P inkish hues of spider’s silk
O ranges, yellows, whites like milk
R eds and greens in varying tints
C apture the sun’s rays as they glint
H ere on the mums, there on a wing
P rompting retreat to shade covered things
O ppressive, this air you can cut with a knife
E ven the bird, like dragon, still life
T oday’s one for dwelling, musing, no movement
S o hoping tomorrow will bring some improvement
fick·le ˈfikəl/ adjective:
“changing frequently, especially as regards one’s loyalties, interests, or affection.”
No…not quite like that.
Here’s the thing…I was sitting on the porch this morning, as is usual, with my coffee and smokes, thinking…
“I love this” followed immediately by “I hate this”.
That thought alone, occupied my brain for the next 2 hours. Through my second cuppa, my third smoke, changing the sheets, checking my mail, taking my shower, love/hate, love/hate, love/hate…
Enough with the fickle pickle already!
So…to clear my head of this love/hate dialogue that was making my head spin, I thought I could put it down on paper and try to figure out if I am, in fact, ficklish. (That’s like being ticklish only not as much fun)
Or, am I just someone who can NOT make a damned decision and stick with it.
I found it was much easier said than done. Mostly because there are waaaaay too many; way, way, too many; did I say way to many?
However, not to be deterred, and despite the shear number…I’m giving it another go.
Only this time, I’m limiting myself to one fickle per letter of the alphabet. I don’t know yet if I’ll have one for every letter, just as I already know I will have to choose between more than one for some others.
But…if a letter is empty, then I’ve got nothing.
Yet!
I know…it’s a bit ridickle!
And I also know, limiting some of the letters to one thing is going to be near impossibickle!
But, I shall try. Because, my hope is, by the time I’m done, I can look at the list objectively and do one of two things:
Decide which side of the coin I’m on.
or
Embrace the pickle and be tickled that I’m fickle.
No…seriously. I need to do this.
I need to challenge myself to be more/do more/try more/embrace more…things that I love.
To a greater degree than not doing more/trying more/being more/embracing more…of the things I can change.
Because…the ‘hate side’ is…simply put…FEAR
Here goes ~ The Fickle Pickle of Love/Hate Relationships A to Z
Aging
I love that I’ve earned my stripes.
I hate that that they are on my body, so I undress in the dark.
Beaches
I love when the beach is empty and the waves are crashing.
I hate the bikini strewn, human oil slick, so I beach in winter.
Crowds
I love the excitement that creates a crowd.
I hate feeling alone in one, so I avoid them.
Dreams
I love hearing about dreams.
I hate having them, so I don’t (at least I don’t remember them).
Equality
I love the idea of it, in all things.
I hate that sometimes, I am part of the problem in remaining silent.
Flying
I love the journey,
I hate the hassle, so I don’t (very often).
Google
I love that you can have an answer in a flash.
I hate that it has replaced looking things up in the encyclopedia and the dictionary, but I’m guilty too.
Humidity
I love what it does for my skin.
I hate what it does to my hair, I’m a chia pet!
Immigration
I love that American means Everyonecan.
I hate that it has become counting pennies vs. counting kids, but that’s the reality we live in.
Jingles
I love knowing them, singing them, and recognizing the product by the tune.
I hate knowing them, singing them, and recognizing that I just might be a couch potato!
Kayaking
I love the idea of being ‘one with the water’, especially in the quiet, early morning mist, just as the sun rises.
I hate the spidery hidey hole where I can’t see my feet, so I don’t.
Love
I love love, being in love, being loved, giving love.
I hate what happens to me when love doesn’t feel safe.
I hate losing a single second to that most of all.
Shying away from love for fear of pain may be a form of self defense.
But it’s the worst offense against yourself there could ever be.
Motherhood
I love being a mother, for there is no love like it in the world.
I hate being a mother, at times, for there is no fear like it in the world.
(Though this, I would NEVER change)
Nakedness
I love the rare times I’ve allowed myself the freedom, wishing it always felt that way.
I hate the majority of my adult life has been spent trying to avoid it.
Obsession
I love the passion it takes to have one.
I hate the control I lose when I do, which is often.
Porches
I love being a porch dweller; morning coffee, afternoon wine, thunderstorms…
I hate being a porch dweller; going out to smoke, checking the spi-dar for spiders, being spied upon by the people driving or walking by, an oddi-tee in a nigh-tee!
Q
Rainbows
I love the spontaneous way they pop up hither and thither and yon, alone or in pairs, nature at it’s best.
I hate the feeling of ‘somewhere’ I get when I see one.
Smoking
I love smoking
I hate everything about it, but here I am
Technology
I love how the human mind works, developing new technology to solve the world’s problems
I hate that technology has replaced some sadly lacking human qualities…like kindness, empathy, compassion, and common sense. Definitely one of those ‘double edged swords’
U
Vermont
I love Vermont, you know I do. I am as Green Mountain blooded as I am red blooded.
I hate Vermont, and I’ll leave it there.
Wine
I love what it does for me
I hate what it does to me.
Let’s face it, beer drinkers go deaf and shout and have their beer-bellies.
Wine drinkers go soft and fuzzy and have wine-wattles!
Xray
I love xray technology for finding broken bones and cancerous tumors.
I hate xray for finding things we cannot fix.
I do wonder if I’d rather not know if that’s the case.
Yoda
I love Yoda for his wisdom, manner, sense of humor, and common sense 🙂
I hate Yoda because to look at him reminds me that Superman is mortal 😦
As are we all…but still.
Zoos
I love the zoo for obvious reasons.
I hate the zoo for even more obvious reasons.
So…the challenge to me is to address the love/hates and see which are hurting me or preventing me from growing as a person. Granted, some will remain as they are…we can’t love everything, but nor can we hate everything…and we can certainly have a bit of both now and then.
As a shield…hate sucks.
As a tool…hate sucks.
As a rule…hate sucks.
As a reminder to do better…hate can work.
Challenge yourselves…and if anyone has a love/hate they’d like to share, I’d like to hear.
xo
R
Ah…the good ol’ summertime.
A time for beaches and bicycles and picnics and bbqs and vacations and staycations and more likely than not… family.
Whether you’re a nut from a towering oak, have a touch of sweetness like the magnificent sugar maple, are tart and tangy like the bounty that falls from the fruit trees, or run more to the quiet strength of the whispering pine…we are all branches of our family trees.
As it will, nature steps in to prune our branches. Our leaves fall through the natural process of age and death, or in times of storm and disease, we sadly lose precious limbs way before their time.
Nature will…have its way.
But because our roots are so deep, we continue on…new saplings sprout from new seeds and new blood.
Often, we are stronger and more resilient for it. Having richer hues and sweeter fruit.
Or, as is common enough in my family to be the rule and not the exception, (leaves fall too close or too far, whichever the case may be) we end up with nuttier nuts and fruitier fruits.
Which leads me to:
“The Family Reunion”
For the good folk up here in the extreme north, the best thing to be said about summer is …NO SHOVELING!
Next to that…there is reunion season, which in my case, consists of the following:
Mother’s Mother’s side
Mother’s Father’s side
Two distinct and unique trunks of my maternal grandparent’s tree.
Let’s say it’s where the Spruce meets the Elm.
Now, the Spruce and the Elm don’t share the same patch of ground. Perhaps because the Spruce is pretty rigid and doesn’t change much, and the Elm, while close when push comes to shove, has a history of infection and being hard to find (much loved all the same).
But…two distinct and separate genus with two distinct and separate reunions.
Which brings me to the other half of my tree:
Father’s Mother’s side
Father’s Father’s side
Or, as is our case…
ONE trunk for my paternal grandparent’s tree
(It’s a damned big tree!)
This is where the mighty Oak meets the Sugar Maple and rather than remaining as such…they became a whole new tree.
The Maple Nut Tree (Don’t Google it…no sucha thang)
Here’s the roots…
The George boys had a thing for the Smith girls…
Brothers marrying sisters…
(No, not their own sisters…we may be hilly people, but we don’t all play the banjo!)
Anyway…because more than one George married more than one Smith, the reunions are Smith/George amalgamations rather than just Smith or just George.
We even have Smiths who married other Smiths and those Smiths married Morrisons who in turn married other Morrisons…
EEE GAD, it’s enough to make you dizzy!
Anyway, the reason I started this, besides having just attended above mentioned gathering of Maple Nuts, is to do with names.
😆
It really is about names.
But not just any names.
Old names.
One would think, with sir names like Smith and George, the given names would be rather vanilla, wouldn’t you?
Tom, Dick, and Harry kind of names. But no.
And it just tickles the shit out of me to sit around listening to the older folk talk about their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, bandying around some names not heard 100 years from here.
Kids my age, and those after, hear these names and think
“What the hell were they thinking?”
But I disagree. I think there is something strong, and connective in these old names.
It speaks of family more than the color of our eyes or the shape of our nose.
Names that are passed down in an obvious attempt to keep a loved one alive are beautiful names.
Shall I?
Okay, I shall.
Just a tiny sample.
Promise.
Great Grandfather Smith (ok…the next part is a sing along)
M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. and M U R D O was his nameo!
Now, farmer Murdo Angus Smith married the lovely Rose La Brecque. They had 11 children (that’s Family #1).
Norman George, Mary Ethel, Eva Maude, Christie Rose, Margaret Leona, Clara Esther, Gladys Irene, Pauline Mae, Paul Angus, Walter Robert, and Baby Girl.
These names that don’t quite rrrrrrrrrrrroll off the tongue like names do today, but, it was all about continuity.
The lovely Rose died at the tender age of 36 (she needed a rest I think), whereby farmer Murdo married Marion who had another 5 children (that’s Family #2).
Murdo Harold, Joyce Ann, Fred Donald, Gerald Lloyd, and Virginia Maggie.
Again, these names don’t effortlessly fall off the tongue, but suggest a ‘reason’ behind them.
Nothing trendy here.
Great Grandfather George
Elmer Eugene George
(The only other Elmer I know lives in Cartoonland!)
Now, Elmer married Sophi (pronounced so-feye) Laundry and they had two sons
Raleigh Royal Eugene George and Morton Guy George
(So much packed into two little boys right? Oh, and a side note on Sophi~she had sisters…Mary, Maude, and Mert. LOL. Great huh?)
Both these George boys married Smith sisters:
Raleigh Royal Eugene George married Mary Ethel Smith (my grandparents) and had two children
Roy Eugene and Betty Rose
Morton Guy George married Christie Rose and had four children
Stanley Morton, Philip Dale, Beverly Ruth, and Harvey Elmer
Sadly, after my parents’ generation, the names became more normal(?)
Gone are the Murdos, Elmers, Mortons, and Raleighs.
No more Claras, Maudes, and Gladyses (Gladi?)
I’m as guilty as the next gal. I named my kids rather trendy names, but I think if I’d spent more time sitting under that big ol’ Maple Nut tree, I’d have found the courage to be different in the pride I feel when I’m sitting in that big pile of leaves.
Had that been the case, perhaps I would be the proud mother of Raleigh Murdo Elmer Roy?
Or if I’d had a girl…Mary Clara Maggie Rose?
Perhaps…
And the groaning you hear in the background is my husband who has NO room to talk…he is the son of ELBO.
But THAT is another mango tree altogether!
I hope you’re enjoying the summer, and hoping too, that you’re gathering round the base of your own magnificent family trees. There’s nothing quite like it.
And for those nuts that are part of my Maple Nut Tree…here’s a reminder of the beautiful day spent reminiscing about the old times and creating new ones. (Thanks Debbie and Henry)
-Click on a circle to bring up the full size photos-
I’ve been MIA for a while, having traveled to Vermont to spend some time with the folks, and since, have decided to stay another couple weeks…so, I thought I’d share a little quirky quickie so you don’t COMPLETELY forget me 😉
A husband went to the police station to file a “missing person” report for his missing wife:
Husband : I lost my wife, she went shopping & hasn’t come back yet.
Inspector : What is her height?
Husband : I never checked.
Inspector : Slim or healthy?
Husband : Not slim, can be healthy.
Inspector : Color of eyes?
Husband : Never noticed.
Inspector : Color of hair?
Husband : Changes according to the season.
Inspector : What was she wearing?
Husband : Not sure whether it was a dress or a suit.
Inspector : Was she driving?
Husband : Yes.
Inspector : Tell me the number, name & color of the car?
Husband : Black Audi A8 with supercharged 3.0 litre V6 engine generating 333 horse power, teamed with an eight-speed tiptronic automatic transmission with manual mode. And it has full LED headlights, which use light emitting diodes for all light functions and has a very thin scratch on the front left door.
(And then the husband started crying…)
Inspector: Don’t worry sir…We will find your car.
Right?
😆
Hope you are all doin’ fine!
She waits, as she always does, on the south side of the room
The same chair, straight, hard
The only softness is the faded paisley upon the seat
But that comfort is not for her
The oak warms in the sun
But remains cold and hard against her black skin
As she hangs on its back, waiting
For her special someone
To notice
The beams streaming through the door beside her
Unseen but felt
Tickling her, bathing her, tempting her
With promise
The promise of adventure
Oh how she wishes she had the wings of a bird
Like the one she paints
In the dark
From memory
She’d fly through that door
Out there
The sun, the clouds
Fire and rain
She misses them
She almost remembers
Diluted, like watercolor
She draws the lily as she remembers it
She can see it
A light spot in the dark
Of her memory’s eye
The myrtle that should be blooming by now
Longing to set her gaze on the ordinary
That she may set her sights to the extraordinary
This Is what she was born to do
Nothing else
But she has no control
Not over when, not over where
Hers is not to ask why
Hers is but to seek the truth when it is asked of her
Truth in beauty and the beauty in truth
This…is what she remembers…
This…is what she’s missing…
So she waits
Today?
Tomorrow?
As long as she is here
In the same room, on the same chair
She is blind
So she begs
“Uncover my face. Raise me up so that I may whisper in your ear
Be my wings so I can soar over field and stream
Capture the beauty of now
To keep with me for then
Our adventure is out there”
“Let me teach you to see the beautiful in the ugly” she pleads
“Let me show you the extraordinary ordinary” she whispers
She feels
Familiar hands, comforting hands
She’s flying, lifted and carried outside
It begins…today is the day
Eye open wide, taking it in
Capturing life as it happens
Not perfect…
Not posed…
Just life…
Nothing is too small
Tomorrow, she’ll wait again
But today…she flies
Today she is…
Awake
As I anxiously await the next matches of the quarter finals, sending my silent plea to the footie gods for Kompany to kick ass and Messi to go home (he soooo good!), van Persie’s persistence outplaying Acosta, I can’t help wondering if I’m the norm when it comes to World Cup fans or if hanging in and routing teams NOT my own, is a rarity.
Of course I would have liked the USA to have kicked that same Belgian arse (1 minute of overage time? really?)
But we didn’t, so no use crying over spilt beer!
(Though HUGE props to Tim for an astounding performance in the cage!)
I like to think tournaments like the World Cup attract fans that hang in to the end…much like the Olympics…regardless of where their own countries finish. I think the host country’s fans have been a shining example of cheering the game for the game’s sake. Though the fact their team is still in it may have something to do with it, I do think they’ve been excellent hosts.
And as for me, I also feel this has been one of the best World Cups I’ve ever seen, with the caveat that the officiating has been rubbish!.
Even so, The Cup runneth over with surprise advances and superior substitutions
(not to mention ‘minutes and minutes’ of theatrical drama played out for our viewing pleasure 😉
So…for any of you still hanging in and routing on…enjoy the rest of the tourney.
If things continue as they have…it promises to be as good a final as there ever was.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL
As we approach our nation’s day of independence, I had a thought or two that I’d like to share. In honor of all who fought, died, survived, and still fight so we may enjoy…our country’s ultimate day of freedom…Happy July 4th America
seventeen hundred and seventy six
this day in that year our fate we did fix
we rallied and warred and we bled the fields red
all for the right to our freedom instead
of the yolk from an empire determined we bow
to king and to country, the collective high brow
we started ignorant, starving, and poor
equipped with nothing but freedom’s allure
one hundred times two add to that thirty-eight
the years then to now, the days fate to fate
our beginnings were humble, and not always sainted
to think what we’ve done to the darker and painted
all we can strive for is continu-ed learning
to treat all as equals, we all have that yearning
for the freedoms hard fought and hard won from oppressors
it’s not up to us to now be the aggressors
but when those who still fight for the simplest of freedoms
can’t live and can’t love and can’t grow their own kingdoms
I will not say war is always the answer
but fight we should still against any agenda
that takes away rights to live free and live true
a war worth waging, battles must ensue
to live in a world that allows you to be
everything imagined, the power of we
I hate that our country is still fighting wars
but hate more would I if we sat on the shores
of our own piece of heaven, at the same time deny
the same to others who’d enjoy it but by
the happenstance of geography
but for that they’d be me
but for where I was born
I could easily live in a country that’s torn
should I feel guilty? should I feel blessed?
to one I’ll say no, to the other I’ll say yes
I won’t lay claim to guilt not my doing
but nor condone I, those who hope our ungluing
a believer am I of “get what you pay” for
but not when one has and the other is dirt poor
if you cannot fight for the basic of rights
then why should we feel bad for fighting their fight?
goliaths are bullies, and davids are smaller
but bigger’s just bigger, not better, just taller
the true winner wins when the heart is the weapon
big losers lose when they continually lessen
the right of the people, equality all
pride goeth ‘fore the mightiest fall
in honor of our freedom, in honor of our fight
a prayer I’ll say ‘fore this morning is night
may all who seek peace and all who seek freedom
know you’re not alone as long as we are one
nation of davids, scrappers are we
a nation of davids, who’ll fight ’til you’re free
Let Freedom Ring
Often times, with(out) rhyme or reason
I cook up a poem and sprinkle it with season
My words, just like the food that I cook
Can appear as one thing upon first look
Simple, country, amateur dishes
Like green eggs and ham or chips and fishes
But should you be willing to read ‘tween the lines
Or take the next bite, I hope you’ll find
Layers of meaning like layers of flavor
Words that surprise and tastes to savor
The nuance of herbs and hints of spice
The question I leave you with “naughty or nice?”
And, if you care to, witness you will
The care that I use to practice this skill
Whether gliding the pen ‘cross the paper’s bow
Or fondling keys, like I’m doing now
Salting or peppering, kneading or rolling
For grilling or frying, baking or boiling
My use of the pen or the knife does not matter
The result is the same whether poem or batter
I want you to love it and then ask for more
Not for the praise, not to keep score
I want to feed both, the mind and the belly
A creamy word-spread to go with hot jelly
It’s said all a good cook needs in the kitchen
Is to express love through food (and to feed dem dats bitchin’)
So what does it take to make a good poet?
A mind a bit quirky and not afraid to show it
Let’s cook
😉
I’m sure this image spoke to me the day I snapped it
Was it the flowers the drew my eye?
Was it a feeling of being on the outside looking in?
Vice versa?
Getting my head caught in the ropes (a.k.a. arghhhh)?
Swiss cheese being what it is…I’ve forgotten it or lost it or maybe I just thought it was pretty at the time
However you look at it…I’m damned if I know now
😳
So…as I often do when this happens, I just sit and stare at it.
Sometimes I fuss around with it…change a filter here, contrast there, funk it up a bit to see if it yells something out.
The funk didn’t help, as it is not telling me what it wanted to say, but it did put me in mind of something…
Murphy
Don’t ask…as I haven’t a clue
Just Murphy
You know…that fabled and famous guy that no one seems to be able to say exactly who or where or when or why…
There are as many stories as to how Murphy came to be associated with the worst luck ever as there are variations of the language of the law itself
Anyway…Murphy’s Law as I know it
“Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong”
Okay…well, if you think about it, it’s not so bad really
Without things going wrong, we wouldn’t use our noggins to figure shit out
Right?
Even those folks for whom everything seems to go wrong (ahem), it’s still not always a bad thing if those ‘wrongs’ turn into learning opportunities.
Learning to do things a different way, a better way, an easier way, the ‘right’ way?
Seems so to me anyway…and I consider myself in a good position to say so, considering the shit storm my life has been the last couple years
But hey, that’s Life and Life comes with just one promise…
Your Life promises to be your greatest adventure
Yes, it does
Where else can it be said that every minute of every day has the promise to be different from the one before?
If it isn’t, it’s not because it’s Life’s fault…it’s ours
We have the choice…sit in one spot, don’t move, don’t think, don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t sleep…die
OR
Get up, move around, go up, go down (sure…that way too), get outside, go inside, walk, drive, sing, love, laugh, cry, pout, clean, drink, eat…
Need I go on?
Every single one of those things is part of the adventure promised with each new second
Every promise can be fulfilled if we choose to make it happen
So…Murphy?
Sure, why not
But let’s go one better…
How about adding some new laws?
Just to keep us on the ‘that’s Life where every second promises a new adventure’ track
And to absolutely keep us on those ‘things on our feet that help us find furniture in the dark’….TOES
So in keeping with that…
Anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there’s a 90% probability you’ll get it wrong.
The things that come to those who wait, may just be the things left by those who got there first.
If the shoe fits, get another one just like it.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine
A day without sunshine is like, well, night
He, who laughs last, thinks slowest
Got more?
Good, I was hoping you did
Share them here so we can all add them to our ‘Today’s Problems are Tomorrow’s Opportunities” catalogs
And now…I’m venturing off to enjoy this second’s adventure and it involves a date with a certain “John”
haha
Happy Adventuring…xo
Our bus stopped and 2 Italian men got on.
They sat down in the seat in front of me and engaged in an animated conversation.
I ignored them at first,
But my attention was galvanized when I heard one of them say the following:
“Emma come first.
Den I come.
Den two asses come together.
I come once-a-more!
Two asses, they come together again.
I come again and pee twice.
Then I come one lasta time.”
I can’t take it anymore…
“Hey, you foul-mouthed sex obsessed pigs!” I retorted indignantly, hissing between my teeth.
‘In this country, we don’t speak aloud in public places about our sex lives!”
“Hey, coola down lady,” animatedly exclaimed the one.
“Whooza talkina about sex?” asked the other, looking completely perplexed.
“I’m a justa tellina my frienda how to spell Mississippi” the first cried, looking at me like I had two heads.
Bet ya a buck you’re going to read it again!
😉
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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