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July 08 Embrace the silenceA backdrop of pine against a blue sky Tree frogs singing Grasshoppers tapping their front legs thoughtfully and looking up at the sun A brown leaf left behind dropping like a note in front of me A white haze of a 12:00 sun bathing the land warming the top of my head My footsteps crushing into the moist red earth Velvet caressing of the soft wind through my hair The sweet smell that the breeze carries The birds that descend the branches watching me and singing their welcoming song A Godly song just for me I accept it with grateful tears July 07 Chopping a branch on a wobbly chairThe following is something that I wrote back in March:
I'm listening to "Have you never been Mellow?" by Olivia Newton John. It's like honey pouring over my soul. Some songs just make you feel good. I'm so excited about all the landscaping that I'm in the process of doing. I'm actually excited about mowing the lawn. Since we got our fence put in, it's like a whole 'nother world out there. The fence encapsulates the property making the house look as snug as a bug in a rug. There is a metal gate across the driveway, not the entrance but about half way up. My dogs love it! Their quality of life has increased dramatically.This weekend we are going to finally burn the huge pile of brush that has been accumulating for two years!! In the past we'd have a huge bonfire and burn and invite friends/family over and roast marshmallows. But we let a few years pass. I love having a burn pile. I just hope there aren't any birds nests with little babies in there. We'll be sure to have our hose pulled all the way to the pile just in case the flames get out of hand.Let's see. I want to paint the concrete porch a new color. I am thinking a beige instead of battle ship grey. They don't give you many choices.I was really excited this past weekend when I bought a new can opener. We were so proud of it. Paid 6 bucks for it. That's a big step up from the past two can openers that I had bought from the Dollar Tree that didn't work. So, I decided to buy a new one after several months, yes months of 'punching holes' with the can opener so that it was just a third open and I would dangerously bend it back and then scoop out the contents with a fork. It was a mess. My husband and I wrestled together with a tuna can trying to open it with the demented tool and got tuna juice all over us. We laughed our hineys off. You can imagine how joyous I was to try out the new opener we bought. I started to open a can of diced tomatoes with suspicion, having lost faith in all of them. And to my surprise, it opened dreamily. Life couldn't get better could it? Ha. Of course it could.Let's see, what else. Oh, yeah. I got the big idea to cut back the long pine tree branches that are practically touching the ground. So I got the small swivel chair from my husband's shop and found a machete. Very dangerous in my hands. Didn't like using it. On a quiet and windy Monday afternoon beneath a sunny blue sky, when all the rest of the neighborhood is at work and all is quiet except the sound of the birds, I positioned the chair on the bed of soft pine needles and started wailing at the thick branch, wincing with every whack, the chips of pine shooting at my eyes. I trudged the 40 feet back to the shop and searched for safety glasses. I found none. So I got back up on the wobbly chair and proceeded to whack away again. I wasn't making very much progress. I was vaguely aware that Mr. Roberts, the old man next door might come out and scold me like a little kid for doing what I was doing since it was so precarious.I mean, c'mon, wobbly chair, sharp machete, ricocheting pine chips in my eyes-Was I practicing to be on Jack Ass???? I put everything up like a defeated housewife and moved on to something else. Productivity is good but it's good to have a course of action too. I'll save the tree branches for my husband and his determined arm and sweaty brow. I've got too many scars already. For now, i will just pick up branches from the yard. Mr RobertsI wonder what Mr. Roberts, the old man next door is thinking about. He sits on a plastic chair in his blue zip up jump suit. It's his house, his land. And he is alone. He doesn't look sad, I can tell that much, by his posture. He looks more like he is pondering something, his arms resting on his knees and his foot scuffing at his concrete porch. He has been sick. His grandchildren tell me over the fence that it doesn't look too good. They just shake their heads and say "He's pushing 85, now." He has some kind of chest ailment. Mr Roberts wife died about 20 years ago. He has lived in his house since the '50's. Since we moved in 5 years ago, we have always seen him puttering about outside. He has an old fashioned blue tractor that he rides on and plows the whole field behind his house. Like a Norman Rockwell painting, he drives it with a pipe in his mouth, a hat and his blue jump suit. I have never seen him wear anything else. Some days I see him just standing there in his yard with his hands in his pockets looking around. Old people do that, I notice. Younger people are too busy to reflect it seems. Or too self conscious to stand in the middle of the yard and just look up at a tree. Sometimes he faces our house. I notice him through our semi-open blinds. This, at one time was all his land. A very long time ago, he sold off pieces of it to family and friends. When we first moved in, we put up a privacy fence on the other side of our house. He asked if we were planning to put one up on his side. We said no. How could we even do that? "This is all he has." I said to my husband. His land, his scenery. Of course, we never even thought about putting up a fence on his side. Part of what keeps him alive is his neighbor's company. To remind him that even in his solitude, he is not alone. If but from afar, he can look over and see into our dining room and see me cooking by a warm yellow stove light. I know his soul needs to see people living , doing simple things, like watering the roses and mowing the grass. I would never dream of taking that away from him. I try to keep my poodles from barking at him. I'd hate to have him end his peaceful years on his land with my dogs annoying him. I keep running out there every time they start barking. Hopefully they will learn. He is a nice quiet man. But when his family visits, you can hear him speak loud and clear as day. Every word. He is sharp as a tack. He has not slowed down, at least not until recently. It's his activity that has kept his health. Always doing something outside. I hear him hammering away in his tin barn/workshop sometimes. Or I will see him ride out on his 4 wheeler all the way to the horizon, checking something on his land. He has grown tomatoes and collard greens the last couple of years and offered some t us. "Pick all you want" He said. Sometimes his grandsons will come out and they will shoot their gun at a big target. I feel him come alive when his family comes to visit. I can not point out enough, though that he is not in the least bit feeble or sad looking like you might expect someone of his age, that lives alone to be. He has a good natured air to him and still resonates as the patriarch of the family. His voice is clear and distinct, with a slight southern drawl. When we first moved in, and we would sleep with our windows open, in the early morning hours I could hear his voice speaking as my head lay on it's pillow and he talked to early morning visitors. I'd listen and doze back off, thinking about how it must have been back in the day. Back in the '50's when his back was strong and he worked the land with a strength and determination. Where farming was the pride of the land, THE way of life.
Now, I wonder what he thinks about. Since this last illness hit him, does he think about how his life has been. Does he examine all it's pages and know that soon he may pass away? Is he prayerful? Does he think about his wife who has passed and wonder about seeing her again? I just don't know. I just smile and am thankful to know him, know of him and wave when I see him. His arm shoots up instantly to wave back. He is a silent example. He keeps things simple. That's how I want to be. How my husband and I both want our lives to be. Doggie GruelMy dog Timber's head smells like the sweet pollen on a flowering weed. I kiss him so hard till he squirms, his back legs hanging limp like dust mitt's. He looks in the direction of the other dogs, partly for help, the other part to gloat. One of these day I'm gonna eat him up with kisses, I tell him, 'cuz you're just sweeter than sugar, yes you are!"Last week, in light of the pet food scare, I bought 20 dollars worth of people food to feed my six dogs. I figured I was being smart. My toy poodles circled around my feet like like meir cats, their best trick. My old black lab sat in the distance unable to compete with such moves, but her soft brown eyes are always enough to melt my heart.They all know that whenever I come back from the store with plastic bags, that I have hunted something great. Usually I will immediately take out rawhide bones or pig ears and they will run off into different directions. But minutes went by, and when it became obvious that no instant treats were going to be thrown there way, they mosied off into the living room to give my lounging husband a puzzled look. He was eating cashews and watching Nascar. Cashews are a no-no for them. Trust me. So they returned to me in a slump watching every move of my hand. I felt bad for them. They looked bored. If they could talk they would ask "Where is the satisfaction in this life?" After all, there dish had been empty for 3 hours and I hadn't even given them the slightest crumb from my travels. They would report me to PETA if their little paws could dial such an extension. Such a bad parent.I took out the necessary cooking implements, which took more pots, pans and utensils than I use for my husband and myself! There was the cast iron for the ground beef. The pan for the rice. The microwave dish for the vegetables. The pot for the pasta. The can opener for the beef broth. You get the picture. But, I rationalized, since I was cooking for the whole week, I would only have to do this once.I was obviously taking too long to prepare their meal because they started playing with each other. Good, I thought. They will forget their hunger until I am done.I beamed with pride after a few minutes when the ground beef started to sizzle. "I truly am the best mom ever", I told myself. When their noses caught wind of the crackling pot, the dogs came back in the kitchen to visit. I decided to let them in on the secret. I told them that Mommy was making them doggie gruel. It had meat and carrots and rice. Even spinach. How delicious it was going to be, I squealed. Timber, the pack leader wagged his tail. I think I was more excited than them.I got out paper plates and dished out a generous portion for each of them. It was steaming hot so I stirred the gruel with my finger and blew on it until I was satisfied their little black lips would not get burned. Unable to stand the anticipation any longer, they danced pirouettes and bumped into each other.Like a server at a restaurant, I took two plates at a time and placed them down on the floor. Miraculously, they did not all swarm around the plates but seemed to understand that were was plenty. They smelled it and gently nibbled on at first. Then they got the hang of it and finished their own individual plates. Their ears hung like curtains and their eye lashes blinked thoughtfully as they looked up at me now and then chewing the healthy blend. I could just see them getting healthier before my eyes. Their eyes were brighter. Their coats were shinier. They weren't as gassy.Then when they finished their own plate, they pushed it around the floor until it got caught under the bottom of the fridge and helped themselves to each others' plates.The rest of the doggie gruel I placed into gallon sized freezer bags and stacked them in the fridge. Seven days worth.They looked like stacks of evidence in a drug bust. I was exhausted but quite proud. Until I turned around and realized the big mess on the counter and in the sink. It looked like I had set off an M80 in a full bag of garbage. I hated cleaning up. My husband, curled up with the remote and plaid jammy pants just smiled with moral support and inquired about our dinner. "Papa Johns?" he asked? I just smiled and said "Yep, might as well get pizza. I certainly don't have a clean pot to cook in."This is how the rest of all this feeding business went:10:41pm Bed timeMy dogs look like dirt devils,sniffing around the kitchen for crumbs. They sniff at the foot of the refrigerator and are looking at their bowl. Their button eyes say “Mommy, I'm hungry”. Is it not my imagination or did I just feed these dogs half the contents of a grocery cart? I know they enjoy snacking on kibbles at bed time. So, I take out half a cake of cornbread and hand feed each of them chunks. They wolf them down.6:09am BreakfastThe dogs are hungry. They are looking up at me. Their den leader. The hand that feeds them. I open the fridge and stare at the stuffed bags of doggie gruel. Yeck. I'm tired of looking at the stuff. But I take out a bag heat it up and dish it. It's awkward spooning it out of the deep bag. The rice sticks to my fingers and counter like wallpaper paste. The dogs are not as excited as yesterday and only finish half of it. I mutter to them, "Are you serious?"11:37am LunchThe dogs are hungry, again. Thankfully I have a different kind of concoction instead of the beef and rice gruel. It is a pasta and pork meal for them. They half heartedly eat it but don't finish it. I end up pouring iceberg lettuce in the middle of the floor and give them some of my sandwich.5:30pm Dinner timeThe bag is as heavy as a sack of sugar. One more time for the gruel. I can just hear their groans and sighs of disappointment as I toss the bag onto the counter with a thud. I place it in the microwave and get out the paper plates."I know guys." I say, "I'm starting to feel the same way."5:15am BreakfastI'm up early. I woke up thinking about disappointing my dogs. They are getting eggs today. Egg sandwiches. I just couldn't bear feeding them any more doggie gruel. I use a whole carton of eggs, cheese, bread and butter. I am sure the smells of breakfast are wafting upstairs to my husbands nose. Alas, he will have cereal as will myself. This breakfast is for the dogs. Literally.I am happy to be making them something I know they will like. I put the tore up sandwiches on plates and I can just hear the satisfaction in their little tummy's.It's my penance to them.It's just too much, all the prep work and hand feeding involved. Why, it's just too...'doggie grueling', I tell them! "Viva Las Kibbles!" I declare. I thank their furry bodies and wagging tails for their patience with mommy. If they could they talk they'd probally just say "Bite me".For now on I'm going to take this whole pet food thing on faith. It's never let me down before. Oh, and of course, there is always the possibility of them going organic??? I never learn. July 04 Let Freedom Ring!Well, here I am again. Fuzzy eyed, yawning and very tired. Why am I up at this oh, so, early hour of 5:15 ishness in the morning? My dogs. They are fired up and bounding about with the fierceness and energy of Mighty Dog. Now they are wet footed and playing with each other all over the guest bedroom where I sit, which is pretty much their room for now and I debate on going back to bed. Yes, I think I will. Happy 4th of July,2007! Yesterday was our anniversary. 14 years! We didnt' do much. Just spent it together. Which is what is important. Commitment and loyalty. Devotion. We kept marking the hour saying "About this time we were in the church." "At this time we were feeding each other cake" etc.etc.
I bought fire works and we set them off in the yard (as opposed to the kitchen???? IDK, where else, LOL). I grew up with them.Not the actual fireworks we lit off yesterday, of course, chuckle, chuckle. Every 4th. My dad lit them in the yard. I love the smell of them. Anyay, it was so fun. As they went up we said Happy Anniversary to each other.
So I wanted to get prettied up for my husband for when he came home from work. Usually I am wearing no makeup and prancing about in my best 'whatever came out of my drawer first' attire. But this day was special. I wanted a serious "Haven't changed a bit since we exchanged vows 14 years ago, have I honey?" effect. Anyway, I had to go to the grocery store for some dinner items. In the past week we have gone out entirely way too much eating and gourging like wealthy romans.It was my birthday a few days back,and we have just been walking, scratch that, waddling around, rubbing our bellies singing "fatty,fatty,fatty". Both of us. I think we have both gained almost 15 pounds since we got married. This is a very accurate description of most married people. A pound for each year. Raise your glasses with me people! So! On that note. After much going around in circles we landed back at square one in our discussion and opted out of going out to eat and agreed to stay home and just cook something. And After putting mascara on for 10 minutes, I ventured out into the world.
Well, I guess the mascara worked, as I managed to get some looks from one man in particular. In a beat up car. A Chain smoking stranger. Hanging his tan leathered harm out of a copper colored 1980 Dodge Diplomat, chewing on a toothpick, eyes slowly and deliberately taking a walk up and down me like a walk on broadway on a Sunday afternoon. Like I am looking for it or something. I am thinking "Are you serious????" " It's like "Look, I'm just here to pick up a some toilet paper and chicken. Back off with the "Hey, girl.Just got off my front porch drinkin' a beer to get some more beer and some smokes, and if it wasn't for my portly wife and sticky fingered 5 kids in the back seat, you and me might be able to uhhh, have a little doe-ray-me...you know what I am saying? (click click sound with his mouth and a wink)" pick up routine.
Okay, that's all for now. I am still so tired. The pets are sleeping. That tells how long I have been pecking at this keyboard.Gonna go back upstairs and try and sleep a little bit.Peace out.
June 06 The Bugle ShuffleLean back. Tuck your chin under. Bring your hands up like you're a begging dog. And stick two Bugle snack chips beneath your top lip. Now shuffle forward to... and fro.... to... and fro while your pets watch you. There, now. You have officially become a cute little dinosaur walking thing. And a very odd looking housewife walking around the house. (Neighbors can see through windows, you know.) No, I haven't done it. I haven't! Okay, maybey not recently. But as with everyone, there is a public side to me and a private side. May 30 Bedtime with the poodles5 Toy Poodles are in our king sized bed. They all lay at my feet in the dark. Some of them are sitting up still as we have just gotten settled. Their little heads are sillouhetted against the green light of the TV's cable box making it look like a city sky line on a grey smoky night. I am laying on my stomach like I am being frisked against the wall as the dogs settle into any space possible they can find. One lays ON my back, the other finds the rounded curve beneath my arm pit quite comfortable. Another in between my feet. The other 2 are somewhere, ah, one is laying his head on my pillow. The same one who looks at me, then him, then me again when we are trying to spend "alone" time, LOL. Evidently, we are one. Us three that is. Which as a 'mother' It doesn't bother me. But Porridge, another one of our toy poodles has developed the 'talent' (as they each have at least one), of presenting something. Could be anything. He will pick it up and bring it to you so joyously and wag his little stubby tail until you praise him. Each time it is the same response from me. In a high pitched voice..."Is that a (insert object here)?????? Do you have a (insert object here)??Is that your (insert object here)????? And in this instance. "That's YOUR empty toilet paper roll. Yee-esssss!" And then some baby talk, a scratch under the chin, pat on the head and he goes on his merry way.Actually, I have to kind of scootch him on his merry way. But when you are trying to spend some "alone" time, it is hard to be romantic if you don't turn a blind eye to this sight, especially when an empty toilet paper roll is being jutted into your ear.
Little did I know I was going to be awakend at 2:30 in the morning to them wanting to go out. Evidently while I slumbered they had taken a unanimous vote as they were all seeming quite eager upon my wakening. My vote didn't have a chance. So I open the bedroom door and the herd tumbles down the stairs and outside as I let them. I look around and enjoy the evening air with furry eyes (too much time on QnA I guess). Confident they have all answered natures call, I call them in. Timber, my husbands favorite boy dog, the only one with a full tail is way off near the field eating the turds that my black lab is pooping. I can tell because I see a black shadow and a white wagging tail at her backside. You nasty thing. I call but he doesn't come. So I brave a few steps into the wet grass and get a quarter way there and admonish him. "Yucky boy, Timber. You are a yucky boy!" Just to make sure, I grab his head in my hands and take a sniff to make sure I wasn't mistaken. Yep, dem turds alright. Ugh! Big Lab turds at that. I just can't understand. "You are staying downstairs the rest of the night. Sorry boy" I put the baby gate up beneath the stairs, pick each one up and put them over it and they all head up stairs one by one, leaving Timber and Sadie the lab, his treat provider down with him for company. May 28 Boring and CreepyDo you know what's boring? Walking through the mall on a Wednesday night. It was late. The sales people were pulling closed the gates to their stores and I had found absolutely nothing. The hot pretzel I was nibbling on offered no inspiration whatsoever. I was just about to back pack it to the other end of the mall where i was parked when I happened to stumble upon Sears. I lingered outside of it for a moment like a curious lab rat that smells a piece of cheese. The bright lights and pastel colored loofah gloves next to the sloughing creams drew me in and I decided to give it a chance. The next thing I knew, I was strutting tall, with a pair of size 8's in a drawstring bag that I had just bought on clearance. Little did I know then what great conversation starters they would be. For the next two years it was "Oh, thanks, yeah, I got these at Sears....." I'd rather get complimented for my Dollar Tree flip flops. MUCH more cooler than SEARS. Than the heels started getting scuffed up. Customers would come in and catch me at my desk coloring them with a black sharpie. Classy, huh? Records Vs. IpodsMy parents were cool even before they had us children. I know because I saw their record collection. Before they were forced to pay dues to a neighborhood association and play host to relatives who decided to 'get away' to the South for a few weeks, they rocked out. It may have been doing the Mash Potato or Watusi, or singing "My Baby does the Hanky Panky" but they were still cool. As a little girl, I'd hold the square shiny albums in my hands, turning them over and over examining every facet of the images on them.I'd even smell them. They had the faint smell of corn tortillas and cardboard. I'm a smell addict, by the way. But, let me tell you a few albums I remember them having: Sly and the Family Stone,The Fifth Dimension, The Sandpipers singing "The French Song". Bobby Vinton "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World". It didn't matter to me what genre they were in. Nothing was uncool. I even listened to the Mormon Tabernacle and Joe Finn Sings Irish. It didn't matter that I wasn't even a thought when these artists and musicians created their masterpieces, I was going to listen to them. On a record player! What the heck, it was music and I was all ears. A sponge. Moldable and ready to sing along in my childish voice. Well, think about it. What were my other distractions? Lincoln Logs and Lite Brite? A yellow calculator shaped like an owl? These all rocked too, but I was mesmerized by Johhny Mathis and listened to A Winter Wonderland, gazing at him wearing skis laying on the snow. And we danced to the Popcorn Song, bending at the knees to the beat.In the earlier years when music was just being introduced to me, and us three kids would sit around our Aristocat record player and listen to Barbara Streisand "No more Tears" and Donna Summers "No one Gets the Prize". We'd tab through the thick black discs, the 45's from a red patent leather case that resembled a lunch box. I'd hear Chrissie and Freddie constantly proclaim "That's my favorite song" to every song they heard. One day I decided that I needed a favorite song too, and to my parents amusement, I announced that it was "Feelings".One Christmas, each of us kids received a record as one of our gifts under the Christmas Tree. My sister received Debbie Boones "California", my brother Freddie got KISS, and I got the Beatles. I memorized the album covers. Debbie Boone sprawled on her bed in a peach silky nightgown. The crowd on the KISS cover. And of course John, Paul and Ringo. We wore those records out.I think children in today's world miss out on this experience. With the invention of the ipod and all the burning of Cd's, they will completely bypass the whole experience of holding the album, smelling the newness and feeling the smooth cover with their hand. There is just something to be said for having to put the needle in the groove, or having the record skip. Hearing the crackle. Having to stay close to the record and lean your ear in to get the full experience. Ah, but it can't be better, I suppose, if the kid's don't know any better. You can't miss what you don't know. One day, they may say that they themselves had the ultimate experience and how their kids are the ones missing out with telepathic listening chips embedded in their heads. But the bottom line is music is music. As long as that lyrical halo is being passed down from generation to generation, what ever form it comes from, it'll always be influential and play a role in defining who we are. Hence, why I still dance the same way today as I did to the Popcorn Song. That's NOT cool. Summer BreezeThe breeze is strong, like the breeze before a summer rain. There are a lot of clouds in the sky but it is bright and the birds are singing. I feel like I am standing at the waters edge at the ocean, my hair wafting back from the air. It is intoxicating, and i can't keep an inhale long enough before I have to breathe again. I am looking out the screen at my back yard and the country fields that stretch for miles. This spring day reminds me of summer in my childhood. Of hot granite roads beneath bare feet. Sucking on Honey Suckles along the way as we walk to the lake, the shadows of the lush canopy and dancing limbs overhead. We would walk on these shadows to avoid the hot road all the way down to the lake where we would swim. A scratchy towel around our necks, my friend and I would enter the grassy entrance which felt like we were walking on white bread. The water, lukewarm swallowed our little bodies until all that showed was the beebops on our pig tailed heads. We did flips and "hiney boppers", and came up for air, laughing. Tara did her slow motion "sexy" pose, where she'd rise up from under the water, hair plastered across her face with pouty lips and dripping lake water, her childish chubby body betraying this sultry look. Her finger on her bottom lip, she'd tilt her head down and she'd bat her eyelashes at an unsuspecting Peter Sjulander in the distance. We would laugh like crazy. "No, wait" I'd say. Then, I'd try it. After that we'd stumble out of the water picking our bathing suits out from our butts, slip on our sneakers and trudge back up the long hill back home, giggling and kicking rocks along the way. Those were carefree childish days. Before we turned into adults. Before we got our own opinions and became aware of how to act like ladies and care. Before we knew to get offended. Such is life. But the smell of summer will always remain the same as I stand before the screen looking out my back window inhaling the sweet breeze, thanking God for my life. Embrace the SilenceA backdrop of pine against a blue sky Tree frogs singing Grasshoppers tapping their front legs thoughtfully and looking up at the sun A brown leaf left behind dropping like a note in front of me A white haze of a 12:00 sun bathing the land warming the top of my head My footsteps crushing into the moist red earth Velvet caressing of the soft wind through my hair The sweet smell that the breeze carries The birds that descend the branches watching me and singing their welcoming song A Godly song just for me I accept it with grateful tears |
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