We begin as seed
the idea of life
Aided by elements essential to thrive
we become what we are meant to be
In times of stress, turmoil, and destruction
we adapt, if only to survive, but still hoping to grow
The inevitable of life is death
The key to living is change
The joy is in making the most of it
We are never alone as long as the sun shines
That is what I see.
What about you?
I’ve racked my brain these last couple weeks trying to figure out why the muse has left the park and the carnies have picked up and packed away the games whose prizes used to fill my virtual toy box with fun and imaginative bits and bobs, but are now just cheap trinkets and sad, stuffed critters gathering dust.
Have I gone deaf? Or have the barkers stopped barking, the ringers stopped ringing, the poppers stopped popping?
Why can’t I smell the smokey, the sweet, the salty aromas that used to make my nose smile and my mouth run with meaty ideas and sweet and savory anecdotes?
Has my mind’s eye gone blind to the flash of the Ah Ha light bulbs, the story weaving fabrics of the neon rainbows, or the strange and beautiful oddities on two legs and four, that once teased a tale worth telling?
Yes, these last 6 months (plus the 12 before that if I’m honest) have been some of the weirdest of my life.
And yes, most of that time was spent in The Heartbreak Hotel or The House of Horror or for that matter, The Halls of Magic Mirrors.
While I did share those tales from the crypt, once the telling was done, the park went dark.
The tent spikes pulled, the manure cleaned up, the coming attractions came and went.
And once loaded, the train hit the rails and headed for someone else’s parking lot.
So what’s next?
Do I stand by the side of the tracks like a hobo with my life filled bundle-on-a-stick?
Do I then jump on the next box car that passes by, hoping to find “it” down the line?
Or…do I drop yesterday’s bundle, step over the tracks, and begin a new leg of my journey?
I believe so.
I’ve been standing here waiting for too long now.
Time to scrape what’s left of the elephant shit off my shoes and get moving.
Synchronize: 6.1.2014 at Now O’clock
Starting Point: West of There ~ North of Then
The New Heading: East to Here ~ South to Now
The Destination: Unknown ~ Anywhere ~ Everywhere
Take a walk with me…let’s talk
First Step…trading shit-kickers for walking shoes.
Next Step…trading four walls for open space and the keyboard for the camera.
Each Step Thereafter…we’ll see what we see and share what we feel.
I want to know…and I want to hear it.
Snap. Crackle. Pop.
I see it…SNAP
You see it…CRACKLE
We tell it…POP
A word, a sentence, a poem, a memory, a feeling…
No matter how short or how long…
Be it funny, sad, truth, lie, fact, or fiction…
I want to hear about it.
This is the path for now…
The idea is Show and Tell
The questions are…
Do You See What I See?
Do You Feel What I Feel?
Do You Hear What I Hear?
It’s where I’m going and it’s how I’m hoping to re-open the amusement park that once thrived in the ordinary and mundane being anything but.
I look forward to welcoming you along.
And who knows? You may just find a junction of your own.
An inspiration that leads you to hop on a new train, or off the one you’re on.
Anything’s possible on the road to Anywhere.
See you soon and I’ll bring the ordinary…
You bring the extra.
I have a new guy in my life.
Yup.
His name is Lenny and he visits me every day the sun shines.
He likes to laze around, sunning himself on the porch steps while I putter in my pots.
Pots, people…flower pots.
Yeah, he’s not much of a talker, but that’s fine. If I want noise, I’ll listen to the voices in my head.
He’s a bit shy of strangers. To be honest, he can be down right rude when my neighbors pop by to ooh and ahh over this spring’s bounty.
He turns his back and wanders off without so much as a ‘howdy do or by your leave’.
I really should talk to him about that; he’s ruining my street cred. I’ve heard the whispers…
‘Why does Rhonda spend so much time with Lenny the Lug, he’s so rude!”
See what I mean? Yeah, it’s time for a good chin wag with my fair weather friend.
The sun’s in and out today, so I’ll have to keep an eye out in case he shows up.
I’m running out of refreshment ideas though. (I wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back? The num nums?)
Well, I suppose I can mosey on down to my mailbox, which seems to be THE spot where the local buggaboos hang out.
I’ll just have to find a way to entice that crowd onto my porch steps; introduce them to Len so he can have them over for dinner.
So, let me introduce you…
Friends…Lenny Lenny…Friends
Leapin’ Lizards…isn’t he cute?
I read a post today that transported me
That happens quite often doesn’t it?
To all of us?
We’ll hear a tune drifting out the open windows of a passing car and no longer are we standing on a hot sidewalk in line at the ATM, but magically taken to an ‘out of school for the summer’ beach trip with our best girlfriends, laughing and flirting while sand filled our shorts and Sun-In made us all one shade of blonde or another.
Or we’ll catch a smell in the air that immediately takes us back. Maybe to a warm and tiny kitchen in the back of a house shared with the post office; where a grandmother is frying donuts in a big cast iron pot and where too, the back porch isn’t just a place to take off your muddy boots before tramping into Gram’s small but tidy nook…but a place where Gramp sits grinding fresh horseradish, tears rolling down his stubbled cheeks as easily as the sweat pours off his shiny bald knob.
And there are times, we’ll read something, like Tink’s post today, that’s like peeking into that too-long forgotten toy box in your mind’s attic…the one where you keep all your found treasures and best memories of childhood…waiting for a day like today.
Sometimes, these trips down memory lane can cover us in a cloak of sorrow or pain, bringing us back to a time and place we’d rather not go back to, for one reason or another.
Other times, happily I think most times, the places we go in our mind are…
…the places we want to be and in the company of people we want to be with.
This is where I went today, when the toy box opened…with thoughts of long candy counters and a shop owner with the patience God gives older folk…
It sits there still, where it always did.
Across the road from my where my grandparent’s lived, and up two from where I did.
One of two one-room shops in our town of less than…
where one holds the memories of a barrels of chocolate drops, returning bottles for a penny, wood smoke, and men laughing.
while the other is made of children’s dares and double dares to see who’ll go buy the ice cream from the ‘mean old lady’ behind the counter.
And this is who joined me in today’s trip…Gramp in his engineer’s cap and Gram looking the same as everyday I can remember.
And though this is where they are now…
Their permanent home is here…always here…
I thank Tink and her Crazy Train for the ride today. It was welcome and reminded me that I have enough in my heart and my mind to get me through whatever life wants to throw my way.
And maybe someday, when he’s older or I’m gone, this one will hear or see or smell something, some small thing, that will take him back to a time when he knew he was cherished.
Is it the green of the grass or the warmth of the sun?
The freedom he feels when he can just run?
Or the sounds of his family, the music of laughter
that tickles his fancy? Is that what he’s after?
The joy he exudes when brothers play ball
Tears and then laughter when one of them falls
He’ll often be seen, his tongue tasting air
settled on the stoop, pondering there
What is he thinking, what treats are in store
for this legend in training, this blessing and more?
As Grammy, I’d tell you, “he’s deep like his roots”
But honestly his passion is only his BOOTS!
she is the light, she is the warmth
when she wakes the world wakes with her
“yours is the light by which my spirit’s born…”
yet he must go for her to shine
he too is light, but he is cold
when he wakes, the world calms
“…yours is the darkness of my soul’s return”
yet she must go for him to thrive
but before this day can turn to night
she fills the white western sky with fire
as she battles the end of another day without him
from her western prison, she throws her sol-mate kisses on long-fingered shadows
and inflames him with the vision of her fiery tresses caught on the wind
teasing, assaulting, as they reach toward the Bastille in the east where he is captive
while the eastern sky shows no sign of struggle
still blue, he climbs unnoticed, in silence
desperate for a glimpse of her before the god’s
realize they are both awake
he tries desperately to grasp her love
now caught in the branches of the tress that separate them
he, struggling to cast off his gossamer shroud
so she may see the love he yearns to shine on her
so she may know his calming and cooling touch
as he longs to know her passion and feel her fire
she is gone now
he’d always known he would never feel her touch, nor she his
for as long as she was awake, he could not be
and she’d always known his power, his radiance, his true essence
could only thrive where she could not
and it would always be so…
or would it?
as it is had always been
this night too, it was his light that lived
yet he felt warm
he radiated warmth
he was not cold
he was not alone
for he knew her touch
and she knew his
through the power of love
the wonders of time and space
she lived when he lived
and they knew…each other
a rare evening
a lover’s evening
a curse lifted for but a moment
but a moment worth a lifetime
“…you are my sun, my moon, and my stars”
may it always be
P O S S I B L E
A beautiful spring day ~ A short stop at the mall ~ An anomaly still ~ But for how long?
Centuries past, humans unseen
When land was lush and air was clean
North to south skeins did fly
They owned the flight paths in the sky
Now wings of steel steal the blue
Their trumpets whine and cough and spew
Toxic breath and acid tears
That drip from clouds and will for years
Fresh water’s history thanks to the rain
Our man-made link in nature’s chain
And too, no longer on the ground
Will gaggles thrive on what they’ve found
Not sapphire blues or emerald greens
But concrete grays and blackish sheens
Migrate they will, migrate they must
But afore long it’ll just be dust
This earth below their broad spread wings
This patchwork now of man-made things
They’ll adapt, to live, they’ll twist the plot
for…
WE PAVED PARADISE TO PUT IN A PARKING LOT
Yes Joni…after all these years…we’re still doing it…
(good to see you all again and thanks for sticking around…xo R)
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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