pumpkin muffin

so glad I was able to find this photo, 3 sisters and me in our Halloween finery (lol covered the neighborhood friend with words),
Virginia (top left), Dolores (lower left), Grace (lower right) and me the clown ūüėä, my two brothers (one not yet born) not pictured here

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did I really know her

how well did I really know her
not well enough to know
she taped notes to the underside or back of every holiday decoration
to ensure they returned to their same perfect place each season
I did know her well enough to taste the warmth of her home
before that front door ever opened
how well did I really know her
not well enough to know
she would begin creative endeavors quite seriously
collecting all the necessary supplies
then have a go-at-it for awhile before leaping to another adventure
another collection of precious stuff
I did know she always looked lovely from her smiling eyes to her tiny feet
in perfect shoes
I later found out
she sometimes purchased 2 identical sweaters
just in case
I did know her well enough to sense
her plans were her dreams
I knew her well enough to be a part of her life
and her love
the very same love that kept those big dark eyes of hers speaking
when she could no longer talk
how well did I really know her
well enough to keep her memory
strapped inside my chest
for as long as my heart continues to beat
purple-wild-hair-editscreated this weekend
happy b’day Aunt Nina, forever in our hearts

exceptionally imperfect

Exceptionally imperfect. It’s all I want. This a special low bar setting, don’t you think? I like special. You may leave me alone and I will have already fallen down. No worries. There are parts which work well rolling on the floor. He knows them. Not like her. Did you hear her screaming. The window was ajar like the door‚Äďnot as welcoming. I’m quite certain a few vocal sobs hit the birds below. What was it she was crying about this time? Oh yea, wrinkles. How she just can’t do it anymore. Hell, who can? You know what I mean, right? I say this but it does nothing to move her mind. Is she dying alive? There are no silent places to hide when you know all the rooms in your home. She’s always crying and not even rolling on the floor like some of us. That’s uplifting is it not? I mean what do you think? Does she expect her big plasma screen to extend its little curving arms and whisper Hallmark hucksterisms into her sobbing eyeballs? She’s screaming at the wrinkles. Oh well, let me suck this up. I can empathize a bit. Cotton shirts from the dryer. Impossible to smooth out like baby’s asses once they leave the store hangers. 100% algodon shirts shit wrinkles! Ironing is nearly as horrifying as cooking. Maybe I should be the one crying. There is also moaning that comes with her crying. We won’t get into that now. I reserve my moaning for the most special of occasions when doors are closed.

I do want to wish those who celebrate, a Happy Fourth. It is my grandma’s birthday, July 4. She could have painted her skin with stars beneath beaded fringe and knee length dresses. Maybe Heaven has a tattoo parlor and a vintage dress shop. I do so adore a firecracker backdrop when my head is on the pillow dreaming of Mr. Key and locked doors. Both shops and doors closed for holidays and moaning.

The Captain/acrylic

The Captain/acrylic

Somewhere in the world, this fella once rowed people to party island. I thought him absolutely inspirational and painted his likeness. Captains are so freakin’ cool:)

he was my messy room

Poised/watercolor

he’d been the messy room
in my well-ordered house
distractions across the floor
crossing the doorway into other areas
thoughts strewn in a heap
his biggest disasters saved for the closet
windows always streaked
left open on the coldest days
I resented the mess
in my appointed home
didn’t he ever care about my needs
or my organized insanity

the mess is gone now
everything cleared away
or hauled off in untidy grocery cartons
my house is perfectly arranged once more
but I’d give anything
to have every kernel of that crap covering the carpet again
I realized too late
his mess was simply a byproduct
of his passion
and damn he was passionate
I wish I knew where his clutter was now
though my home has returned to absolute order
I am a jumbled mess without him

 

in the matter of a pet

in the matter of a pet
in the matter of a human heart
how a homespun beast does travel
to the very core of our nature
to the very depth of our soul
yes, yes they ask
with earnest eyes
for food, shelter, warmth
and yes,

they crave affection,
ours

in their need and desire for love
these homespun beasts
invoking the simple language
of patient creatures
teach us
remind us
and often shame us
into the realization
of our responsibilities
as caretakers for one another

it is we
who need them

blue boys

blue boys

our blue boys, recently published, painted in acrylic a few weeks ago

Reflections of Spring

Hello my friends,
Yesterday I was sitting in front of my (ashamedly) dirty laptop gathering my thoughts, when a springtime reflection inspired me…

Spring is a time for cleaning winter’s white dust from our homes. It¬†is a time for reflection¬†and renewal¬†–
laptopSpring is a time to face new doors of opportunity and be prepared to leap through when they open-

rock:moSpring is a time to sow the seeds of dreams and¬†cultivate¬†inspired thoughts¬†–

maxWhile traveling down the road of life, we shouldn’t spend too much time¬†reflecting upon past¬†choices –

car sideveiwWe may find we don’t¬†have all the answers,¬†but¬†if we pay close attention, life sometimes sends little messages in plain sight –

successAs¬†we nurture¬†dear optimism, we shouldn’t expend¬†effort¬†reflecting on what the future has¬†in store for us.¬†¬†We should believe¬†when one door closes another sometimes opens –

mebpRather then cling to¬†the past or dwell on¬†the future,¬†we should¬†cherish¬†the present surrounding¬†us –
sunsetAnd reflect in the¬†joy of Spring’s¬†beauty.

Have a wonderful weekend, my friends…¬†(I will be cleaning my house, beginning with my disgusting laptop!)