Thanks for the reminder
We are here, we are working, we are surviving, we are.
Years pass,
We are young – we are old
Simple as that.
We work each day
We rest at night learning and doing new things
Then we work the next day
Putting on the face of perseverance
Today there were many chairs and smiles around our table
To anyone that had anything to do with it
Thanks for that.
Such is the life of John
The crunch of the ice under my unlaced boots broke the silence of the chilled morning air. Footprints of white broken blades of grass marked my path to my curbside mailbox. Bare handed, hitting the ice-covered lid to break the seal, I jerked the cold metal handle to only reveal the frozen emptiness inside. No mail today.
Before I opened it I knew there would be nothing. Just a look out of my living room window had confirmed that no tire tracks had veered into the gutter to shorten the mailman’s reach into the box. The unbroken ice seal covering it told me that the lid had not been opened yet today. But I made the short trek across the frozen yard anyway just to be sure. As if I needed a reason to go outside to hear, feel and smell the first freezing rain of this early winter.
DSS
“Sometimes you look at the calendar, turn to your watch and just know”. OC
Forceful gathering of thoughts and words
arm wrestled to the page
hog tied and thrown out to the light.
You turn wiping the smear of the words from your hands.
Fingers leaving your prints on each strung out syllable
that will smudge the letters and the mind that reads them forever.
Thoughts gathered and slaughtered, cut and wrapped in butcher paper
To wait frozen until unwrapped, seasoned and baked, broiled or fried
to hopefully the taste of the chef
for consumption as rare, medium or fucking well done.
Slaughterhouse, poem or book.
DSS
Out of the corner of my eye I think I see the flash of my wife’s middle finger, the bird. My back isn’t turned, we are in the car setting side by side. I am concentrating on the road ahead but I ask her if she just gave me the finger.
Without hesitation she says, “yes”.
“Do you give me the finger behind my back often?”
“NO!, it wasn’t behind your back! If I want to throw you the bird, I’ll do it face to face! I would not do that behind your back!”.
I’m not one to argue. I can tell when a conversation will be going nowhere. But we did come to terms. It was decided that on the occasion that a finger is going to be thrown then the questions “Are you looking at me!? Are you looking at me!?” must be asked first.
Nothing can be said, thrown or gestured until full attention is drawn from the receiver. That way it will be honorable and up front. Not sneaky and behind each other’s backs. You call that an open relationship. We’ve been married a long time and deals like this have been made often to make things work.
Don’t get me wrong. We have very seldom used the F you or flipped bird in a detrimental way. We nearly always say or do it with tongue in cheek. A finger flipped my way during a card game confirms that I have the better hand. Or if given after a request for a cup of coffee or to bring a sandwich pretty much conveys that I will probably be getting it myself. The flipped bird has never, as I remember, initiated anything more than a silly frown or an ornery smile. Not so with the F— You.
The F— You from your mate can mean one of two things. And you must learn to react correctly to each.
The first kind of F— You can mean, conversation is over. I hold you and what you say in total disregard. There will be no facial expression. You must learn to recognize this one. It is best to be very quiet, do not make a smart-ass remark and very slowly back away.
With the second kind of F— You, you will notice a bright gleam in the eye and a slight grin. This confirmed, it is safe to say “F— you, too!” right back at her. But really smile when you say it, I mean really smile! She’ll probably return a laugh. Oh God, you better hope she returns a laugh!
OC
Roll the black wheels and move on,
The swift wind goes before you.
Press homeward with your determined dreams,
away from the struggle and the rush.
Long miles you will leave behind you.
Steer the blind curves and climb from the steep canyons.
What was lost and the love you yearn for, regain.
Move on, move on to the green meadows
and the rain laden hills you once played in.
Move on to the home where you know you belong.
Move on and face the swift wind.
OC
The last time I was out, I was sent this link and I have finally had the time to follow it. It is an Andrew Zimmer, you know the Bizarre food guy, article about the island country of Madagascar. To summarize, there is a family tradition. It seems that after each male birth at the age of five, they have a ceremony of circumcision. This is not the unusual part of the story. The unusual thing, and it definitely has attracted my attention, is that one of the grandfathers of the clan must eat the foreskin. I hear your ewwwwwws! already! I guess to make it more appetizing they eat it from the end of a banana, really. Here’s the link, I am not making this up!
I don’t understand why they waste the foreskin in that way. In my family, we have a similar circumcision tradition. But we use it to upholster another bar stool.
OC
DistantShipSmoke 