writing

Florida Christmas

Two skinny trees, hiding in the corner, called to her. She finally found what she sought after keeping an eye out for a couple weeks. They were almost skipped; she’d only stepped into the area of the garden shop to look at something else when they caught her attention.

Three segments, a stand and three screws, times two, and they were now hers to adorn the dining room. Tall and skinny, they were perfect for the space. Next some warm twinkling lights and mesh ribbon to make them glow.

Sitting aside the giant wave, she decided these will have a seaside theme. Digging through decades of curated ornaments, she pulled out the shells, starfish, beach chairs and more. Each little bauble danced on the branches, showing off for a Florida Christmas.

writing

Starry Nights

Staring into the popcorn ceiling above, glints of gold glitter caught my eye. That was a thing back then, covering popcorn ceilings with glitter, I guess.

It was like staring at the clouds. Relaxing and mesmerizing, my active imagination would find figures and scenes, building little vignettes in my mind.

Sometimes, in my younger years, it would be horses, birds, flowers and such. I would drift off to dream, laying on my grandparent’s sofa, while visiting. These fancies would follow me into my dreams.

As I aged, I still would stare into that ceiling on our visits. Sometimes it would be of a witch flying through the starry night skies. Other times it would be a romantic romp in the middle of the night that would fill my adolescent brain.

I still find myself looking up into the knocked down texture of my own ceilings though, seeking creative thoughts, but there are no more golden stars to light my way.

I wonder if the new owners kept that ceiling after all these years.

writing

Thankful

Unbridled decadence covered the buffet.

Aromas of orange, onions, butter and sage

waft from the freshly roasted turkey.

Cranberry pear relish filled with flavors galore

Clove, cinnamon, ginger and more.

Don’t forget the stuffing, broccoli salad,

Roasted vegetables and sweet potato casserole.

But it isn’t the food that really matters,

It’s the family and friends, near and far,

We’re thankful to have in our lives.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

writing

Build from It

Criticism is hard to take;

I knew it was just a matter of time.

But this time, tears did not flow,

Just acceptance because I understood;

Trying to be my best, and pressured too.

Maybe one day, all this will make me shine.

writing

Coal Lament

I scoff when I hear ‘clean coal’ used,

As if it has never costs a single soul.

Maybe the industry is cleaner now,

But I do not understand how.

To find the lodes we have to dig,

Scrape out mountainsides

Or burrow deep down into earth.

The skies or the tunnels filled with haze.

Scars on the lungs leave their marks,

But as they hedge, the workers who stay,

Some find they can’t breathe day to day.

If black lung visits their door,

The harder it is to inhale evermore.

Until one day the scars or another disease wins,

So tell me how coal is clean again?

writing

Stormy Times

She looked up as the rain shimmered down.

The canopy hung over her but didn’t block the storm.

No matter, she enjoyed getting drenched.

Her hair dripped into ringlets around her face,

Her tongue lapped up the wetness as her only drink.

The tapping of the drops beat out a soothing melody.

The forest fell quiet as the animals sought shelter.

Ahead of her, she could see the surf,

behind her a cocoa-toned trail of puddles.

She walked over to a small beachside shelter

took a seat atop a faded wood table,

and focused on the ocean across the sand.

The waves whipped up as the storm passed through.

She closed her eyes, soaking up the moment.

writing

Pushing Through

She swung her fists in the air,

Pretending to be a badass in fingerless gloves.

A moment of spunkiness and a smile,

Shhh…don’t tell anyone they’re therapeutic!

Back to the cavern from which she came,

The keyboard began to clack away,

And the mouse flew around the screen.

Just a little longer is what she needed,

The compression helped her get it done,

Then a little heat therapy to reduce the ache.

Wriggling her finger and massaging her limbs,

Finally relaxing and getting some relief!

writing

Healthy Intentions

Ahh, therein lies the rub. Probably with everything in life. Just a moment of reflection as I force myself to eat this last bite of lunch.

Last night, I headed to the store with a feeling of heaviness…so I opted for some “healthier” choices. I had eaten a Cuban for lunch and while it was good…it wasn’t necessarily good for me.

So I wandered into the produce area and faced a myriad of fresh salads with various vegetables, some with fruits and nuts, cheese and tempting dressing. I selected one of my favorites, a Caprese salad with mozzarella, tomatoes and balsamic dressing.

It sounded good at the time. Proud of myself for planning lunch ahead for once, I checked out and headed home.

This morning, I pulled out a bright pink insulated lunch tote and slid an ice pack inside. I stacked in the salad, a yogurt for a morning snack and some tzatziki sauce and chips for the afternoon. Two Sprite Zeros and I was set for the day.

The morning flew by and finally I get a moment for lunch. I pull out my salad. Lunch me frowns. I’m a different person at this moment, longing for a juicy cheeseburger with tomato, mayo, ketchup and mustard…really the basics.

But time and work demands prevail, so I open up this beautiful…insert eye roll here…salad. Healthy me is trying to soothe hungry me.

Begrudgingly, I pour the mozzarella and tomatoes onto the salad. I realize on of the tomatoes has a bad spot, so I pick it out and fling it into the trash. Take that, healthy me!

I pour over the dressing and smush up my lips. I try to convince myself…healthy me and hungry me start a barrage of excuses to each other.

I look at the time. Nope, hungry me can’t win this one. So I stab my fork into the greens and eat bite after bite between sips of my Zero.

…Maybe I’ll have a burger for dinner. Hungry me cheers! Healthy me rolls her eyes. …

writing

En Pointe

Sweet little one, twirling in the aisle,

A pink leotard, white tights,

and bright pink ballet shoe covers,

Obviously headed off to class.

Mom did her hair up in the classic bun,

No glitter or glitz, just perfect for lessons.

Her little hand held on to her mom’s tight,

But she was ready to take flight.

A fleeting glance brings smiles to all who pass,

And per chance, a desire to dance.

writing

Hair Cares

Her normally wavy hair fell flat,

Drier weather causes that.

She didn’t really mind,

She wished for straight all the time.

It never was really voluminous even

But age and hormones turned it thin.

She wanted to grow it out like she had,

But thirty it worked, now she became sad.

Maybe it’s time to snip it short and sweet,

At least then it would be nice and neat.