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Never say never

Never, never, never, not ever

For shit will happen.

05/21/22 after my neighbor’s snow laden tree broke and fell on my car



Exactly 2:15 PM the wind whipped up twisting the trees, rattling the ristra outside the back door, and startled my budgie quietly snoozing on his perch after a morning of loudly chirping and tearing at the millet. So glad he is feeling at home enough to eat.

2:17 PM, the wind has stopped, all is quiet. I wonder who got riled up about what. Hmm, the Powers- That- Be should take note that it is rude to threaten havoc, only to chuckle and move on. Something like an annoying sibling who jumps out from behind the door, then just shrugs as you pick yourself up from the floor.

That’s about it for the day. I watered extensively this morning, front and back – before 10 AM, of course. I’ve learned to stop standing over the seeded soil in the back waiting for new grass to appear. It won’t, y’know, while I’m watching it. All I’ve tossed out over the last two months are beginning to appear, stretching into their tertiary leaves. I pray every day that they will grow before the squirrels realize there are bulbs, and sunflower seeds just under the surface. Little rats that they are.

The daylilies are reaching tall, and OH, I need to go plant the pumpkins and squash while I’m thinking of it…

To be continued…

APRIL 3, 2022


It is not that I hear their voices

when visiting Georgetown’s cemetery.

It is as though I see their auras,

feel their presence in ways not scary.

The boundless energy of a four year old

lying still there in her grave

has not been fully stifled.

Her essence angels save.

The baby boy under that tall pine

ever watches for his mom.

You sense his trepidation,

and back off until he is calm.

Most children in these beloved old sites

died long before their folks,

many who left for less harsh surroundings

carrying their grief beneath their cloaks.

The wind blows wickedly in those steep hills;

The air so often cold.

I imagine these little ones ‘sweet voices singing,

while their fathers searched for gold.


Praise and thanksgiving to the God of my Catholic father’s father and my Methodist mother’s mom.

The sun is warm, streaming through the back glass storm door.

The coffee is fresh and cooling as it sits near my elbow calling my name…”drink me, drink me!”

The day is mine; the grass greens and thickens, the chickadees fight the finches for a spot on the feeder while the neighbor cat eyes them from my front stoop, which she assumes is hers.

The “news” is on for company, but I’m not actually listening…who are these people to tell me what to think about what is occurring in the world? Not one of them would I know on the street to say hi…no one with whom I would share my sandwich.

It feels good – the heat from the sun, the coolness of the air, a fresh, deep breath…the stretch of the day before me.

Time to stop with the e-scribbling for the day. I finished the coffee (Nespresso Vanilla Custard Pie, mmm), so now will hit the laundry, attack the remaining black rocks piled in the front yard, and play some rockin’ music to celebrate a new month and all it promises.

Life Is Good…for sure.


Rec’d notice from mgmt yesterday:

12.5% of my production last month had errors!

“Your errors MUST stop!

12.5%! OMG! That’s an increase over the month before!

“How many files is that?”




well, okay then…

I’ll jump right on improving…


Brothers of mine,

how did we get so old?

So old we remember coonskin hats and cap guns

and your Big Bang cannons?

Fireworks from the State Fair

sparking over our front yard,

where all the neighbors sat on folding lawn chairs

talking about who knows what.

So old we’ve almost forgotten



Your birthday is looming at the end of the week.

I have been chuckling rememb’ring how you would speak

your mind with your  hands set firmly on your hips.

The world’s biggest laugh would roar through your lips.

“Oh my Gawd!” with that accent partly northeast

would stop conversation for a moment at least

as we all turned to see just what we were missing

while the story you were telling had everyone hissing


(to be continued)




How rude was life,

leaving him to live

when every beloved died,

when the odds failed

and his heart beat

despite every counter measure

of the Nazi beasts

who thought themselves God.

Liberated, yet always imprisoned






Elie Wiesel.



That rasty woodpecker was hard at work

drilling someone’s siding,

while rabbits darted ‘cross the yards

back to where they’d been hiding.

Chickadees see-sawed hello

blue-jays screeched and hollered.

The trail was real…


A house on Belleview Avenue sits behind a fence,

the street is busy and very loud, hence the fence makes a great deal of sense.

It is not the house itself you notice, most of it is hidden,

but sitting on  the columns out along the street

sit two concrete gargoyles

you would not deem as sweet.

They are hunched.  Their big feet curled.  They hold their ugly heads in hands.

But every single holiday they are all dolled up

with ribbons and colorful clothes and jolly good cheer.

And I honk as I pass on my way to work, like an old friend greeting old friends.