Sabbatical

One nice thing about these clear, crisp mornings is the time it gives me to reflect. A cup of hot coffee, some warm slippers- and my mind drifts off to things and to places that my heart needs to nurture. There are some things that have weighed heavily on my mind lately, and the waning down of these sweet October days has ultimately caused me to want to free myself of them- once and for all. Who to better share them with, but to all of you who have chosen to come here and be a part of my everyday joy?
I have always had this huge empty room inside my soul that beat like a painful toothache. Outside the door is a sign that says, """  Who I Am".  I knew that if I could fill that space with goodness, then the ache would go away and my life would be more complete.   
But nothing ever fit right. My dreams and actions were either too big or too small or too weak to make a difference. One day I could envision the perfect "me"- and the next day it would seem foolish -or rash- or beyond my reach. I thought that writing was the key to my life.
After over two years of blogging, I am no closer to filling that room.  I can't help but wonder - if I had put as much effort into my life as I have into my writing- maybe things would be different. And the only way I will really ever know is to reroute my energy elsewhere.
It may be hard for some of you to understand, but when that special room is empty, then you never quite feel like you fit in. Try as you might, your life never quite connects with another - and forcing the puzzle pieces together only prolongs the agony- and reaffirms the huge realization that you need to do something great and meaningful in your life.
There is always the chance that my room will forever be empty. That time will run out or I will give up... or I'll finally just ignore it and it will shrivel up and disappear. But to do that, I must stop breathing- and I do love and cherish my life so.
Maybe this is too deep. Too sentimental. Too wacko. But, that is the glory of these slow autumn days. There are no boundaries to what we can think, imagine or do.
I'm setting out among the fallen leaves like a soldier marching to battle. I am ready to face my fears and fight the obstacles and take paths that I've ignored along the way. I am going to find whatever it takes to fill that room. I am challenging myself to create a new identity, not only in my pastimes, but also in my health and spiritual being.
So, I'm going away for awhile. Letting this computer idle. Allowing my ambitions to soar above this keyboard and coffee cup to a better me.
I may be back. I will miss you all dearly. But- who knows where the days will take me?


Don't be dismayed at goodbyes.  A farewell is necessary before you can meet again.  And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.  ~Richard Bach

Frankenstein Friday

When we think of Frankenstein,
we usually think of a large monster-
menacing, awkward,and scarred with stitch marks
that cause us to reject and fear him.

And although Frankenstein is not a real person,
his story should make us pause and realize
that there are many lessons to be learned
from this man-made monster.

First of all, none of us chooses our parents
or the way that we are born.

 "The creature, which he had hoped would be beautiful, is instead hideous to his eyes, with a withered, translucent, yellowish skin that barely conceals the muscular system and blood vessels. After giving the monster life, Frankenstein is repulsed by his work: "I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.” (source: Wikipedia)

Frankenstein was pretty much doomed from the get-go.
But yet, he persevered and tried to learn about the world-
finding the beauty in small children and wild flowers.

In Mary Shelly's novel, the beast says:
"My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy."

He found out that because he was different,
people were afraid of him- or mocked him,
causing him to revel in the all-too-human emotion of loneliness.

All he really wanted was to be part of a family- a group-
to learn and share in the experience of living.
His only true friendship was made with a blind man
who could not see Frankenstein's ugliness.

Perhaps we should approach people with a blind eye.
Maybe we should listen first and look later.
There is a heart within us all that yearns for the same things:
a home, nourishment, a family,
and someone to love.

The story of Frankenstein should teach us all
to be slower to judge.

Today I see the other side of Frankenstein.
I see the sad creature.
The rejected and lonesome man
who never found a home or a family to love him.

Reach out today and trust somebody new.
Bring them into your warm circle of friendship
and make them happy.

"I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. (The Monster)
 **********************
 Now- after that little soap box speech,
here's a little Halloween treat!

Trick-or-Treat Tidbits  

Adults

• Four-in-ten (41%) adults admit that they sneak sweets from their own candy bowl.
• On Halloween night, the majority (52%) of those providing treats to costumed kiddies will be passing out chocolate, while three‐in‐ten will drop hard candy or lollipops into the sacks.
• 62% of adults will be handing out candy because "it's a personal favorite" or it's a household tradition (55%)
• 43% of grown-up celebrants cite costumes as one of the most indispensable parts of the holiday.
• About 26% of households will include full-size candy (chocolate and non-chocolate) in their Halloween activities.
• 90% of parents admit to sneaking goodies from their kids' Halloween trick-or-treat bags.
• Parents favorite treats to sneak from their kids’ trick-or-treat bags are snack-size chocolate bars (70 percent sneak these), candy-coated chocolate pieces (40 percent), caramels (37 percent) and gum (26 percent).
• Parents least favorite goodie to take from their kids’ trick-or-treat bags is licorice (18 percent).

Kids

• 30% of kids report that they SORT their candy first when returning home with trick-or-treat loot, others:
  • Savor it (20%)
  • Share it (16%)
  • Stash it (14%)
  • Swap it (7%)
• Kids say they prefer homes that give: anything made with chocolate (68%) followed by lollipops (9%), gummy candy (7%) and bubble gum or chewing gum (7%)
• More than 93% of children go trick-or-treating each year. 
• Kids tell us that their favorite treats to receive when trick-or-treating are candy and gum. Eighty-four percent of kids said candy and gum are their favorites over other options like baked goods or small toys. 

                                    Have a Safe and Delicious Halloween!

This Is How We Roll. From Now On.

I've just discovered some earth-shattering news
that will change the lives of women all over the world.

What is worse than finding the lid off the toothpaste,
wet towels on the floor,
and the toilet un-flushed?

We all know it's that
annoying, hideous, repulsive-
and empty cardboard tube!

Fear not.

Kimberly-Clark has just announced a breakthrough
in the design of toilet paper.

Totally tubeless!

Yes, my dear ladies, we shall be liberated!

Still in the testing phase throughout the northeast,
Scott Naturals Tube-Free boasts:
"Even the last piece of toilet paper will be usable — without glue stuck on it."

Awesome.

And-if you are "green conscious", there's more good news.
A spokesman for Kimberly Clark said this about the innovative product:

"The 17 billion toilet paper tubes produced annually in the USA account for 160 million pounds of trash, according to Kimberly-Clark estimates, and could stretch more than a million miles placed end-to-end. That's from here to the moon and back — twice. Most consumers toss, rather than recycle, used tubes, says Doug Daniels, brand manager at Kimberly-Clark. "We found a way to bring innovation to a category as mature as bath tissue," he says.

Well - I really could care less about the
empty tubes of toilet paper floating out there in space-
I just don't want them staring at me when I sit down
for a necessary natural elimination-
(if you know what I mean).

(However, tubeless does not mean
that the paper dispenser will automatically replace itself.
We must remind our men and children
that there is still a looming and huge responsibility
that comes with modern convenient facilities-
Replace the roll!)

But, I'm already trying to decide how to spend that extra time
I'll be saving by not having to remove the cardboard tube.

That's just one more thing that us women slaves housewives
won't have to concern ourselves with.

It adds up, people.

I figure I replace approximately 6 cardboard tubes a month
at a roughly figured rate of one minute per tube.
That is six minutes a month-
times twelve months
which equals 72 minutes-
(or an hour and 12 minutes per year)-
times the years I've been married (35)= 42 hours.
(Forgive me if the math is wrong-
arithmetic has never been one of my strong points.)

That means I've spent three and a half days of my life
removing the empty cardboard roll!

Man, I could have been napping or reading
or exercising watching TV!
Or something!
Anything but that darn empty cardboard tube!

Rejoice, ladies.
Our day is coming soon.

Hallelujah joy joy!

Somethin' From Nothin'

THIS is what I have to work with when I begin writing a blog post:

THIS is what I am working with this week:

I sewed and sewed and sewed until my machine broke.

Then I started hand-sewing with a sore thumb
(that I trapped in the screen door).
I tacked and glued and pinned.
I stuffed and cursed -and cut every corner possible.

My creation is very rough,
but it's only a practice shot, you see.

When I'm not blogging, I'm napping snacking playing
pursuing other channels for my creativity.

Some are total failures,
but I'm learning from them.

So, THIS is what  I ended up with this week:
Meet ESTHER-

Resistance Is Futile

Thursday is National Chocolate Day.

And I wouldn't be very patriotic
if I didn't do my part to celebrate.
So, I'm preparing for it.

I read once where consuming too much chocolate
in a short period of time,
can cause minor health problems.

Well, I value my health.

That's why I'm not taking any chances.

I can't afford to go into sugar shock
or develop a case of chocolitis.

I figure if I start eating small doses now,
I will be physically fit enough
to scarf down inhale  nibble mass quantities
come Thursday.

I haven't had any really good chocolate since Easter.
And once those Cadbury Eggs have been sucked down,
there are no special holidays during the summer
that merit eating chocolate with wild abandon.

I suppose if you think about it,
National Chocolate Day sets the precedence
for the rest of the year.
Beginning on Halloween, life is just one big chunk of chocolate.

Or at least in my house.

Every year I do my best to buy a rich assortment
of snack size chocolate bars for my trick or treaters.
I usually tell my husband that I expect a big crowd -
so I better buy two bags.

(We NEVER get trick-or-treaters at my house.)

Yet, apparently we have ghosts-
because within a few days,
the candy bowls are completely empty.

But who you gonna call?

Then after Halloween, eating chocolate becomes
an everyday occurrence.
Commercials and magazine ads and store displays
constantly push the cocoa-infused delights upon us-
with no concern for our lack of resistance.

Chocolate pumpkin pie, chocolate-chip cookies,
hot chocolate with chocolate sprinkles,
chocolate brownie bars, chocolate fudge....
The list goes on...

All the way through Thanksgiving
and Christmas
and New Year's.

With barely a breath before Valentines Day.

Anyway-
you know how it is.
Unless you're firm and fit -(and no doubt anorexic).

But, if you're only human,
it's time to celebrate National Chocolate Day-
even if it's a bit early.

I have a very fitting sign on my kitchen wall,
which I consider my patriotic motto:

I WOULD GIVE UP CHOCOLATE
BUT I'M NO QUITTER.

And I guess -
that says it all.

Twelve Scary Things: A Repeat

Another busy day, so I'm doing a re-post!
Originally from October 19th, 2009.
Have a great weekend!

 *********************

I seems strange to me how people
will spend their hard earned money this time of year-
just to let a bunch of people in masks
scare the poo poo out of them.

Lines flock to the haunted houses,
the spooky corn mazes,
-the wicked woods.

And me-
Well, I find scary things around me
every day and they are free.

Here's the scoop.

Twelve Scary Things:

1. Swiping your debit card for $123.70
when you know perfectly well that you
only have $71.02 in your account.

2. Running out of coffee at 5 a.m.
on a day when you are ready to
kill anyone that looks at you wrong.

3. Stretch pants on strange fat women.

4. Stretch pants on me.

5. Hearing the car make a "ca-chunk"
sound when you are twenty miles from
the nearest town or rest stop.

6. Seeing a mouse getting ready to
run across the room when you've got
company sitting there.

7. Having your hair done by a girl
with tats, piercings and purple hair.

8. The guy who changes my oil.

9. Planning meals.

10. WalMart on Black Friday.

11. WalMart on Senior Citizen Day.

12. WalMart when you've run out of coffee
at 5 a.m. on a day are ready to kill any one
who looks at you wrong and you
bump into ladies with stretchy pants on
while you're searching for mousetraps
in aisle ten when they are actually in aisle four
and having to go back to the Tire and Lube
because some weirdo is paging you that your
service is completed and your debit card is declined.

So, see folks-
Put away your money.

Just follow me on an average day.

Don't Wait

Sunday is Mother-in-law Day.

I know that mother-in-laws get the brunt of bad jokes,
good natured teasing,
and are forever the best cooks in the whole wide world.

And I will admit that I never really appreciated my mother-in-law.
Martha passed away several years ago-
and now it's too late to make up for lost love.

I suppose I quickly blame it on the fact
that I had three children to raise.
Time was stuffed full of crying and spills and fevers-
homework, ball games, new shoes and bedtime stories...

Back then, Martha was there like a sweet shadow.
Watching...helping..giving her advice.
(Although I didn't always heed it.)
She did love my children with all her heart
and they all remember special times with her.

Martha loved catfish-
and whenever we had the opportunity (or the money)
to go out to dinner with her,
I was always fascinated by the meticulous and careful way
that she picked and peeled away the bones,
leaving only a lacy carcass on her plate.

She was patient.
Soft-spoken.
Believed in God and lived her life accordingly.

Those long years ago,
she was probably the only connection I had to church,
or the Bible, or prayer.
And even though I never really said it-
her positive convictions
helped me cope with raising my family
and led me to find hope in hopeless situations.

Martha seemed to always get under my husband's skin.
But- as a mother-
I now know that is just a mother thing.
Her love was limitless, boundless, and rarely judgmental.
(At least not to our faces.)

And, of course, she was a wonderful cook-
treating us to fluffy home made biscuits,
coconut infused Pina-Colada Cake,
and crispy fried chicken.

Her home was always clean, precise, and welcoming.

We never had much one-on-one time.
We never had mother-daughter talks.
We never spent afternoons laughing and bonding.

We never got to be just Martha and Rae.

I was always "Mommy" back then-
and she was always "my husband's mother".

I miss her.
Today she would be the one to comfort me.
to give suggestions,
to assure me that I've chosen my pathways wisely.

I try to imagine if she was still in my life today...

She would love the fact that I'm reading the Bible
and going to church occasionally.

She would be proud of my children.

She would be thrilled I've survived
the ups and downs of marriage with her son.

She would love to come visit.

We would bond.

And we would have fresh, hot catfish.

We'd say a blessing over the heaping plate.
Laugh and eat and make plans-
until all that was left was a plate of bones...
and a day well-lived.

Happy Mother-In-Law Day, Martha.
I love you!


*******
Don't wait.
If you have a mother-in-law, 
call her up Sunday and tell her how much you appreciate her.
*******

Shoe Chat (say that three times fast!)

I suppose I must admit that I have the every day luxury
of wearing my choice of footwear.

Being an "at-home blogger"
who does pitifully less around the house
besides poke the keyboard,
drink enormous amounts of caffeine,
and keep pajama makers in business-
I think I may be qualified to say
that there is nothing better than barefoot.

However, we all know that society frowns
on barefoot people in large department stores,
at social events,
and in public group activities.

So, outside the confines of my home,
I must choose a footwear that is both
fashionable and comfortable.
And, believe me- it gets more difficult as I age.

You just don't see many elderly women
in the grocery store wearing flip flops.
They usually have on some strappy orthopedic number
in an unattractive shade of brownish-gray-
paired with a dead-flesh-colored knee-high nylon.

Sorry.
I just can't go there.
I don't care how old and decrepit I get.
I'll never resort to old lady shoes- even when I'm 110.

But, then again- good choices are limited.
I would never think of wearing gold lame' slippers,
leopard scuffs,
or calf-high boots the size and appearance of a small sheep.

I refuse shoes with tire tread soles the thickness of a novel,
knee boots with foot-breaking heels,
or anything made of rubber, plastic, organic
or synthetic polymerized materials.

I suppose Crocs might be a safe alternative-
but have you ever tried to run in them?
Not that I do much running (if I can help it),
but you never know when you may have to
take quick cover from a tornado,
a mall terrorist,
or suffer the sudden effects of a MSG-laden dinner salad.

There are times when heels seemed to be the only proper footwear.
Usually for funerals.
That's what I save mine for.
Except they cause shooting pains in all 26 bones of each foot.
The last funeral I went to, my feet hurt so badly
that I found myself envying the body.
She looked so comfortable in that big satin box-
getting to lay down and rest without shoe problems.

(Of course, that's pretty extreme...I do love breathing.)

The famous Dr. Scholls (Do we even know what this guy looks like?),
has invented a new footwear item that I wanted to share with you today.
They're called "Fast Flats".

Maybe you've seen the commercial.


A night of disco...crazy dance moves..sore feet..
Well, just whip out your little bagged slippers
and get your groove on without the foot pain !

Dr. Scholl's website introduces them this way:

"Fast Flats™ are compact and foldable shoes that fit discreetly in a purse and come with a wristlet for easy storage and portability. This spare pair is perfect for nights out, weddings, traveling through airports and other times when a long trek in heels won’t cut it. Women can even wear Fast Flats™ during their commute, and then slip in to their fashionable shoes just in time to hit the office.
Most women know what it’s like to dread taking another step in heels when their feet have had enough. In fact, a recent survey conducted by DR. SCHOLL’S^® FOR HER found that 70 percent of women admit to taking their shoes off after a night out because they were so uncomfortable. And 80 percent of women surveyed said that when their feet hurt, it affects their mood."

Duh.

They retail for about $13.

But, ladies-my suggestion is to just keep that $13
for another round of margaritas-
and just pack a sweet-looking pair of socks
in your disco bag.

Or better yet- stay home.
Just slip on your pajama pants,
go barefoot,
and leave the dancing to the Stars.

Recycled Post: Dear Daddy

Since I have all kinds of fun crazy boring errands today-
(and have no time to beat my brain for new material)-
I'm sharing a post that I wrote last year.
Hopefully, I'll return tomorrow with something fresh!

Dear Daddy

Posted by Rae at 5:20 AM

Dear Dr. Frankenstein,

I am writing you this letter because my therapist said in must be done in order to bury the past. Not to sound sarcastic, but I do confess that I dig up the past occasionally, but I sure as heck don't go around digging up people! For a smart doctor, you were pretty stupid to let Igor pick out a brain, don't you think?

Anyway- I have forwarded to you the proper forms that demand your attention immediately. The psychiatrist says that I must provide a detailed synopsis of my birth and early childhood. He doesn't believe me when I tell him I was born a grown man!

Apparently my intense fear of electrical storms has caused unhealthy
stress-not only to this stolen heart inside my chest, but to my mental stability as well. I have tried on various occasions to explain that a direct bolt of lightning was responsible for my being,
but my doctor refuses to accept my outrageous chronicle of my creation. Imagine me- an eight foot man hiding in a seven foot closet when a storm begins to brew!

I'm sure you can understand why extreme shyness has manifested itself in my persona. Eighteen-thousand, one-hundred and fifty two stitches leave quite the scars. And, for crying out loud- what what with the neck bolts anyway?! Even the best turtle neck sweaters from Lands End will not cover those rusty appendages.

My bride left several years ago. She got that hideous streak in her hair dyed and started covering up her scars with some fantastic makeup. Pretty soon there were men flirting with her.I realize they found her attractive- in a sick and perverted sort of way. And I suppose they could give her things that I couldn't. (That is another bone I need to pick with you. Why did you ever exhume the body part of a man with ED?)

However, despite those setbacks, my life is improving as time goes on. I got hooked on Phonics, was awarded my GED, incurred a job washing airplane windshields, and finally got rid of those frightful lead boots. I have started running ( in my new Nike's) and am in better shape than the ten men that I am composed of.

I have no regrets of my amazing birth and no animosity toward you or your lab assistant. There have been so many breakthroughs in science in the past century- that I can't help but wonder how things would have been if I had been born fifty years later.

But- excuse me- there I go again- reflecting on the past. My doctor would not approve of my clinging to things that cannot be changed.

The best to you and yours. Please sign the papers in duplicate and return in the prepaid envelope.

I will see you Halloween night.

Sincerely,

Your son Frankenstein




***************************

My Name is Gourdon

Hi.

My name is Gourdon                   

and I'm a skinny pumpkin.

Yeah, all you string beans

and cucumbers out there

have no idea the social disgrace

that comes with being thin.

I've experienced severe feelings of

inadequacy and self doubt-

and I'm totally embarrassed that I don't fit in 

among my plump and portly brothers.

You can't even imagine how it feels to be passed over 

by everyone that visits the pumpkin patch.

People want fat pumpkins- rotund and rolly-polly-

pumpkins with weight and substance and a chunky build.

And little kids make fun of me.

"Look at the skinny pumpkin!" they shout.

And they run off laughing-

picking some orange, obese cousin of mine

that they have to cart off in a wagon.

At night, when I'm all alone here in the farm patch,

I imagine all the pumpkins that got to be jack-o-lanterns.

I imagine the care and concern that families give them

as they prepare to carve and decorate them-

and welcome them into their autumn celebrations.

I imagine their smiling, toothless grins-

their eternal candle glowing like a beating heart-

their presence on the porch beckoning trick-or-treaters... 

I become a little sad when I think about

those pumpkins being warm beside a bale of straw,

cuddled next to the neighborhood dog,

part of a group display that everyone loves.

I tried my best to be like all the others.

I drank extra portions of Miracle Grow,

I popped fertilizer pellets constantly,

and I even did push-ups when the others weren't looking.

But I turned out different than the others.

An outcast.

A blunder of nature.

A pumpkin good for nothing but the compost heap.

Oh- wait a minute...

Here comes somebody.

Hush a minute...

"Wow! Look at this pumpkin!" says a voice.

"Kinda skinny, don't you think?" says another.

"Oh- let's pick it. It will make the sweetest pie!" they agree.

So, I guess that's it folks.

I may not have been picked for a jack-o-lantern-

but I'm going to make someone very happy.

And that's what life is really all about, isn't it?

P.S.
If you like cool pumpkin carvings, check this out: http://thechive.com/2010/10/12/insane-carved-pumpkins-by-ray-villafan-19-photos/

Talkin' 'Bout the Car Wash

Peer pressure is a strange thing.

Sometimes you just don't think
that you can possibly be swayed by it-
until your two best friends in high school
talk you into going to the dark parking lot
during a freshman football game-
(where the team lost pitifully)-
and share some cherry sloe gin
from a foam cup.

(Uh..not that I would know about that or anything.
I'm just sayin'...)

Or- like the fact that you've
gone through half of your adult life
not realizing you need Spanx
until your friend starts wearing them
and looks ten pounds lighter and gorgeous.

Then the pressure is on.

Believe it or not,
all that drivel is leading up to a blog post
about washing my car.

My sister Linda and her husband talked about
how they were going to wash and wax and shine
their vehicles over the weekend
and get them ready for winter.

"People do that?" I thought.
I hadn't even touched my car in weeks months years.
It still had dust on it from the tornado of 2001.

So, I caved to the peer pressure.
If Linda was doing it-
then it must be done.
My car was going to get washed!
No matter how many quarters I had to pump into
that freakin' crazy coin-eating box at Mister Soapy's.

First of all, I turned my house upside down
looking for spare change.
And defiled my purse.
I found a few sticky quarters in the cup holder,
a few dollars under the couch cushions,
and 50 cents in the bottom of the dryer.

I don't understand the pre-wash thing.
It's like washing your dishes before
putting them in the dishwasher.
It's just one step I think you can safely skip.
And I always do.

So, I always go straight to the soap button.
And, even though I'm a bit stout-
the pressure always sets me back
out of my flip flops for a minute.

Then, I realize that I'm going to have to
fish out some more quarters to use the foam brush-
because Mister Soapy's soap just isn't cutting
the layers of environmental grime on my white car.

I hate those foam brush things.
By the time I get all my quarters in the slot,
that gurgling thing is back in the corner
spewing out mountains of pink suds
the size of Mt. Helen!

And then-                                                     
by the time I wrestle the giant hose
and the slippery handle-
it simply starts leaking a little pink spit
that barely cuts the bug guts.

Speaking of bug guts-
why don't they make glue out of bugs?
It sticks so well and is almost impossible to remove-
(short of a jack hammer or a chain saw-
and that can certainly wreak havoc on the factory finish).

Here I am. Ten minutes later.
My jeans soaked up to the knee caps,
my hair spiked with pink foam residue
and my car doesn't even look clean.

And what's this stuff about a spotless rinse?
Don't they know I'm gonna hit
every mud hole, dust pile,
and tar pit on the way out of here?

Anyway-
it's time to clean the inside.

How does one accumulate so much
within the confines of such a small space?

I had books and mail and Sonic cups.
Dairy Queen napkins, water bottles,
duct tape, and deposit slips.
I had pennies and used tissues
and ant-infested french fries.

But- no worries.
The vacuums they have at Mister Soapy
are strong enough to clean the wax from your ears,
the lint from your belly button-
and even liposuction those problem areas
from your outer thighs.
(Not that I would know about that or anything.
I'm just sayin').

I accidentally sucked up a baby bottle
with one of those once.
Good thing the baby wasn't holding it at the time.

So, I finish at Mister Soapy's-
and when I get home-
I see a huge dirty spot on the passenger door
that was never even  touched 
by the skin-cutting water pressure.

Oh well,
I'll get it next year.

Just Call Me Old Fashioned

I overheard a couple of young girls
talking in the checkout line
at Shop and Save yesterday.

They were discussing where they were
going to get their Halloween costumes.

I just wanted to turn around and say-
"How about your closet?"

But- for one- that only shows my age.
And, two-I just don't think they'd get it.

All the Halloween costumes I ever had
came mostly from my closet-
except for maybe a dime store mask
or a cheap dollar prop.

And back then, closets were no way
as full of odd, colorful, and scary things
as they are today.

We worked with what we had.
Sweatshirts and jeans and robes and pillows
and belts and lipstick and gloves.
Yeah- that's about it.

We usually went out trick-or-treating
dressed like hobos or clowns-
old ladies or fat men-
and maybe a monster once in awhile.

Never in my entire young Halloween life
did I ever run across a sexy witch
or a naughty nurse.

They didn't make them back then.

Life (and kids) were different back in the sixties-
when showing cleavage (or your "behind")
was the sure sign of a skanky floozy.

What's with the sultry cheerleaders
and cutie cops and vixen pirates?
Now days you can be a sexy sailor
or a bimbo bumble bee
or a barely-clad Disney character.

Who started this trend?

I think I liked it better when the scariest thing
walking around the neighborhood on Halloween night
was a vampire or a sheeted ghost.

Now we've got to worry about our own children
bumping into all kinds of weirdness on All Hallows Eve.

Tootsie Rolls, Butterflies, Traffic cops, and Referees
never looked like this!

And neither did Cowboys, Tarzan, or Barbarians!

                                                        

I think I like the old way better.
It brings back memories of those cool autumn nights-
running around the neighborhood collecting candy.
Candy!
That's the only time we got candy!
We had to make sure our paper sack
was falling-out-of-the-top full-
to last till Christmas-candy time.

These are the kind of costumes I remember:

Yes, things change.
Life goes on.
However, I think fashions and trends go terribly crazy sometimes.

But-hey-that's just me.

But- really-
have you ever heard of a sexy skunk????!!!!

Morning Thoughts

Sometimes-
in these clear, beautiful mornings-
mornings that hint of faint perfume
and night-chilled air...
Mornings when the sky opens up
like melted sherbet
and the day touches your skin
like love's electricity...
Sometimes-
these days are the saddest.

Perhaps it is because we are small.

Because no matter how hard we try-
we cannot embrace it all.
And our sadness comes from knowing
the day can only be remembered-
but never saved...
We are soon painfully aware
that pieces of moments drip from our grasp
as the sun slides slowly across the sky
and falls behind the trees again.

Sometimes,
I think these wide, autumn days
are the saddest days.
Days when we remember hands we held,
and laughter we shared,
and familiar footsteps
that once trod beside our own.
We breathe in the fear of our own mortality.
We mourn things and people and places
that whiz by like a train that never returns.

Sometimes,
in these early hours of sunrise-
I think of my mother...
and try to imagine her sharing my walk
and smiling over black coffee
and enjoying yesterdays donuts.

What would she have me save?

The time with timid birds
and whistles of wind in the pine trees?
Or the incessant flow of ordinary things
and monotonous responsibility 
that pulls me off course-
like a ship headed for some futile beach?

Sometimes-
the most beautiful days are the saddest-
because they seep into our souls
like liquid photographs-
like the clear, sweet syrup of reality.
And somehow-
even when we are feeling the sun on our faces
and we smell the earthy odor of fruitless fields
and we touch the petals of fading flowers-
we know somewhere deep inside
that this will not last.

We are helpless in our attempts
to make the wonders of the world stand still.

I do not know the way to a long life,
but I do know the way to a good life.
Although we cannot save it-
we can relish it
and revel in it
and take notice of its miracles.

And it starts by watching the sunrise
and listening to the birds sing
and inhaling each dancing drop of heavenly air.

Thank you, God.
For this beautiful day...

My Weekend in Pictures/Home and Away

A bouquet of mushrooms.... (Click pics to enlarge)

The cabin gate...

Big tree- Or little cabin?

The last blooms....

Make a wish ...

Just hangin' around...

Mellow yellow...

My scarecrow Samuel gets a face lift....

Summer fishing and minnow memories....

Autumn berries...

 A view from the pond bank...

Mums the word...

Scarlet sumac...

Lone cone....

"and I took the road less traveled..."

Tall timber...

Just follow it....

Preparing for winter...

Don't ask....