember that lots of older people still call the refrigerator an icebox!}

Me: Hey, ya' know what? While I mop the kitchen floor tonight maybe you could go in the bathroom by yourself and shave.

R.: Naaaah.

Me: Why not? You go back to work tomorrow morning. Don't you want to look nice?

R.: Naaaah.

Me: You haven't shaved in three days. You really need to do it.

R.: {not even looking up from his frozen dinner} Naaaah.

Me: How about we make a deal? While I do what you want – mop the kitchen floor – you do what I want – shave?

R.: How about this deal? I really liked that brownie you brought me last week.

Me: {incredulous when i realized what was going on} Seriously?? If I bring you a brownie, you'll go shave tonight?? I don't have any brownies. . .but I do have a pot of soup. Do you like soup?

R.: nodding his affirmation

Me: It's a deal. Are you going to shave?

R.: I'll think about it.

Me: Excuse me?

R.: I'll think about it!

Me: {thinking to myself, "You're gonna get your skinny little butt into that bathroom and shave in exchange for a bowl of soup Mister!" while actually saying –} Has anyone ever told you that you're a stinker??

R.: Yeah, I've heard that before. . .

Epilogue – he shaved. i mopped. and there's a bowl of soup with his name on it in my icebox right now!

Deserving?

"Gratitude is the intention to count-your-blessings every day, every minute, while avoiding, whenever possible, the belief that you need or deserve different circumstances."

~ Timothy Miller

Every morning, in my inbox, I receive a little email from gratefulness.org. This was today's message and it was spot-on for my attitude when I rolled out of bed. I was feeling a little sorry for myself when I got up.

Chief among my issues is that I'm a terrible home-body. There are few places that I would rather be that in at home. Even when other things look like fun I would still rather stay home and do things I love in a place that I love. So, when a whole list of things is shouting orders at me and telling me what to do, I get a little testy.

It's the last day of my four day weekend and there is a long list of things that need to be done today that don't sound like a whole lot of fun. Vacuuming the house, grocery shopping, going to church, going to work with R. this afternoon. (You know what I'm talking about. You've got a list too.) And just about everything on this list makes me go somewhere. (I know. I know. Woe is me. . .)

And then I checked my email. And I read this quote. And I realized I don't deserve anything different.

And I'm working on it.

Happy Thanksgiving {A Day Late}

I've survived another Thanksgiving and successfully entered into another Christmas season. I cooked a few traditional family recipes yesterday to add to the feast that Ali's family put together. As I worked in my kitchen I remembered the feasts of my quickly lengthening past. The turkeys pulled from Momma's oven, perfectly browned and basted for hours. The cornbread dressing that will always be the signature food of the of the holidays for me, that no one in Ohio will ever prepare – or eat. The pies that Gramma made without a recipe book in sight that always turned out perfectly.

No matter what people say, your family, with all its imperfections and idiosyncrasies, is always your own. Other people may offer, and attempt to become your family, but they are never really yours. And that's OK. But if I really tell the truth – you never, ever get used to it.

On a good day it’s easy to be grateful. For everything. On a bad day, it’s hard to be grateful for anything. I’m working hard at on staying on the good side.

Of course it doesn’t always work. Some days, no matter what, I grouse and complain and cry woe is me and some days I even have good reason to.

Some nights I sit at the kitchen table before I go to bed and feel like crying, because I’m tired and I’m worried about about money and about my family and usually a whole long list of other things that really don't deserve to be worried about.

Some nights.

Other nights I sit at my kitchen table just before I go to bed and I add up all the things I have to be grateful for. I start with the fact that I have a kitchen table. I have a house. I have food in my cupboard, a roof over my head. I have a soft bed to get into. I have three dogs. One cat. (Here I waiver between gratitude and doubt).

I have a garden. Birds at my feeders. Coffee every morning. Books to read. Seasons to monitor. Good shoes. Flowers in a vase. Words in my head. A camera that allows me to express myself when words are hiding. Warm quilts. Wool socks. Love.

Yes, I whine when there is too much work and not enough money. There are days when I feel like I am running in place on a treadmill of my own design. I cry when I am hurt, I fume when I am angry. I get quiet when I am depressed.

But really, I have nothing to complain about. Life is hard. Life is good. Life is life.

If I could place my little solo ship of life on some ancient, crumbling map of the world I would most likely be seven degrees south of hope and three degrees west of thankful.

I hope you had a warm and meaningful Thanksgiving. Thanks for reading here, and for being my friends – even when I don't deserve it.

First Night

I knocked and no one answered the door on my first scheduled visit to his house. So I knocked again. Nothing. Feeling kind of panicky and a little uncertain, I tried the door. It was unlocked so I let myself in. It was my first evening of providing care and homekeeping services for an older gentleman with developmental disabilities. I had only met R. once, briefly a week and a half prior and one of my many concerns was that he wouldn't remember me tonight and wouldn't let me in his house.

As I stuck my head through the front door and called out, "Helloooo? Anyone home?" Silence. "R? Are you home?" Silence. And then I smelled the humid, fresh scent of soap and realized he was in the shower. This was another of my tasks that had me worried. His family is afraid of falls but I wondered how in the world to offer such intimate help to someone you've only met once.

"Hi R! It's Tanya. . .Do you remember when we met last week? Do you need any help?"

Suddenly the bathroom door popped open and out he came – one hand propelling his walker and the other holding up his only clothing, a bright red towel.

The only internal discomfort appeared to be mine.

"I remember you! I'm going to get dressed right now."

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"Nope. You wait there."

With silent relief I waited and surveyed my surroundings. He had his Thanksgiving decorations up – the exact same turkey, Pilgrim and pumpkin cardboard cutouts that I pasted in the windows of my childhood homes. He was working on a jigsaw puzzle on a table in the living room and his Christmas lights were in a neat pile in the corner, waiting for the proper day to hang. His kitchen was immaculate and a list of emergency telephone numbers hung on the refrigerator door.

He came out of his bedroom wearing jeans and a light blue t-shirt. His shirt was tucked in, his pants were belted and he had socks and slippers on his feet. For a guy who was going to bed in less than an hour I was impressed that he didn't come out wearing his pajamas. I would have.

We went to the kitchen so he could eat his dinner. I was aware that he cooks his own meals but I was impressed by his routine. He heated his entree in the microwave while he set the table. There was a placemat with all the proper paraphernalia, including a knife which he wouldn't need, all in the correct place and order. He tucked a napkin into his shirt and draped another over his lap before digging into his meal.

We made small talk while he ate. It did smell good, and when I said so he grinned. "One of the things you don't know is that I'm a very good cook!" Indeed. As soon as he was done eating, he filled the sink with warm soapy water and did his dishes. I was beginning to realize how important routine is for him.

My other big responsibility in helping with personal care is shaving. R. is in his late 70's and has some issues with vision. He's pretty good at shaving his face but has been having some trouble managing under his chin and neck. The hair has grown to be at least 3" long and he's beginning to look unkempt. When the dishes were done I suggested we move into the bathroom so we could shave.

I asked him to show me what he normally did and he grabbed his electric razor and got started. When he quit after about 30 seconds I asked about all the rest of the hair. He said that it was too hard and his razor didn't work good enough. "Fair enough," I thought. "Let's just see what we can do."

I had him sit on the toilet lid and started trying to remove the hair under his chin. The razor was useless. I found a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet and as we chatted and giggled in his tiny, incredibly hot bathroom I got started cutting. I was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet.

He is an older man, doing the very best he can do to maintain his dignity and a life of meaning and purpose. I was thinking about all this, and about how he could possibly trust me so quickly and easily, when abruptly this story came flooding back to me. It comes from Matthew 25 and it concerns living as someone who understands what it means to love God and others –

{Jesus is speaking} I was hungry and you fed me,

I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

I was homeless and you gave me a room,

I was shivering and you gave me clothes,

I was sick and you stopped to visit,

I was in prison and you came to me.'

"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

There are many things that R. struggles to do, but being kind and funny is not one of them. That night the tiny bathroom smelled of urine. We were both sweating, my legs were shaking from kneeling for so long and I wasn't making much headway with scissors – but that's not the real reason I was there.

I was there because R. and I have many things to teach each other.

My hour was nearly up. We gave up on the shaving for the night and I got ready to take my leave. As I put on my coat R. opened his arms for a hug. I leaned down and he put his still-whiskery lips on my cheek and gave me a kiss.

"I think you and I are going to be friends," he said.

I left with tears in my eyes and a certainty that he is right.

A Memo

Dear Piece of Fascia Board on the Peak of my Roof,

Why did you have to flap in the wind and slap the side of the house ALL NIGHT LONG and keep us up? That was very rude, and I'm sure the neighbors weren't happy with you either. You've made me a very cranky girl.

With Kindest Regards, (and a yawn!)

Tanya

P.S. - Please don't be the cause of my untimely death when I climb up there to try and fix you this afternoon. Thanks.

Things {Samson} Has Taught Me

{samson. enduring some early christmas card test shots. patiently.

and with great humor.}

:: don't worry about dignity. it's all about the love.

:: start every day with kisses. it's the best.

:: always tell people how you really feel. they’ll respect you more, and they’ll love you for it.

:: in the end, it’s all about food.

:: a nice long walk can change your outlook on life.

:: it’s normal to feel jealous sometimes, but you have to learn how to control it.

:: you should greet the ones you love at the door, tail a’wagging.

:: your first instincts are usually correct.

:: it’s good to get excited about the little things.

:: sometimes all you have to do is bark, but every once in a while, you have to growl to make them believe you.

:: loyalty is the foundation of the best relationships.

:: upside down naps are one of life’s great pleasures.

:: every so often, you should run around at full speed and with complete abandon, for no reason whatsoever.

:: it’s your job to protect the people you love.

:: sometimes, to be the best kind of friend, you just have to sit there.

:: always make your bed and fluff your pillows before lying down.

Little Miracle in Late November

{i was amazed to find a geranium still untouched by frost on my walk this morning}

Bits and Pieces – Odds and Ends

I've been awake since 3:30 this morning and out of bed since 4:45 so forgive me if I ramble. No particular reason I couldn't sleep. Just my distinct brand of luck I guess. So, in honor of my lack of focus, I will clear my head with a post full of dribs and drabs. {lucky you}

:: I got three affirmatives, two negatories and one maybe on yesterday's post. . .so we're ON!! Ali threatened to boycott the house during the festivities until I told her she could bring her own McDonald's. I think she will show. There's still room for more! I'm thinking next Saturday afternoon? RSVP at your convenience. I'm open for time suggestions. Bring your friends! It's truly a once in a lifetime event! {how about you KK? you two game?? JD - you in?}

:: About six months ago someone very graciously gave us a big screen TV. I didn't want it, but Ali really, really did. From the beginning we've both kind of hated it. It's too big for our house. It dominates our living room. The picture wasn't that great. It's too big for our house. . .did I mention that I hated it?? 'Cause – wait for it – it's too big for our house.

Today there is a cause for celebration! The too big TV has hit the road! Or the driveway to be more precise! Someone from the warehouse where I clean wants it!! {wanna know how I got rid of it?? i told Ali that we didn't have room for the Christmas tree unless the TV went. . .and my girl loves her some Christmas. . .}

:: We're going to see Harry Potter today! {i planned ahead and got tickets online on tuesday.}

:: At 3:30 this morning, when I couldn't sleep, I was trying to figure out how I could make each of our three dogs individually sit for a portrait wearing reindeer antlers. I could arrange the three shots on the front of a Christmas card and call it "Merry Christmas from the Three Stooges!" {do you think that was a 3:30 am delusion or could it be possible??}

{i better stop this miscellaneous rambling before i reveal more of the just plain ridiculous things that sometimes go through my head. . . perhaps i should go lay down. . .}

Any Takers??

I first saw this on my cousin Melissa's Facebook page. She and I are kind of kindred spirits in the cooking, baking, knitting, channeling Martha Stewart kind of way. She would make this in a heartbeat. . .and so would I! She found in on chow. com.

So, seriously. . .if I made this next weekend would anybody eat it with me?? (Ali has already declared her disgust.) Come on. . .we could make a post-Thanksgiving party out of it. . .

Hello?? {anybody out there. . .}


For the turkey layers:
Unsalted butter, for coating the pans
2 pounds ground turkey breast
1 cup quick-cooking oats
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated on the small holes of a box grater
1/3 cup ketchup
1/3 cup finely chopped yellow onion
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh Italian parsley
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 1/2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon minced fresh sage leaves
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 medium garlic cloves, minced

For the sweet potato layer:
1 pound sweet potatoes
1/4 cup whole milk
2 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/4 stick)
1 tablespoon packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed
Pinch ground mace or nutmeg
Freshly ground black pepper

To assemble:
About 5 cups or 1 recipe Sour Cream Mashed Potatoes, warm
1/2 cup cranberry sauce, such as our Cranberry and Citrus Sauce, chilled, excess liquid drained
2 1/2 cups Sausage Stuffing, warm
1 1/2 cups mini marshmallows
Gravy, for serving (optional)

Instructions:
For the turkey layers:
• Heat the oven to 350°F and arrange a rack in the middle. Coat 2 (8-inch) cake pans with butter; set aside.
• Place all remaining ingredients in a large bowl and mix, using clean hands, until combined (don’t squeeze or overwork). Divide the mixture evenly between the pans, spreading it to the edges and smoothing out the top. Bake until cooked through and the cakes begin to pull away from the edges of the pans, about 25 minutes. Remove from the oven (but leave the oven on), and let cool for about 10 minutes. Using a paper towel, blot away any excess fat from the cake layers’ surface; set aside. (While the turkey cakes are cooking, make the sweet potatoes.)

For the sweet potato layer:
• Place a steamer basket in a large saucepan with a tightfitting lid. Add enough water to reach just below the basket; bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to low and gently simmer.
• Meanwhile, peel the sweet potatoes and cut them into 1-inch cubes. Once the water is simmering, place the cubes in the steamer basket, cover, and steam until the potatoes just give when pierced with a fork, about 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer the steamer basket with the potatoes to a plate; set aside.
• Discard the water in the saucepan. Place the milk and butter in the saucepan and heat over low heat until the butter has melted. Turn off the heat, add the reserved sweet potatoes and the brown sugar, salt, and mace or nutmeg, and mash with a potato masher until smooth. Taste and season with salt and pepper as desired; keep warm.

To assemble:
• Arrange a rack in the lower third of the oven.
• Run a knife around the edge of the turkey cakes. Unmold one of the turkey layers and place it bottom-side up on an overturned 8-inch cake pan or in an ovenproof serving dish.
• With a long knife or offset spatula, evenly spread 1 1/4 cups of the mashed potatoes over the top of the cake, leaving a 1/2 -inch border (keep the remaining potatoes warm).
• Using the back of a clean spoon, spread the cranberry sauce evenly over the mashed potatoes.
• Using your hands, gently pack the stuffing in an even layer over the cranberry sauce, using one hand to keep any stuffing from falling off
• Press gently on the stuffing to make sure it adheres to the mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.
• Evenly spread another 1 1/4 cups of the mashed potatoes over the stuffing (keep the remaining potatoes warm).
• Unmold the second turkey layer and place it bottom-side up on top of the mashed potatoes.
• Transfer the cake pan or serving dish with the partially assembled cake to a baking sheet and bake until heated through, about 30 to 40 minutes (an instant-read thermometer should register 165°F).
• Remove from the oven and set aside. Heat the oven to broil.
• With a long knife or offset spatula, evenly coat the outside (but not top) of the entire cake with the remaining mashed potatoes (you may have a little left over
• With a clean long knife or offset spatula, evenly spread all of the sweet potatoes on top of the cake.
• Arrange the marshmallows across the top and gently press them into the sweet potatoes.
• Return the baking sheet with the assembled cake to the oven and broil until the marshmallows are golden, about 1 to 2 minutes (watch closely so the marshmallows don’t burn).
• Using two flat spatulas, carefully transfer the cake to a serving dish. Serve immediately with gravy, if desired.

Meeting Roger

{one-sided conversation, overheard from the kitchen last night}

Hi Roger. My name is Ali.

I would like you to know that I have the power to kill you if I wanted to. {slight pause; my assumption is so Roger can absorb that fact; or perhaps argue it out with her}

Oh, yes. . . I could. . . but I'm choosing not to. I'm going to let you live. See, here's the deal. I let you live and you leave me alone. {slight pause; my assumption is that she's giving him time to agree to the deal}

It was nice to meet you Roger. Now that we've formally met, I can't possibly kill someone with a name. {and everyone went on about their business}

{She's right. . .how many vegetarians would there be in this world if, before killing and eating them, we had to look the animals in the eyes?}

The Barn and The Moon

We had drumming circle again last night. There is much that I really enjoy and find thought provoking about Native American spirituality. There is also much that I am beginning to find uncomfortable, but I think that comes from specific people in the group and not so much from the way the circle is being led and presented. There are several people in the group who are deep into spiritual healing of physical brokenness and this makes me uneasy. Too often the language and behaviors of these "healers" blames the victim, particularly if they are not healed and made whole immediately.

But, maybe this is all just me. And. . .it's good for me to sit in a circle and be exposed to things I don't agree with, right? {nodding appropriately}

Last night we did several meditations that are still with me this morning. One was brought forth by a member of the group who I find fascinating. She's older, with fun and funky grey hair and is full of a kind of magnetic energy that I enjoy being around. We were meditating on the season of Thanksgiving and the fact that fall is a time of letting go of the things in our lives that no longer serve us well when Suzanne gave us the following quote to think about –

my barn burnt – now i can see the moon

The more I thought about this image the more I was moved by its truth. How many big, devastating events have happened in my life? {Many} How many of those big, devastating events eventually made room for growth and new life in unexpected ways? {All. . . maybe not in ways I expected – or even wanted – but growth came anyway.}

And then the inevitable questions come for me to sit with in silence today –

What am I missing because I'm focused on the close-up, minute, negligible concerns of my small life? The vastness and power of creation?

This is why I continue to explore God through Native American drumming circle. . .

The Best News I've Heard All Day

The best news I've heard all day?

He has an electric razor!!

Soup To Die For! {Really!}

{this soup is to. die. for. roasting the squash instead of boiling it makes a huge difference in the flavors in this pot. if you ignore (!) the heavy cream, this is a pretty healthy entree!

soup is my go-to meal of choice on Sundays in the fall and winter. this one will most certainly be in the rotation!}

Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

2 butternut squashes, seeded, halved

melted butter, for brushing on squash

3 cups chicken stock

4 T. honey

1 t. minced, fresh ginger

4 oz. heavy cream

1/4 t. freshly grated nutmeg

1 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. white pepper

Preheat oven at 400. Brush squash with melted butter. Sprinkle liberally with kosher salt and white pepper. Roast for 45 minutes or until tender when pierced with a fork.

Scoop flesh into soup pot. Add chicken stock, honey and ginger. Heat slowly. Puree completely in blender. Return to pot and heat to simmer. Add cream and season with additional salt and pepper to taste. Stir in nutmeg just before serving.

This Morning

this morning i forgave my yesterday self.

this morning i welcome kindness, gentle words and quiet contemplations.

this morning i welcome possibility

both challenging and perfect.

this morning i throw open the curtains, the windows, the entire roof

to all that dreams will do.

this morning, i forgave my yesterday self.

On Getting Well

It's Saturday morning and I nearly slept the clock around. What a treat!

I've been lax in the blog writing department lately. I write a lot of them in my head, but can't post them here. Sometimes I'm just too lazy and sometimes I'm just too dog-tired to try. Writing takes a lot of work. Really, all this is just a paragraph of excuses. . . when what I really want to say is – i'm sorry and i'll try to do better.

For the last ten weeks we've been a part of a Wednesday night small group from our new church. It's been a really good growth experience for me. Besides making a dozen or so new friends who I can't wait to hang out with every week, it's been a group that is teaching me so much about what it means to be a spiritual thinker in a commercial world. (This week someone compared each of us, as we go through our weekly routines and schedules and then come back together again each Wednesday night, to characters from the original Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer claymation. We are the characters in the "Land of the Misfit Toys." I love that and it's captured my imagination all week!) {wondering if i can find Rudolph on Hulu this weekend!}

This week in small group we talked about Jesus' question to the paralyzed man, "Do you want to get well?" It was a tough question and a good discussion. One of the things I realized is that "getting well" is a process that never ends. I might work really hard to get well from the big, dangerous things in my life – like addictions or insecurities – but truly getting well is a process of continuously peeling back the layers of my life and making all the smaller, and just as consequential, improvements that make me whole.

I asked the question, "What if you just get tired and decide that you're 'good enough?' What then?" And as soon as I said it, I knew the answer. You become one of those people who is stuck, cranky and just waiting to die.

No, thanks. I don't want to be that guy.

So I will keep plugging along, doing the things that bring life to my soul. One of the reasons that I've been a bit lax in writing is that I'm making a conscious effort to exercise my creativity every day. Whether it's photography, intuitively making a pot of soup without using a recipe, playing with paints or crayons, or actually writing something, I'm pushing myself to become more. And pushing myself to let go of some of the things that keep me from "getting well."

I've adopted a new spiritual practice since we lost our hour of daylight last weekend. {coming home in the dark is really, really hard for me. . .i struggle in these long months of darkness} When I get home, before starting dinner, I consciously bring some light inside. I light candles around the house and as I strike each match, I pray for someone who I know is struggling. I remind myself that darkness doesn't last and that light, warmth and home will always trump shadows and dread.

It's just one more way of getting well.

Broken Places

SOS!

So, I have a new part-time job. And I'm excited about it! Awhile back, I took all the necessary classes and certifications in order to provide services to people with developmental disabilities. I was specifically interested in helping those who live independently with the little things that help them continue to be able to experience as much freedom as possible.

You might be reading that paragraph and thinking, "Why in the world would anyone want to do that?? It would be like being a glorified nurses aide. Helping fix meals and clean house? I can do that at home! Helping someone bathe and shave? No thanks!" And, honestly, there are moments that I think exactly the same thing. . .but then I remember how much fun I had photographing the Special Olympics torch run with it's festivities. And then I think about the Valentine Dance we went to. And I remember Bobby and how much he changed me as a person. And then, it's a no-brainer. Where do I sign up?

This is all a very wordy way of saying I have my first job. I will be working with an older individual who needs help staying in his own home for awhile longer. And I can't wait to meet him! But I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit concerned. There is one thing I'm responsible for I have no idea how to do.

I know as much about shaving a man's face as I do about roping cattle on the Oklahoma range. Which is to say, I don't know jack. . .

OK, all two of you very brave boys who reads this blog. . .which one of you is willing to let me practice on your face and teach me the finer points of whisker removal??? Come on! I'll feed you dinner! We will document the evening in photos for the laughs of all the other six people who read about it here!!

Here's my last plea. . .Help this old lesbian learn a new trick? (If you must, think of it as a mercy mission – in another ten years or so I'll need to know how to do it on my own chin. . .)

Thank you for your support. I'll be waiting for your reply or your call.

The Whisper of Leaves

This was a particularly good weekend. It was full of homemade soup and bread, shared with family and friends. We worked outside, cleaning up the garden one last time before the snow flies. We spent time creating things and experimenting with art supplies. It seems that November is trying to make a hasty retreat and I just needed a little reminder to stay present and hear the whisper* of the leaves.

{*You know. . .that gentle whispering wind before northwest Ohio turns into a god-forsaken tundra and the wind howls. . .for months. . .}

Liberation

{original artwork created at my kitchen table with watercolor pencils; scanned and text added digitally; a prayer i often pray}

Morning Reflection

{as i was drinking my coffee this morning my cup was sitting in the living room window sill as i was reading and praying. i looked over and saw the next door neighbor's tree reflected in the surface. i thought it kind of beautiful.}

The Land of "Do As You Please"

fragmented time –

snipped into little ribbons

by a day tattooed with obligation

some days are not for thinking

they are not even for yourself

some days belong to

function

necessity

duty

it must be what my daddy meant

all those years ago

when he said –

"being a grown up isn't really the Land of Do-As-You-Please"

Hints

naked garden rests

twisted hinges, creaking winds

hints of hidden snow

Reverse Life List

A few things I've done in my life that wish to Never. Do. Again. This is kind of a reverse life list. But, on the bright side. . .we're never too old to learn!

:: Colored my hair red.
:: Broken my baby toe on a kitchen chair.
:: Slept in a leaky tent in the rain.
:: Had my car break down on I-75, an hour from home, at midnight, all alone.
:: Made my mother cry.
:: Gotten the chickenpox.
:: Cried myself to sleep.
:: Over-reacted to stuff that didn't matter.
:: Ate a sandwich that made me very, very sick. I remember it clearly because it was the night that Lady Diana died.
:: Heard that George Bush was President. Twice.
:: Took a dog to the Humane Society and dropped her off.

:: Chopped two lives into "before" and "after."
:: Bought uncomfortable shoes because someone else thought they were "cute."
:: Gotten a registered letter in the mail asking for my resignation. It was signed by a dozen of my closest friends.
:: Lost a friend to sheer laziness.

:: Broken my arm. And my shoulder.

:: Dated someone in college who I was totally in love with who didn't love me back.

:: Cleaned up vomit. In a urinal. (Urinals and I just don't really get along.)

:: Adopted a cat.

How about you. What's on your list?

An Open Letter To The Guy Who Spits His Gum In The Urinal

Dear Urinal Spitting Guy,

What the hell?

Every day I drag my sorry ass into the bathroom where you work to clean, disinfect and deodorize your loo. I know it's a glamorous job, but somebody's got to do it. And every day, in the urinal on the left, you've deposited your gum. And every day, I have to reach into the facilities with a paper towel and fish it out.

Seriously. Have you ever bothered to notice that if you look directly behind you there is a 20 gallon trash can? As soon as you shake it off, you could spit your gum in there. But that would be asking too much now wouldn't it?

I'm trying to figure out why you would do such simpleminded thing day after day after day. Are you really that lazy? Do you think you're being creative and funny? Do you wonder where the gum has gone day after day? Would you put it in there if you knew your mother was the one who was going to have to get it out? (Never mind. I already know the answer to that one.)

Or is it just a way to make me feel disrespected as a human being?

Maybe you're one of the new guys who hasn't figured out yet that the janitor is pretty cool. . .and that she occasionally bakes for the people on your shift.

Urinal-Spitting- Guy, here's a newsflash for you – it's the little things in life that really matter. And you and your gum. . .you're just a pain in my ass. I'm going to keep smiling, joking, chatting and baking. And it looks like I'm going to keep fishing gum out of the urinal. And every time I do, I'm going to smile and try to kill you with kindness.

Sincerely,

The Janitor

{Every janitor has his/her pet peeves. This one just happens to be mine. Is is so damn hard to put yourself in someone else's shoes?? How would you like to reach in a urinal every day? And, by the way, the next time you're too lazy to dump your cup full of liquid in the sink and instead, you set it "carefully" in the trash, think of me, will ya??}

Words

{photo credit here}

Words come falling out,

raining down,

and tinkling together –

like water from a fountain.

driftwood

acorn

unscrupulous magenta grasshopper

magnification

silence

fervent alertness

slither

slink

snuggle

snooze

ochre jealousy

stained glass regret

Words come bubbling out.

Salvation for this greedy soul.