Appropriate preparation

Dinner: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, broccoli. Last of the chrysanthemum’s cut and in a vase. Items from a craft bazaar purchased. Studded tires. Daily cup of tea. Piano tuned. A persistent chill in the house. Thoughts about wreath hanging and mantle arrangement. Christmas wish lists. Party planning. First or second autumn head cold. Wind stirs dead leaves by the back door. Sweaters. Heavy wool socks. Scarves. Banana bread. Mittens. Cookies. Stew. An extra blanket on the bed. Frost on the windows. Another winter.

Today...

it snowed and snowed and snowed.

End of summer days

We travel to Hawaii shortly. In the spirit of preparing for the journey I cut blooming flowers and stuck them in a vase so that I could enjoy them for the next few days. By the time I get back my flowers might very well have succumbed to a quick frost death. September is nearly over in my estimation. I am back to work two weeks ago and school feels as though it is grinding us all into the ground. Mr. M's cantaloupe crop has done very well this year. Even now I nibble on it, despite the fact that I don't like cantaloupe, it is possible I have been made a believer in this oh so sweet melon. Watermelon, however, is always preferable. Even in winter.

This afternoon I have not put down Fahrenheit 451. Leaves from the neighbor's birch are beginning to litter our driveway. Winter fashions line store shelves. I have stopped fertilizing the perennials. Soon we will be shrouded in weeks and months of cold wind and morning ice on windows. Baking will seem like a better idea than usual and the cupboard will run low on herbal and black tea. We are rebellious and sleep with the windows open. Hawaii is the last summer jaunt and of course we welcome it.

First in a very long time

I wrote a poem. It is the first in a very very long time. Not perfect by any means so if my 3 readers have any feedback it is very much welcome.


Sand Dollars

Sunlight mirrors itself in the glass of soft
beach that extends beyond where she can see.

Down turned head twisting side to side,
slumped shoulders, baggy sweatshirt, pink hat,

despondent sighs do not hide her eagerness
to prosper from the sea’s exchange

of white money with the sand.
Broken in two dollars disappoint

with each brush of wave on the shore.

Tired of Michael Jackson

I find it very sad when anyone dies, celebrity or not. Life is priceless and ought to be savored. Now I realize if you're the "king of pop" and you pass away there's bound to be cover story after cover story on your life and latest demise. However, how many times could the story possibly be written? It's only a matter of time before a TV movie is made. I'll bet one is already in the works. Don't even get me started on the subject of the city of LA paying the memorial costs, especially when many state and city workers are not even being paid. Okay, it has been short and to the point.

The fear of heights thing

I'm not entirely sure when my fear of heights became an issue for me. Somewhere between my childhood and now. Fear of heights while hiking, fear of heights while standing on a bridge, fear of heights while painting my house, fear of heights while in an airplane, fear of heights while... you get the picture. I hope and pray that my fear does not climax to the point of tears and hysteria, like the woman I saw with her husband and three children at the Grand Canyon who would not stand any closer to the lookout railing than humanly possible. It's possible she was a solid three feet from the railing and she broke out in tears when her husband jokingly mentioned falling in.

Heights do not seem to phase Mr M. He has the ability to leap and bound over small or large boulders, skirt the edges of deep or terrifyingly deep chasms. Standing on the last safe step of a ladder does not make him queasy. This is one of the good reasons why opposites attract. He can do all the things I can't reach or refuse to reach. I clean bathrooms and cook in exchange for the ability to exercise my wimpyness.

A taste of something new

I have often heard of people complain of their allergies. And when commercials might surface boasting that a certain drug could allow you to live your life if you suffered from allergies I felt relieved that I didn't have to succumb to drugdom.

I have now officially succumbed. I am using this space (since my three readers won't mind) to declare that I am now one of the, probably millions, who suffers from allergies. I find myself wanting to pop hydrochloride tablets and diphenhydramine like they are going out of style. At 2 A.M. I am searching web engines to see if I can overlap certain antihistamines. And for the first time ever I am about to check the pollen activity in my area on weather.com. It's a new feeling for me. A mixture of fear and dread really. Skipping through the fray with drugs in one hand and a kleenex box in the other does not seem like the epitome of a care free life to me. It's a new feeling, this one of co-dependence upon synthetic drugs. I wonder how it will play out in years to come, the constant sneezing and runny nose thing. Really you know I'm almost looking forward to it. Maybe I could be on a commercial.