Crow's Feet Are For The Birds

This morning I had an epiphany.
I know why old people die.

It's because they get sick
of looking at themselves
in the mirror every morning!

Heaven's to Betsy-
I look wild in the morning!
You'd think I'd been
swinging with Tarzan all night
or playing Don Ho
with my hair.

I have raccoon eyes
and night zits
and jowls
that belong on old pig.
I'm frumpled
and frazzled
and freaky!

Thank the Lord for makeup!
How lucky us women are
that we can learn the art of disguise-
that we can cover up,
color over,
or pull tight
anything that doesn't suit us.

Yet, going into the cosmetic aisle
in the store is an overwhelming experience.
The choices are endless.
It's almost like buying spare parts.

Brush on, comb on, or curl on mascara?
Cream, mousse, or spray foundation?
Red, orange, or pink?
Gloss, frost, or matte?

And is $20 eyeshadow
any different than
the economy sized $2.50 version?

Do I want plump, pouty
or puckery lips?
Do I want a smokey eye,
a bright eye,
or an evening-look eye?

And I want to know how come-
when you get older-
that your eyebrows and lashes
start to fall out
and begin growing on your chin?

Who in the heck really knows?

One of my favorite and
most essential products
is Oil of Olay.
Now they are offering
micro-abrasion,
heat therapy,
regenerating,
anti-aging,
cellular repairing
merchandise.

How do I choose?
(Other than putting a limit
on my purse strings).
Is my face really worth $35
of creams and lotions?
Will the 30 day
miracle treatment fail miserably?
Will I have money left over
for a new hair brush?

Then we must also buy tools.
Like tweezers and clippers
and curling irons
and flat irons
and blow dryers and eyelash curlers.

Face it.
It takes practice
and patience
and a certain amount of
pretending
to look good.

After cleaning up a bit this morning-
after the creams
and lotions
and masks
and markers
and liners
and pencils
and sticks
and exfoliating exhilaration-
I guess I look fairly good.

Thank God I do have a vivid imagination...
That's one thing money can't buy!

Life Lessons 101

I got to thinking today-
about life...
about Easter...
about rules...
about struggles...

Life is like an Easter egg hunt.

1. Put your best foot forward
Whether it's a black Paten shoe or a
great sneaker, be ready to cross the finish line
with a big bang and a round of applause.
Don't be afraid to run when you need to,
but take the time to slow down and
smell the daffodils.
And life is short- be comfortable.

2. Look your best
Clean hair and fresh clothing is always
an asset. Even if you're just crossing
the neighbors field for a quick hunt,
put on a nice outfit. You never know
when you'll run into your
old friends from high school.

3. Have a plan
Don't just grab any old basket and start running.
Be selective, smart, and strategic in your endeavor.
Think ahead and see the obstacles before
you reach them. Pace yourself.

4. Don't overlook the choices
Realize that sometimes that really cool-colored egg
may get snatched up before you reach it.
But just because it's not flashy and flamboyant
doesn't mean it's not worth the space in your
basket. Some of the plainest eggs
hold the best prizes.

5. Play by the rules
Don't push, trip, tease or deceive
your opponents.
Winning by cheating is never
fulfilling or lasting.
Be determined and steadfast,
but not vicious and blood-thirsty.

6. Be organized
Don't just start filling up your
basket and run with the goods.
Place them gently and in some type
of order so they won't break.
Get too many eggs in a hurry
and the ones on the bottom break
and rot.
It is better to have five eggs
in excellent shape
than a hundred cracked ones.

7. The Golden egg
Don't quit trying-even if you see that
someone else has snatched the best egg.
Your personal golden egg
may be waiting for you behind the next
tree or around the distant bend.
Never, ever, give up.

8. Have fun
Don't take the whole hunt too seriously.
The fact that you got to participate is
the greatest gift ever.
Laugh. Sing. Breathe the sweet air.
No matter how it may seem
to you right now-
it's not really a race.

9. Don't put all your eggs in one basket
Always have a backup plan or an alternate
route. Keep a few eggs in your pocket
or your hoodie for safe keeping.
An extra basket is always a smart idea.

10. Be thankful
Be proud of what you have found
and realize that no one's search is
in vain.
No one's hunt is a failure.
Everybody's basket is filled differently.
Just give thanks for yours.

Counting Blessings

It's amazing how green the grass
has gotten in just a few days.
Already I can see a thin veil of color
across the pond-
buds popping out that will soon
blossom into a tangle of odd weeds
and choked out bushes.

The fish are starting to move-
their tails flapping in ripples
across the still-shallow water,
their bug eyes and pouty lips
begging for bread crumbs
as I wander close to the pond bank.

I realize that I am so blessed
to live in the country.
To have a big yard
and a garden
and a private place to cookout
or camp out
or hang out
whenever I want.

I can hear birds
and watch them peck at tiny seeds
or huge earthworms-
I can smell honeysuckle
and lilac
and freshly mowed grass.

I can step outside the back door
in my pajamas and slippers
and never worry if the neighbors
are close and critical.

A lot of work comes with it all.
The lawn must be mowed,
the trees trimmed,
and the garden must weeded and hoed
with every measurable rainfall.

But after the work is complete
for the day,
there is no better gift than to be able to
sit back with a glass of wine,
a steak on the grill,
and adore a beautiful sunset.

I look forward to the warm days
when sweat forms on my brow
and dust gathers on my toes and sandals-
when the huge mass of stars hang
in the sky above me
like an amazing blanket of glitter.
And the moon-
all chalky and round,
smiles at me in my pj's.

Today it will rain.
I say, let it come.
Let it fall down upon this great earth
and feed the land.
Let it bring growth and greenery
and lasting hope.

Let it bless our lives.
Our new season.
Our summer dreams.

Are We There Yet?

With Spring Break coming over the horizon soon,
I suddenly drifted back into my memory banks today
to some memorable family vacations.
Young spring days
and hot sultry afternoons...
back when my husband and I were naive enough-
and crazy enough-
to pack up our brood
for a road trip.

Was our trip to Disney World really 20 years ago?
I swear my back is still peeling from the sun
and my feet still hurt from cobblestone walks
and long waits in line.
And I can still smell cotton candy and popcorn
and smoked turkey legs with mustard.
I can still see the kid's faces
as they slid through some water ride
like happy puppies.

Their enthusiasm and wonderment was contagious,
and for a single fun-packed day,
my husband and I became children, too.

But, wait-
Let's back up a moment-
What you have to realize is
that it was pure hell getting there.

We didn't have DVD players
or Ipods
or even CD's back then.
The best we had to work with was
crappy car games
with checkers so little they made
a Tic Tac look huge-
and Connect Four pieces
that kept falling between the seats
and becoming lost with
a thousand old french fries.

Of course, even at their young age,
our three children were too cool
to sing along with Dad
or play "I'm going On A Picnic"
with Mom.

They cared nothing about stopping
in Georgia to buy pecans
or about standing in front of the giant peach
for a photograph.

The car wasn't fast enough to
get them to Mickey's house.
Yet, every fifty miles or so
they had to pee
or get a drink
or start a fist fight
that made Rocky Balboa look sweet.

No one wanted the middle.
Everyone wanted to choose a radio station.

They were too hot.
They were too cold.
They were bored.
They were hungry.

They felt a huge, looming need
to touch one another-
or kick each other-
or send us spiraling onto
the edge of insanity.

Those were the longest hours
of my life.
Worse than childbirth, even.

The photo they snapped as we
entered the Magic Kingdom
looked like five zombie tourists
without a clue.

Our frazzled hair,
wrinkled clothes,
and chalk-white skin
obviously labeled us
as tourists.

Me and my husband's blank stare
and weary posture
was grueling evidence
of a long family road trip.

So, once we had our fill of
castles and fireworks and sugar cones
and cartoon mascots
and glow necklaces
and water rides and roller coasters
and $3 sodas and pushy people
and carousel music and blurry photographs,
we had to get back into the car
for the unbearable trip home.

Was it worth it?
Today I'd say "yes".

What I wouldn't give
to be a child again-
just for a little while...

I Hope You Dance

While tackling my messy closet
the other day,
I ran across a few old journals
that I had tucked away amid
the Beatles albums
and baby books.

Wiping their dusty covers,
I immediately sat down on the floor
and explored the diaries
of a life I had almost forgotten.

That is one wonderful thing
about keeping your thoughts on paper.
They never disappear.

Even discovering entries
of a time when I was angry
or depressed
(or a little touched in the head :)-
doesn't embarrass me anymore.

Each and every day
has made me who I am.

And every day that follows
will make me
who I will become.
Life is work in progress.

Reading my past-
curled up on the cold floor
amid coat hangers
and cardboard boxes-
I realize that I took too much for granted.
And I took life way too seriously.

What bothered me back then
were problems that
ironed themselves out with time.
I worried about being
a good mother
and now I have good children to prove
that I was successful.
I worried about paying my bills
and now I am lucky enough
to stay on top off them.
I worried about being a good wife
and now we are celebrating
our 34th year.

If we only look at the bad things,
the good things are obscured.
If we keep wishing for tomorrow-
today will be lost.

We are breathing.

That is magic.
That is miracle enough to rejoice.

While reading through the notebooks,
I suddenly felt like I was in a giant hourglass
and the years of sand
had dumped themselves on me all at once.

I drowned in the sorrow of having
misspent so many days.

So, today- take heed.
Un-clutter your life.
Don't forget to
breathe
smile
laugh
and capture every moment.

That is surely my greatest sin.

That is indeed my only regret.

You Better Not Pout

Due to my short vacation/break/downtime,
pretending-to-get-organized-week,
I missed out on Lips Appreciation Day
which was celebrated on March 16.

I think that it's important enough
to touch upon in today's blog, however,
so I'm taking the liberty of mouthing off
about "lips".

I bet you don't even know your lips
by their anatomical names.
(That's what I'm here for-
to educate you about things you don't really
give a flying hoot about).

The border between the lips and
the surrounding skin is referred to
as the vermilion border,
or simply the vermilion.
The vertical groove on the upper lip
is known as the philtrum.

The skin of the lip,
with three to five cellular layers,
is very thin compared to face skin,
which has up to 16 layers.

The lip skin is not hairy
and does not have sweat glands.
That's why lips tend to dry out easily
under certain circumstances.

Other than assisting with speech
and food intake,
lips are considered an important
part of human attraction.
I suppose that's why
in 2006, 750,000 people
(men and women)-
shelled out hard-earned money
for some type of lip enhancement.

Of course, there are those women
who have naturally pouty lips-
and can pocket their money
for some augmentation elsewhere.

My sister and I watched a SciFi show
together the other day
and the prom queen that
was being chased by zombies
had lips like two giant leeches-
just pasted like doll arms
around her mouth.

(At this point, it was a wasted
surgery for her-
the zombies ate her lips
like piranha on steroids.)

Now-too fake lips are just gross.
And unattractive.

But we commented that
in our old age,
our lips do appear
to be thinning.

Our husbands-
who never hear anything we
say directly to them-
happened to be listening
to our critical self exam.

They unanimously agreed
to give us fat lips
if we wanted-
rolling up their sleeves
and balling up their fists
with an evil smile.

We passed on that
white-trash lip-plumping treatment
and settled for simply
keeping our bodies hydrated.
Experts say that is the healthiest way
to keep your lips soft and full.

I just don't know if I can
drink another gallon of water today...

Greetings!

I'm Baaaaaaaaccckkk!

Wow! It's hard to believe that one simple week
was packed with so much activity!
I missed writing about Lips Appreciation Day,
(I'll get to that story real soon, though),
St. Patrick's Day, Maple Syrup Day, and
the First Day of Spring!

It's also hard to believe
that I barely got a thing done
after taking a week off to do just that.

I opened my closet door this morning
and there was still only room enough
to squeeze in sideways.
It IS a walk-in closet-
or supposed to be, anyway.

And once I slide in there,
I have to crawl around
and do handstands in order
to find shoes and belts
and other needful things that
live in the corners.

I have stacks of comforters
and tablecloths
and empty suitcases.
And a bunch of old clothes
that I might need
in case I decide to paint or
stomp grapes or
spread manure.

You just never know.

And then there are
the boxes of old papers,
pictures,
what-nots,
receipts,
hats,
gloves,
and remnants of a junk drawer.

I cannot believe
that I didn't even get started on it!

But I told myself today
that it must be done.
I can't find my summer clothes
or half of my flip-flops.
And heaven forbid if my husband
decides to open that closet door!

I shudder to think.

I suppose I did get a nice week off
to let my mind and creativity rest.
But, there again,
I have nothing to show for it-
not even any good blog ideas!

But I hope you are all back
on my page again-
Hope you are all enjoying
the beginnings of spring,
the songs of birds,
and the hope of warm weather.

Tomorrow
we'll talk about lips.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

I had been out all day-
My nerves were shot,
my feet were tired-
but my long list of chores
was finally completed at last.

I couldn't wait
to get home and relax.

I hadn't thought much about it before-
this routine that I go through
when I get back home from some place...

...I usually toss off my uncomfortable shoes
and replace them with sneakers if I'm
going back outside...
I'll hum a little tune...
and I put on my favorite old sweater...

And today for the first time
I realized
that ...
I've turned into Mr. Rogers!

It's crazy, I know-
but hauntingly real at the same time.

My husband is so much like King Friday
and my sister sometimes acts like
Lady Elaine Fairchilde!
And my mail lady
is suspiciously starting to
look like Mr. McFeely!

I'm starting to speak softer,
dream about field trips,
and sing silly songs!
And sometimes I imagine myself
in the Neighborhood of Make Believe.

God help me if I go out
and buy a little trolley car!

So-upon this sudden realization-
I decided to do a little research
into the role-model
I had apparently morphed into.

Here's what I found out :

Every sweater that Fred Rogers wore
was hand knit by his mother.

Upon meeting Mr. Rogers for the first time,
Koko the Gorilla, (who learned
up to 1,000 words in sign language),
greeted him with a big hug-
then proceeded to take his shoes off of him.

Mr. Rogers weighed himself every single day.
He stayed at 143 pounds for the last
30 years of his life.
He found peace in the number 143.
He explained it by saying that
it takes one letter to say "I'.
Four letters to say "love".
And three letters to say "you".

He was genuinely kind.
While on a trip to a PBS executive's house,
he discovered that the limo driver
was expected to wait in the car for 2 hours.
Mr. Rogers invited him to come in and join them.

Later, Fred rode in the front seat
and he asked to meet the driver's family.
They went to the chauffeur's house,
played jazz piano and
talked throughout the night.
The two shared notes and
stayed in touch the rest of his life.

So-
maybe it's not that bad-
-Me turning into Mr. Rogers and all...
(Except I haven't got the weight thing
going for me yet ...)

We could all aspire to be like him.
With kindness toward others
and positive thoughts,
we could actually improve our quality of life.

Just wake up one morning and realize-
it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!

Troop 44

I noticed on my Celebrations Calendar
that tomorrow is Girl Scout Day.

So let's take a moment for the pledge:
"On my honor, I will try
To do my duty to God and my country,
to help other people at all times
and to obey the Girl Scout laws."

Oh, that takes me back....
Way back to about '67 or '68
when I stayed after school
to be part of the Girl Scout pack-
to learn the art of twisting pipe cleaners
and paper mache'
and how to tie a tourniquet in case
someone got snake bit.

I was part of history.
Of Troop Number 44.

I liked holding up my three fingers
and reciting the pledge
like I was going away to war
or something.

I think mostly that
I liked having cookies and Kool-aid
so I could go home and tell all my
brothers and sisters
and make them jealous.

"Na-na-na-noo-noo! I haahadd Koool-Aid
Aaaaand you-ooo-ooo di-dunt!!"

But it was also pretty cool
that one of our Girl Scout Leaders-
-Mrs. Bugal-
had blue hair.
She was nervous sort of woman
with clothes that smelled like moth balls
and a little sweater chain that
held her sweater on her shoulders
while she thumbed through
the Girl Scout Handbook.

Of course the highlight
of the whole scouting year
was camping out at the
Girl Scout Little House.
We cooked bacon
on an inverted coffee can,
learned to fold a flag,
and sang really neat songs
that I never heard in church.

It made the summer fun.

I earned about five badges
during my time as a Girl Scout.
One was for story-telling,
one was for gardening,
one for camping and exploring
and the last one for sewing.

I cheated on that one.

I had my Mom sign a piece of paper
that said I sewed on a button,
hemmed a pillowcase,
and mended a sock.

Any moron with half a brain
could figure out
that I really couldn't sew-
because most of my badges were
safety-pinned to my sash!

(Let's just say I wasn't the
neatest little scout
in the pack).

And, yes, there was the thrill
of Girl Scout Cookie Time.

(I usually sold two boxes).

But I loved going home
and telling my brothers and sisters-
"Na-na-na-noo-noo-
I baked these coo-ook-ies
and you-ooo-ooo di-dunt!"

Happy Girl Scout Day.
Hope your memories are as
cool as mine!

WWYouD?

I read a humor story the other day
about a woman who was desperate
to buy new furniture because
she had important company arriving
for the holidays.

In jest her husband blurted out-
"You act like Jesus is coming to visit!"

And, in her own defense,
she comically explained that
it might not be a bad idea
to get the new furniture immediately
just in case the Rapture came.

I laughed,
but it also got me to thinking...
Would I want new furniture
if Jesus actually came to visit?

Would I scrub and clean
and fix up my house
to be some kind of show place
that it really isn't-
just to impress Jesus?

Would I go out and buy steak and lobster-
a bottle of good wine,
and set my dusty Bible out
on the coffee table?

I think Jesus would want me to be me.

I think I would offer Him
the most comfortable chair in the house-
even though the arms are
a little worn
and it rocks a bit unsteady.

And if He had dust on His sandals
I'd wash it off for Him
and let Him know not to worry-
that nothing could hurt that old carpet.

I think He would be a bit suspicious
if there wasn't a little dust.
Plus, I think He'd be satisfied
to share my dinner salad
or a nice brat on the grill.

As for the Bible-
well, that's something
I should have thought of sooner.
Digging it out of the closet now
would just be a phony act
of deception.

I suppose it might be
something I should do today-
before He really comes to visit.

Just to get familiar with it and all.

You know.

I just hope that if Jesus came
He would feel that my home was full of love-
that it was comfortable and lived in-
that there was genuine happiness here-
and true gratitude and thankfulness.

And here's another thing-
I guess I better practice praying-
I'm sure He'd want me to lead off
during lunch and dinner and bedtime
with a word of praise.

Not to be preachy-
condescending
or pretentious-
but is your house in order
if Jesus came to visit today?




Be inspired:
http://www.wvyn.org/

Rejuvenation Station

Well, I'm sure I speak for many
when I praise that genius who
claimed today "Napping Day".

Due to the jolting spring forward
and the loss of an hour of sleep,
common sense just tells us
that a good nap should definitely
be the order of the day.

My sister Linda
gets teased a lot about her naps.
But if you ever experienced
her afternoon wrath
because she's missed one...
well.... let's just say
it's not a happy time. :)

I am guilty of the same indulgence myself.

I have even tried to convince my husband
and the critical outside world
that a nap is merely
a rejuvenation period.
A space of time between morning and night
where the mind and body shut down
to replenish and repair the spirit.

My favorite place to nap-
(I mean- rejuvenate)-
is the couch.

Always armed with a soft pillow and
a light blanket-
and having easy access to the
remote control and the telephone-
I experience everything from
a short cat nap
to a two hour dream marathon.

My husband's method's
are quite different.
He usually naps sitting up
in his recliner
with a beer in one hand,
the TV blaring,
and with rhythmic bobs
of the head and chin-
with an occasional snort/snore.

Some nap aficionado once stated
that a person does not "take a nap"-
(for that subtly implies that it
was stolen or snatched secretively)-
but that the preferred verb is
to "have a nap".
Just as innocently and freely
as having an coffee break.

There are even books available
that explain the art of napping.

But, you know-
(Yaaawwwnn....)
I do quite well
without them.

My Life In a Flash

"Waaaaahh!"

"Da-Da!"

"I love you, Mommy."

"Santa's been here!"

"I've got new friends."

"I like my teachers."

"Algebra is hard."

"Passed my drivers test!"

"I'm going to Prom."

"Graduation night!"

"He's cute."

"He said I was cute."

"I love you."

"Stay over."

"Let's get married."

"Marriage is wonderful."

"Marriage sucks!"

"Marriage is wonderful."

"Marriage sucks."

"Marriage is really good."

"We've mellowed out."

"I love you more."

"You're what?"

"It's a girl!"

"I love you, Mommy."

"Oh, it's another girl!"

"Da-Da!"

"We're having a boy!"

"Waaahhhhh!"

Santa came.

Best friends.

Algebra.

Driver's license.

Prom.

Graduation.

"You're what?"

"Goo-goo."

Grandma and Grandpa.

"I love you, Nana."

"Are the kid's coming by?"

"Sure is quiet here."

"Goodnight, honey."

"I love you, too."

Past Perfect

I miss:

Camp outs at the river
where we hauled everything
but the bathroom sink
to only stay two nights...
...Where we lived on hot dogs
and beer and s'mores...
...I miss the smell of the tent,
the coolness of the water,
the pulsating heat of midday
and the rhythmic tick of
insects at night...
...of sweet laughter
and good stories and silence
that spoke to my heart...

I miss:

Holding a baby in my arms,
the soft pink skin all fragrant with lotion,
...the plump fingers rolled around
strands of my hair...
those innocent eyes smiling
as I sing lullabies
in my best nursery-rhyme voice...
... of feeling useful
and hopeful
and satisfied that I accomplished
one of life's miracles...

I miss:

Fresh tomatoes from the garden...
inner tubes in shallow water...
suntans and lemonade...
cool shoes...
full cookie jars...
picnic baskets...
catching fireflies...
swing sets and slicky-slides...
board games...
ball games...
breakfast in bed...
pizza at midnight...
gathering eggs from the chicken house...
a flat belly
and a firm butt...
rock and roll...
violins...
troll dolls and
Silly Putty...
wishing on stars
and chicken bones...
new notebooks...
old pencils...
great coffee...
warm muffins...
church songs
and cardboard fans...
hunting four leaf clovers...

Some of the things I miss can be mine again.
I just have to look for them-
create them-
put them back within my reach.

But I will always miss what time has taken away.
People I loved,
things I treasured,
moments I'll never revive.

But
today is a new day-
a new month-
a new season-
a new year.
A new me.

Thanks, God.

Treasure Hunting

I can't help but feel proud today.
Because yesterday I finally got around
to cleaning out my desk drawers
and the file cabinet.

I was actually looking for birthday candles
and knew they had to be somewhere.
For once my procrastination
was overruled by the
overwhelming sense of need.

My other needs were simple.
I had to free up space for new junk.

It's always interesting
and a little bit fun
to go through
drawers that haven't
seen the light of day
since Clinton was president.

Or maybe longer.

The bottom of the file cabinet
was packed with computer manuals
and software installation material.
All floppy disks.

Garbage.

Then I guessed it was about time
to trash the Windows 98 guide,
the Atari 800 computer book,
and the cord to my old
Radio Shack 2-line jumbo-button phone.

I found two pair of earrings,
a black bracelet,
a half dozen ponytail holders
and six nail clippers...

...lottery cards from 2001,
a golf ball and tee (?),
three shoes from a Bratz doll
and part of a magnifying glass.

I also unearthed nine dollars
and seventy two cents in change.

Of course the fun part was
finding old photos of the kids
and pictures of old pets I've already
forgotten the names of.

I found sentimental greeting cards,
forgotten poetry
and rocks I had brought back
from the river.

I found a copy of the Star Report,
a magazine about 9-11
and a dog-eared TV Guide
featuring Magnum PI.

From under the clutter
I even pulled out a paper labeled
TOP SECRET
in my granddaughter's pre-school
scribbles.
It was a detailed plan on
how to make an alien out of
green material and big painted eyes
so that we could scare Aunt Erin.

I smiled at her crude printing
and atrocious spelling.
And then I laughed at the
post script:
P.S. : She will pee her pants!

All in all,
it turned out to be
a productive day.
I'm not only $9.72 richer,
but my heart feels lighter.

And I know now
exactly where
I stashed
the birthday candles.

You Give Me Fever

It started as a green spark
near the old fence row.
And every day I watched it
as it began to grow.

And soon it spread-
this emerald flame-
Across the field-
into the lane-
Pushed up between
the stone and brick-
It stretched
and climbed
and curled
and licked.

Like velvet arms
it reached across
the winter world
I thought was lost.
Till as far and wide
as I could see-
GREEN was staring
back at me.

I stood and smiled
when all was done
and shouted gladly-
"Spring has come!"

Horrid Hangers and Dead Duracells

I used to have a problem
with coat hangers.

Every time I opened the closet,
those wiry little fellas
would all clang a little tune
and fly to the floor
like metal butterflies.

They multiplied
and took over the closet.

But usually not the good ones-
No, not the hangers with
the nice cushioned arms
or the heavy duty plastic ones
or the nice wooden crease-free
slack hangers.

It always seemed I had an
abundance of half-rusted,
mangled, paint chipped
coat hangers that flipped my
heavy coats and abused my
favorite tees.

Now- all of a sudden
hangers have become extinct
in my house.
I have to go searching in other closets
to hang up my jacket,
check the car trunk for a stray one
or clean the garage in hopes of salvaging
a misplaced wire wonder.

I suppose I over-killed.
Sent too many to the goodwill,
the dumpster,
and the local laundromat.

Now I wish I had been more caring,
a bit more understanding,
a lot more sympathetic
to my hangers loose lifestyle.

But that sad story is over.

Suddenly I seem bombarded
with batteries.
Double A and Triple A
seems to roll around in every
drawer, basket, cabinet
and box that I have.
From Duracell
to Ray-O-Vac to those
little green and white Japanese deals,
batteries seem to have taken over
where the hangers left off.

Why doesn't someone
invent a see-through battery?
One like a clear ink pen
where you can tell how
much longer it's going to last.
Or a battery that turns red when it's dead.

(I mean, that would be a fantastic logo.
Red Means Dead.
Are you listening Mr. Battery Bunny?)

I've tried keeping those little
paper tabs that come with the batteries
that check for juice,
but I always throw them away by accident
or just get tired of going through the
check-battery motions.

I have no idea if these batteries
will work in an emergency
or if they are just taking up space.

At least I can use an old coat hanger
to unclog the toilet.
But a dead battery is absolutely useless.

And I'm afraid if I get rid of the bad ones,
the good ones will disappear, too.

What's a woman to do?

Well, do like I do.

Just don't let it bother you.
Just shut the damn closet
and close the freakin' drawers
and take a nice long coffee break.

Or maybe a nice long nap.