The Christmas I Went Sailing

I love the scent of fresh, evergreen Christmas trees.  I was siting on the couch next to the tree breathing in the fragrance.  But wait...what else do I smell?  AAGHH where is that damn cat?

As I frantically searched through the branches and piled presents-the tree began doing the T-I-M-B-E-R thing and splashed the water from the stand everywhere.  The mystery was solved.  The cat had peed in the water at the base of the tree and I had splashed it all over the presents.  I slogged through the drippy wrap and ribbon, righted the tree; grabbed the waterlogged presents and then made a snap decision to cop a bottle of wine out of the bar and go share it with my neigbor.  I could have cried and screamed instead but thought this was a much better alternative.

Unfortunately I locked the door as I left and my purse was in the bedroom.  This could have been problematic because my husband was out of town but keeping with the Christmas spirit, I never missed a beat and kept walking toward my neighbors front door.

My daughter came home and unlocked the door, the bottle of wine was finished in about 45 minutes, and the cat is still hiding out in the woods where I sailed the Christmas tree stand.

TSA

When TSA started full body checks-I made jokes but what happened today at the Augusta, GA Airport is no joke.  I realize today is a holiday and most of the employees were disgruntled.  I "get" that but we are all Americans and we are all in this together.  This is not Nazi Germany where everyone was poked, ordered to get a tattoo, and herded here and there.

My ninety something mother-in-law (I hesitate to even mention her age-it is no one's business, but our government seems to make this an issue), has macular degeneration-for all intents and purposes is blind,
and has suffered many indignities because of her age and disability.  I think today was the coup de grace; at least it was for me.

We took her and my mother to the airport for a flight home.  We checked her in at the Delta counter and the agent was not overly polite but she was civil.  We then proceede to the TSA for the safety inspection.  She was obviously blind and was rummaging around for her ID-even though she had just shown it to the ticket agent (why can't they work together?).  My mom was holding both  boarding passes.  When the ID was found again she showed the agent and was ushered through the scan.  She walked through and then was ordered to take off her shoes and was made to walk through again.  I knelt down and helped take off her shoes.  I was getting really angry-I am sure most Americans have had it with all this PC stuff.  My mother-in-law was blind, in her ninties and DID not pose a safety risk to ANYONE.  At this point, I began to violently question profiling, what is wrong with it? 

As the insanity continued, one agent walked me back to the Delta counter and suggested my husband & I get temporary passes so we could escort his mother to the gate.  I received the passes and walked back to the TSA conveyor belt, took off my shoes, placed my purse in the bin started to walk through the scan and I was asked for my ID (which was still in my purse).  The agent was already holding my temporary pass.  Again it was the ID snafu.  Augusta is the only airport that asks for the ID and the boarding pass at the same time.  All of this could have been avoided.  TSA-you need to re-think the boarding procedure.

We finally made it through the safety inspection.  My mother-in-law burst into tears, vowed NEVER to fly again and was humiliated.  My husband and I were totally frustrated and couldn't console her in what proved to be a traumatic and unnecessary experience.

The Plural I

Time again for a peek into this cazy thing I call my life. I awoke with one of my killer headaches and after yelling at my husband for getting his hair cut too short, I decided to "run errands" the entire day.

I first stopped at the tile shop-we are having our patio retiled and I wanted to make sure the tile I had picked out was still amazing...in other words-I was wasting time and energy but I wasn't at home yelling at my husband or cat.

Then I was off shopping. My first stop was a complete washout except I noticed the top I had chosen to wear with my capri's totally didn't match. Now I was on a mission-to buy a matching top. The next stop on my tour was golden-I hit a sale, a BOGO on tees. I must be living right.

By this time, My head was hurting so bad, I stopped in to a local drugstore and bought my drug of choice-it cost me ten bucks. For a headache! Note to self-feeling crappy was getting more expensive. I was determined not to return home and alienate my family and pet even further. I stopped to have lunch. Actually it was breakfast food and I felt comforted. Note to self...

I felt refreshed enough for a trip to the mall. I parked, got out my make-up and repainted my face then called my mom on the cell. I was laughing and talking -you know, the usual dump call, when I noticed I had gotten make-up all over my purse, my clothes and even the steering wheel. I was wondering how I had achieved this level of stupendous stupidity; I grabbed my wallet and was headed for the mall when I slammed the car door (much like Moses striking the rock) and in that split second realized the keys were in my purse. I was still on the phone to my mother (never could do two things at once and I was already breathing) and I cursed/shrieked and immediately told her what I had done. Over the laughter-I explained that I had to hang up and call Onstar.

Okay-hot mess, let's try to clean this up without a call to my oh-so-perfect, never does a damn thing wrong husband. Long story short-my car was unlocked, the make-up counter at Macy's cleaned me up, and I continued on with my day without another hitch. Do I even wonder why I get headaches?

Feast For Fools

I wrote this poem as I sat at my desk "judging" poetry my friend had brought over from her contest that she hosts every April. I realize that poetry can move you like no other medium. Even mediocre stuff-it all has an instant connection to our psyches.





It can’t be over yet.
It makes no difference what I do
Time marches on

I love who I love
Time changes nothing
I work, I love, I cry

No regrets for me
Seems almost cricket-like
Such a hollow response

Never being exactly
Is that a bad thing?
Regrets or no is who I am


When you finally realize
What is missing
Then it is all gone

Work, love, pray
Does it matter what order?
Time munches on everything

Michael and the Extraordinary Day

I interviewed my dad in 1990-we drove to the town where he grew up and most of this story is filled with the memories he had as a boy growing up in Chidester, AR. I love being from the South-it has such a poetry and strength; just like all the awful things were just woven into the beautiful tapestry we call life. This is a tribute to my Father and to growing up Southern. Just so you know-I had a daughter born in Korea and I am always quick to add that she was born in South Korea.







“Michael, come right home after school or I will…”, Ma’s voice trailed off but her throwing arm was still strong. She was angry about the chicken I stole out of the hen house yesterday.
“Yes ma’am” I ducked as the wooden spoon went whizzing over my head. I vanished under the protective cover of the kitchen table and then made a run for the back door. I didn’t let the screen door hit me in the behind as I raced into the back yard. I kept on flying across the uneven ground where the garden used to be. When I landed on the makeshift road behind the house, the earth was hard packed and I was careful to run outside the wagon ruts, and to dodge the cow and horse droppings. I usually met my best friend, Tommy, out back in the woods and we would high tail it to school or plan some mischief, but not today.

I slowed down in front of the old preacher’s house. When the half-blind, old man got angry, he would begin screaming obscenities. I tried to make this happen as often as I could by attracting all the neighborhood dogs to the front yard, and then disappearing. Preacher Turner would hear the scruffy animals and begin a string of curses that brought his wife, and all of the other neighbors within earshot, to their front porches. Today was no exception-I got a pack of dogs to follow me down the road

Then I spotted her. My mother had come looking for me.

“Ma, I was on my way to school and these big ol’ dogs started sniffin’ me and following me down the road. I’m glad you come along.”

Her raised eyebrow was the only communication she had to make.

I continued running between the houses on my way to school. I wasn’t even breathing hard when I reached the one room schoolhouse. I broke in line behind my sister, Mary Rose. I missed seeing Tommy Sims standing next to my sister. He had mysteriously disappeared last spring.

All twelve of us children lined up at the ringing of the cowbell. My sis and I wandered through the woods on our way home, one of Tommy’s favorite places to go. Flies buzzed around an old log. I figured some kind of animal had died. Pulling Mary Rose by the hand, I walked over to the log and gently nudged it with the toe of my shoe. Underneath was a decomposing human body! Both of us were frozen with fear and horror. Being the older and wiser of the two, I decided to bury the body.

I was rummaging through the old shed where we kept smoked meat and canned stuff. The shovel we found was too long for me to carry so I drug it on the ground behind me. A new telephone had just been installed at the post office about a mile down the road. Mary Rose and I headed for town. We talked as we walked-I recollected that Tommy Sims had disappeared about six months before. I cranked the phone and the operator connected me to Sheriff Otto Turner’s office. Otto slurred hello into the phone and promised to meet us right away. Otto was a large man who sometimes scratched his behind with his one good arm and guided his car with his stomach leaning on the steering wheel. He lost an arm in a farming accident when he was a boy-now he was sort of a leaning drunkard. Mary Rose and I were eager to tell our story. Otto listened and peppered our tale of adventure with loud burps. He made some notes in a small notebook he kept on the seat of his car and ended the investigation by calling the county coroner.

The body was that of Tommy Sims, it was far too decomposed to pinpoint the cause of death. I became a local hero. I often wondered what Tommy Sims must have done to wind up dead.

I remembered the local manhunt right after Tommy went missing. His picture was even printed in the local paper. The nearby river had been searched for his body. But I knew he could swim and we were always careful not to swim right after we ate. I can’t remember him ever swimming alone-I was usually with him.

He spent a lot of time alone in the woods, hunting. I figured he must have been surprised by a cougar-something big enough to hide his body under a log. He was going to marry Mary Rose and I was going to marry his little sister and we were planning to be together, always. Just like best friends.

It is funny how the tears started running down my cheeks and the groans and sobs echoed all over the house. I pounded my fists into the pillow and soon mom came to my room and put her arms around me. We cried together until the hurt had passed. I knew then that life was a lot harder than I ever imagined it to be.

Tommy had a proper burial. The small church was filled with the people from the town. I could have set off a stink bomb or made some kind of loud noises to scare all the old ladies, but I didn’t. I spent most of the day staying close to my mom and dad. And remembering all the good times I had with Tommy.

What Does It All Mean

Every Valentine's Day I think about those in my life I am really thankful for. I contemplate what that means and I write a poem: this one is for you.

Whenever you love someone with all of your heart
You love whomever they love
To the detriment of common sense.

It is time to stop letting people into my life
That will hurt my heart.
My heart is precious and should be protected

Not everyone is deserving
I try to only let those people in that will make my life easier
Not more confusing.

I cannot help that not everyone
Will understand or even approve
It is not anger-it is self preservation.

Incredible Ides of March

This is based on a true story-when my brother, cousin and I got together we always got into some kind of trouble. This particular time we burned down a ball field. Another time we set off a spinkler system all over the park across the street from my cousin's house...



Mary Rose was always looking over her shoulder. She was constantly searching for her shadow, the wind, or in this case her Siamese cat with no tail. She and her twin brother, Bobby, were visiting Sammy, their cousin, on their grandparent’s farm. It was Spring Break and all the school children had a holiday.

Sammy was hurrying the two into the house just as the wind was picking up and droplets were falling. The three were suffering with nothing to do-itis. They were like a devouring pack of locusts as they ransacked the house and found a half empty bottle of wine in the fridge and furiously gulped it down. They copped a pack of “Lucky Strikes” to smoke when they were comfortably secreted in the barn.

“Hey Sammy,” Mary Rose asked, “What are we doing today?”

Sammy was the oldest and wisest of the three. His life was not as much fun when the cousins weren’t around.

“Let’s go to the barn, I know where there are some old firecrackers left over from the Fourth.”

They could just imagine the spectacular fireworks. But they each felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as they breathed the stale, humid air inside the barn. Creepy shadows were dancing from the single dangling light bulb . The sky had cleared and blue patches were melting through the puffy, scattered clouds. The children found the dusty, musky smelling fireworks and even Coke bottles to use as makeshift rocket launchers. The three Musketeers, with their loot, set off for the ball field across the newly plowed earth.

The day had turned out to be breezy and now the sun was shining brightly. Ever so carefully, the cousins situated the rockets in the Coke bottles. One-by-one the bottles tipped over and spit their contents toward the brittle, knot-infested fence. Each rocket exploded on impact. The entire ball field was in flames. All stared in amazement as the fire lapped up the grass and the pasted on advertisements floated away on the breeze. The three ran back to the relative safety of the grandparents’ house.
Not only were the three smudged from their ordeal but the newly turned soil stuck to the soles of their tennis shoes and left tracks across the living room floor.

The pattern on the rug was not unlike the pattern on their backsides. Aunt Helen was not one to spare the rod and spoil the child.