Monday, December 13, 2010

Happy Holidays!



Just want to wish each and every one of you Happy Holidays!

And a very prosperous, healthy, and Happy New Year!


AngelMay


.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Silver Fox Decorates Tree!


Breaking News!
Spied this weekend through frosty windows, that ever elusive Silver Fox decorating his holiday tree!

Wait a minute! Hold the phone!
Izzat Skip? Izzat Skip decorating the Fox's tree?

Film at 11.


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Sunday, October 31, 2010

The Baker-Man




The Baker-Man

He not at all likes Halloween

And greedy children he can’t stand

He hates to hear them run and scream

And roam the streets in costumed bands


He hates their little spooky threats

As they thrust forth their greedy hands

Those dirty little fingered-nets

That snatch and grab and make demands


He wants to put away the sweets

Remove the pies and buns from view

Hide the truffles and the treats

From that obnoxious, grubby crew


In fact, he wants to close up shop

On this of all the nights he dreads

And take a break from stirring glop

That forms the tangy gingerbreads


He reached to turn the sign to CLOSED

Yet something stayed his fleshy hand

A tasty circumstance arose

And so he let the OPEN stand


A mother with her tot in hand

Stepped inside the steaming shop

And, at the bell, the Baker-Man

Appeared behind the lemon-drops


He rubbed his hands and smiled his smile

And, quiet, flipped the brassy lock

He stretched to better see the child

Hidden in its mother’s frock.


“Come in!” he cooed, all warm sincere

And glided forth with not a sound

He bid them sweetly to come near

And deftly turned the CLOSED sign ‘round


He waited, oh so patiently

While they surveyed the treats

And dialed the oven “blistery”

As mom began to speak


"Do you serve little children here?"

She asked, and pushed the tot full-view

He could not check his creeping leer

And answered with impassioned cheer


“Yes, madam,” he hissed. “We DO!”


~ AngelMay ~




Have a tasty Halloween everybody.

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Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Sometimes


Sometimes nature is just so good to us. About 10 minutes ago I looked out my window and saw this magnificent creature lying in the weed-overgrown flower bed in the front yard. I'm sure he is one of "Mommy's" babies from several years ago. Maybe even this one from Spring, 2005:


I went downstairs to get a closer look and he didn't move. He knew I was there, just inside the window about 8 feet from him. And he just watched me:


Isn't he gorgeous?


Sometimes....I just feel glad to be alive.


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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

I Am Not Dead



Contrary to popular opinion, I am not dead. Really. See? Here I am?

Well, no I guess you can't see, can you? But it's I - me - AngelMay. In the flesh. Alive and kicking. Alive, anyway. Just so much going on.

First, my exorbitantly expensive sewing machi...er.... computer had a glitch. The little thingys that pull the fabric through beneath the needle (called the feed dogs) wouldn't feed. They just sat there looking at me while the needle went up and down, up and down, up and down in the same spot - over and over and over and over and over.

I tried giving the thingys a dirty look. But they just sat there - doing nothing.
I checked to be sure I had the thingy button in the thingy-UP position. I did.
Still they would do nothing. I was completely bummed.

Gathered up the exorbitantly expensive sewing ma...computer and drove the umpteen dozen miles around two bays and over to the next town from whence it came. The thingy repair guy there sent us off to eat lunch while he looked over the obstinate thingys.

Back from lunch, we learned that a thingy inside the sewing ma....computer was just too tight. It was so tight that the thingy would not slide between these two other thingys and so would not engage the feed dog thingys such that they would pull the fabric beneath the needle. He loosened the thingy which then slid easily between the two other thingys and engaged, as it was supposed to, the feed dog thingy that pulled the fabric beneath the needle.

I brought the sewing ..computer back home and it is now once again in its lovely new cabinet. I just haven't had the energy to test the fix to see if it really is fixed. This is called blind trust.

Next, my new computer desk arrived. Some assembly required before it will look like the photo above. Actually, COMPLETE assembly is required. We got all the pieces up here in the living room floor and discovered that three of the smaller pieces - shelves - were missing. So I called the place (on the internet) from which I ordered it and they said they would get the missing pieces out to me ASAP. Yay! Meantime, we go to town to buy an "Autumn Flame" maple tree to go in the hole made when the stump was removed from a tree that used to be in the hole a couple of years ago.

On the way back from town, and standing there in the garage going through all the mail that goes immediately into the compactor-file, I noticed three small, nicely finished boards leaning up against the kitty condo (another story entirely) and looking awfully like the pieces to the desk we weren't able to put together this morning due to three missing pieces just like them.

OY! I scream up the stairs to AngelSpouse and told him to come down and check out the three boards. Eyes rolled in both our heads while black clouds of gloom formed above. I RE-called the internet company from which we purchased the complete-assembly required desk and left a message that we had found the missing pieces and they should just cancel that order.

I would ask at this point, "What ELSE can go wrong?".... but I have learned that as soon as you ask that particular question something else will invariably go wrong.

So I didn't ask the question.

And how was YOUR day?


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Monday, October 11, 2010

Sweet Distractions




Well, it arrived. My new sewing cabinet. Isn't it a beauty? It's sitting where my computer desk used to be.

The computer desk has been moved to where the china cabinet used to be.

The china cabinet has been moved to an available space along the living room wall where a teak secretary used to be.

The teak secretary was moved into my bedroom. Isn't buying new furniture fun?

A new computer desk is on order and, I hope, on its way to me as I type. So I have no photos - as yet - of the new computer desk.

But here is the sewing cabinet opened:


You will notice at the lower left a fuzzy person getting ready to jump up and check it all out and generally cause as much trouble as possible.

And yes, that is my new sewing COMPUTER sitting right up there like the Queen of the May. I'm still in the admiring stage. Soon, I will have to break down and actually sew something.

So yeah, I've been distracted lately.
Oh! And I also ordered a wireless mouse for my computer because my good friend Sandra has one and I was jealous.

Thanks for stopping by.


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Thursday, October 7, 2010

Color Me


Color Me: Lazy


I can’t seem to keep up lately with this blog. I try to race around reading everyone else’s blog, but some of you are so prolific that I just can’t keep up with you, either.


Color Me: Sad


I believe the Mommy deer (whom I call “Mommy”) was killed about 100 yards up the road last week. I’ve seen her twins in the neighborhood without any sign of her on several occasions. Last night I heard coyote yipping and howling and I held my breath hoping they had not found one (or both) of those twins. I don’t do the “red in tooth and claw” thing very well. The horrors of nature are beyond my ability to bear.


Color Me: Angry


The horrors of humanity are even more difficult for me to bear. Yesterday I read of a man in Tennessee whose house burned to the ground while firefighters watched and refused to help because he hadn’t paid his $75 “subscription” fee.


And I read of a 4-year-old girl who died in NY and who only weighed 18 pounds. Her mother has been arrested. Four years too late.


Color Me: Outraged


I read also that the “Tea Partiers” have made a propaganda-filled coloring book for children; a book that not only gets our own history wrong but also mangles the English language while doing it. Both are unforgivable. Children should not be the victims of politics.


Color Me: Anxious


It’s October. As an investor I always get nervous when this month rolls around and I try to keep a close eye on my stocks. The market does not love me. The market does not love you. The market is like an undisciplined child that runs around getting into all sorts of trouble. And my little “stash” is at its mercy. Must watch. Must watch. And keep finger on button…


Color Me: Excited


I have sprung for an expensive sewing machine. Er… excuse me… it’s NOT a sewing machine – at least not according to its manual. It is, instead, a sewing COMPUTER. (Times have really changed since my mother’s old treadle-powered Singer.)


And… we all know how one thing leads to another. This thing led to the additional purchase of a cabinet in which to house it. You can’t just leave an expensive sewing COMPUTER lying around to be tripped over and/or dropped down the stairs as you schlep it from hither to yon. No way. It requires its own expensive sewing cabinet with a hydraulic lift and drawers and stuff.


The cabinet, of course, requires space. To get the space, furniture must be moved. Even with the moving of the furniture, there is the problem of the cabinet expansion into even more space when it is opened. This required head-scratching. And…


…led to the purchase of a new computer desk. Yes, it’s a leap. But, trust me, I know what I’m doing here.


Meanwhile…


Color Me: Procrastinating


I could be cutting out the fabric for my next quilt (which will be made on my new sewing COMPUTER which will probably be placed where my current REAL computer currently sits and which will be moved to the space formerly occupied by my china cabinet when the new computer cabinet arrives – whew!).


As I said… I could be cutting out the fabric for my next quilt but I procrastinate. I dilly. And then I dally. And then I take a nap.


Color Me: Retired.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Arriving In Style at the Willow Ball

This is my very first trip to the annual Willow Ball:


My date for the evening is the absolutely wonderful Hugh Laurie who has promised to amaze me all evening by keeping up that impeccable American accent, which, to me of course, doesn't sound like an accent at all:


Of course, he has also promised to appear in the proper attire for the evening:


Oh wow! Who could ask for a better date?

I, of course, will also be in the proper attire - shown here on a model who displayed the gown to all its best angles and appearances:


I do love red and so found these wonderful red velvet shoes as well:

I have no doubt that within an hour these will, however, find their way into some safe corner while I whirl happily barefoot beneath my lovely gown.

An evening such as this also deserves a little sparkle so I'll be adding:



And, of course, we will be arriving in style:


And even though our chariot is climate-controlled, when I step out of that particular luxury I could find the evening air a bit nippy and so I'll be contentedly snuggled in this lovely faux fur:


Why not the real thing? I'm so glad you asked.

I never ever wear the real thing because I respect those lovely little creatures to whom it rightly belongs. To kill them for their fur is just something I cannot do. I will not do. Ever. I only have to look at my own little darling fur-ball to know why:


Click the poster for the ball (up top) to be transported there.

Have a great evening!


~

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Theme Thursday: Reveal

Perusing the offerings at Netflix, and mostly not content with the five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-two films already in my queue, I found this little gem recently and had it routed to my own mailbox in short order:


Nice cast, I thought. Samuel Jackson and Ed Harris. I'm not as familiar with the female lead here. (This could very well be because I don't get out much anymore.)

The first thing I noticed was that Samuel Jackson had put on a little bit of weight since his film with Geena Davis, "The Long Kiss Goodnight." You can see it in his face, mostly.

Jackson in "Cleaner":


Jackson in "Long Kiss Goodnight":



The second thing I noticed was that the actress who played Jackson's daughter, Keke Palmer, should have had much higher billing:


She was simply wonderful in the part. No... not just wonderful. She was excellent. Believable. And that's what you want from a good actress. She was, in short, perfect in this part.


This little film, "Cleaner", is what I would definitely call "Film Noir." Interesting in its photography and lighting and a little bit mesmerizing in its sequencing, I found it thoroughly enjoyable. Here, you have humanity at its best and worst all tangled up into one little ball of a story (just as we all are).

This film was an official selection of the Toronto International Film Festival in 2007. How come I'm only just now finding it, I ask myself. I answer back, "I'm old! Mind your own business!" But then I do soften and tell myself that I'm glad I found it now.

There is one scene in which Jackson is cleaning what appears to be a mom-and-pop quickie food store. He hears someone crying. Slowly he moves toward the sound and sees, through the partially-opened backroom door, an Asian woman sobbing. For a moment he does nothing, and then he reaches up and slowly closes the door. I found myself absolutely fascinated by this scene. Does he close the door to give the woman privacy in her grief? Does he close the door because he finds the crying disturbing? Both? We don't know. But this little scene lends a depth to both the film and the character Jackson portrays.

The basic story revolves directly around Jackson's character who is an ex-cop and current cleaner of crime scenes (and other messes too much for the property owners to handle). He cleans a home specified in a job order that came in to his business and later discovers a dark mystery concerning the house and the job.

All is ultimately revealed near the end. (Bet you wondered how I was going to work Theme Thursday into this post, didn't you?)

This film, like life, is a little bit messy, a little bit satisfying, a little bit haunting, a little bit unsettling. If you haven't seen it, do. I think you will enjoy it.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Birthday Comin' Up!



Oh lordy - I have a birthday coming up. Yep. ANOTHER one. I'd have a cake but I'm afraid I'd catch the house on fire trying to get all the candles lit. Maybe I'll just get myself lit instead.

Of course having a birthday is, as THEY say (whoever THEY are), better than the alternative. But when you start seeing more birthdays behind you than you know are ahead of you it gets a little depressing.

At least I can still dream. I have a dream date for Willow's annual ball. So I should go ahead and share him with you now:


An appropriate choice, don'tcha think? After all, if I have some kind of attack brought on by age-related decrepitcy (I made that up), he'll be the perfect companion to take care of me. Furthermore, I'm crazy about him. And he has promised to stay "in accent" for the entire evening - just to blow my mind.

My god, I am one lucky gal! See you at the ball (wait till you see my dress!)

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Theme Thursday: Reason


Well, I had been looking for a reason to post this poem. And, Theme Thursday seems to have given me a reason. I'm not sure if it is reasonable to post a poem that has nothing at all to do with reason, but I reasoned that I would post it just the same - because I can. Hope you enjoy it.



Burning Up


Being not of entire mind

Yet near on half-aware

I recognized the flames that burned

Were torture – yet I did not care

~

My skin seared from the torrid heat

My face full hot on fire

I tossed and moaned and sought relief

A primal, animal desire

~

The heat rose ever more intense

The fire burned aching hot

Release from this delicious hell

Was all my conscious thought

~

At last the blaze, in final flare,

Left embers kindly glowing lower

A foot I thrust into cool air

And tossed aside my tangled hair

And turned the pillow over


~


AngelMay

9 September 2010

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Things I Sometimes Think About - #4





Unicycles.


I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a unicycle. Of course, I think I’ve waited way too long now. At this point in my life I would probably break my neck, or worse, my hip. Then it would all be over. Bah! I guess I can check that one off my bucket list.



TV Programs


Specifically, the new tv program called “Covert Affairs.” Sometimes I wonder what the producers and directors are thinking when they cast the characters for something like this. Now, the lead lady in this show is very pretty – even engaging. But she has this mane of long, blonde hair that flies out in all directions when she’s running away from – or after – some perp. Anybody with half a brain would understand that someone who is undercover and in a position to be in close proximity to the “bad guys” would need to have a haircut that is so short the bad guy cannot grab it to catch her and hold her – so short it can’t get caught in elevator doors or any kind of machinery. She would want, in short (pun intended), a kind of a crew-cut for women spies.



Skydiving


I have to confess that I’ve never wanted to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I have no death wish at all. None. I also don’t want to ride roller coasters or climb the highest mountain. Of course READING about people who actually do these things is another story. It’s all very enjoyable as I sit snuggled into a soft leather chair or sofa in the comfort and safety of my home – like the coward I am.



Liver


Well, ok, I almost never think about liver.



Stock Market


I’ve thought a lot about this lately as I’ve watched my gains slowly evaporate into little poofs of nothingness. Why is the stock market trying to kill me? Why?



I should pin that one to the refrigerator door. No! Wait! Maybe this one:


Baaaaaah!

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Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Intermission

AngelMay will return after a short intermission.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Theme Thursday: Palm


You tree!

You palm!

You prehistoric plant with rustling fronds

That whisper in the gentle breezes of soft summer nights

In pleasant harmony to rhythmic moon-lit waves

Softly lapping the evening-cooled beach sands


Such power lies in that soft sound to resurrect ancient memories

And call them forth in treasured scenes that float easily to the mind’s surface

Then stab deeply at hearts that ache for remembered nights long gone


Nights when piano bars in upscale lounges mellowed supple lovelies

In their backless, basic black and pearls

Their limbs smooth as the jazz notes from the gleaming baby grand

Their heels clicking on palm-lined patios and marble dance floors

Then gliding silently over deep plush carpet to their velvet-cushioned seats

On the arms of handsome, eager young gentlemen who opened doors

And fetched icy, tinkling, umbrella-bedecked highballs in frosty glasses

To set before them as offerings unto a goddess.


Laughter, then, was easy and the nights were satin and silk

Nights, it was imagined, that could never – and would never – end

For we were young and full of longing and passion for love and for life

Without notion of time and the ravages of which it is not only capable

But determined


You tree…

You palm…

You powerful, prehistoric plant

I hear your whisper and close my eyes

Floating back in time…


.

AngelMay

August, 2010

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Tuesday, August 10, 2010

More Than Just A Pretty Face




Actress Hedy Lamarr
(November 9, 1913 – January 19, 2000)

More than just a pretty face, actress Hedy Lamarr's true claims to fame have nothing to do with Hollywood. Without her, those few survivors left might this year be marking the 46th anniversary of World War III and there might never have been an iPhone 3GS for you to lust for.

Born Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler, Ms. Lamarr, in 1933, married Fredrich Mandl, an arms merchant who was controlling and possessive. Mandl forced her to attend his business meetings, during which the mathematically adept Ms. Lamarr learned a great deal about the munitions industry.

But when her husband began consorting with the Nazi high command and holding grand parties for Adolph Hitler and Benito Mussolini, Ms. Lamarr sought escape.

According to some accounts, during a Nazi celebration, she drugged her husband, disguised herself as a maid and fled the country. She made her way to Hollywood by way of London and Paris.

During World War II, when her film career was in high gear, Ms. Lamarr had a conversation with composer George Anthiel that helped change the course of homeland security and human communication.

Anthiel, a Hollywood neighbor of Ms. Lamarr, was fascinated with the automated mechanism of player pianos that caused them to play the right notes at precisely the right times. He and Ms. Lamarr, who had learned quite a lot about torpedoes from her munitions-merchant husband, started trading ideas.

The two collaborated to develop a guidance protocol for torpedoes that couldn't be jammed by enemies of the Allied forces. The result was a patent for a process by which radio transmissions hop rapidly across 88 different frequencies like notes on a keyboard.


The US Navy thought it was a good idea but ahead of its time.
They were right. It was 1962 before the US military used the technology to aid in the blockade of Soviet ships carrying nuclear weapons components during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

And it was 1997 before the very same concept became an integral part of the spread spectrum technology that makes your cellphone and Wi-Fi network possible today.

Hedy Lamarr was once considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world but we salute her today as a Real Woman of the Apocalypse.

You can read more about this fascinating and intelligent woman on the website from which I collected the majority of this text. There are other links on the site as well.

There is much out there at Wiki and other websites, too, if you are interested. This week marks the anniversary of her patent: U.S. Patent Number 2292387 granted on August 11, 1942.

.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Facelift!

I decided it was time to give my blog a facelift.
What say you?

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Friday, August 6, 2010

Magpie 26




Black Thumb

Perhaps the cause was a very black thumb.

Nor sure if it was or not.


But the flowers, parched and exhausted

Bent to the rim of the pot.


They wouldn't stand up. They wouldn't please.

They wouldn't sway gently in the soft, summer breeze.


They wouldn't do a single thing

You'd think a flower oughter


And all because of a silly black thumb

.

.

.

Or want of a drink of water.



AngelMay, August 2010





Click on the Magpie Stamp to find other Magpie Tales contributions.


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Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Theme Thursday: Brown

Color Me Brown



Brown is a great color. Who could resist this?



And brown is a very nice color if you are expecting a package.




But you want to be careful with brown in your clothing.

Some people who wear brown tend to be mean and walk funny.




Some people think these brown things are really good, but I’m afraid that I’m not one of them.



Here’s a cute little brown thing. But I wouldn’t want him in my house.




And here’s something brown that almost everybody likes:




I could go on and on but I have to stop somewhere so…

Finally, here is a little brown thing that everyone has seen at one time or another:




Some time back a co-worker of mine used to bake anatomically correct gingerbread men (and women) and bring them in to work during the holidays.


Of course nobody got a thing done on those days.


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Monday, August 2, 2010

Pick-A-Lock Pete: Magpie Tale #25





Pick-A-Lock Pete


Pick-A-Lock Pete was the most feared guy in town.

Not because he was mean or anything like that. But because he could pick a lock – any lock – faster than Harry Houdini. Nobody ever knew where he learned to do it and they for sure never knew exactly how he did it. Pete didn’t say a whole lot because he stuttered. And when he stuttered, people in the little country town of Maysville laughed and made fun of him. You also tend to keep your head down when you are only 3/5ths of a human being – if not in actual fact, at least in the reality of a small backwater town in the rural South in the 1930’s.

Seems strange to taunt that which you fear, but the simple folks of Maysville weren’t given to intellectual reasoning. If any ever experienced twinges of conscience, it wasn’t immediately apparent to the accidental bystander. And, in truth, the only bystanders ever found in Maysville were definitely accidental.

If Pete owned a pair of shoes to his name they were never in evidence and the soles of his feet were always clay-red from walking those dusty roads in and around the town. His best and only friend seemed to be an old yellow dog named Bum who had been the runt of an unwanted litter out at Ledbetter’s farm. And since Pete had saved him from a watery death in the creek three years earlier the two of them had never drifted more than 50 yards apart.

Of all the townspeople who eyed Pete with a contempt born of more than simple distrust, old Barron Jones was the worst. Jones had a mean streak as big as Atlanta. He hated Pete – just because he was black, most people said. But if truth be told he hated him because Pete bore his affliction and position in life with a dignity Barron Jones could only dream of possessing. Deep down Jones felt an envy of this young black man that he could not – and would not – acknowledge. His own smallness sniffed around his edges like a wary dog smelling something rotten and it ate at Jones like a cancer. To compensate, he took every opportunity to belittle Pete in front of others and to threaten him on those occasions they found themselves without witness.

Pete bore it all with a resigned and stoic silence that only infuriated Jones the more until one Saturday afternoon in late summer when “the thing” finally happened.

What actually happened isn’t easily describable and so cannot be told in that concise tent-revival jargon of seeing the light, repenting, and being saved. Not even Jones would have put it in such a manner – if he had had the wherewithal to describe it at all. In fact, he never attempted a description of any fashion that one could put together into a cohesive tale. However, speculation and fabrication being a part of small town existence, a story of sorts did finally emerge.

A careful man when it came to his own well-being, Jones had outfitted his barn (which was actually more shed than barn) with a lock on the door that was keyed from both inside and out. Housed inside the barn-shed and safely locked away from the prying eyes of the law (and those who might inform the law) was a medium-sized whiskey still.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, feeling lazy and dry of mouth, Jones put key to lock after letting himself inside the shed, pocketed the key, and proceeded to do a “tasting.” This tasting, which took up much of the afternoon, and a lit cigarette was all it took. The barn-shed went up in flames and smoke rapidly filled the room. Jones got to his feet and fumbled with the key to the locked door all the while screaming and pounding the walls to be let out. His vision blurred with smoky tears, he dropped the key and dropped to his knees in a panicked effort to feel it out and retrieve it.

Perhaps being that close to the floor saved him. Perhaps he found the key and let himself out. The only thing Barron Jones ever said was that he knew he was a goner that afternoon and that somewhere close by he heard a dog bark. However it happened, the door of the barn suddenly flew open and Jones crawled out to safety.

Not even Jones could explain how that door got open that afternoon, but no one in Maysville ever heard him say another word against Pete for as long as he lived.


-o-


AngelMay


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Thursday, July 29, 2010

I Used To Be Skinny



Where I used to be skinny

I’ve now put on weight

And that’s only one of the things

That I hate.


I hate that my taste buds

Seem to have died

My hearing has gone

And my bottom’s grown wide


My body, once supple

Seems stiff and unsure

It seems to have lost

All its leggy allure


I hate that I’m wrinkled

With freckles galore

In fact there are freckles

I’ve not seen before


My hair has grown thin

And refuses to shine

And how can those awful grey eyebrows

Be mine?


I drool in my sleep

And I scratch when I itch

I can’t stand loud noises

God! What a bitch!


My eyes will not focus

My brain will not think

The whole thing’s depressing

Enough that I drink


I hobble around on bad knee

And trick toe

Cursing the need

To get up and to go


I’d rather sit quietly

On my behind

Munching on bon-bons

And sipping red wine


Well, at least I’m not old

like that neighbor next door

It’s just that - I guess -

I’m not young anymore.



. AngelMay.

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Tuesday, July 27, 2010

A Certain Kind of Symmetry and Other Wanderings



It has occurred to me that there is a kind of symmetry to my life thus far. True, it's been interrupted many times and for various lengths of time. Yet it is still there, this imperfect symmetry.

I was born and grew up on a peninsula that pointed South and which was, itself, on yet another peninsula which also pointed South. Now I live about as far away from those initial peninsulas as I can get and still remain within the same country. Diagonally, from Southeast to Northwest, I have ended up (though the suggestion that this is somehow the "end" is rather depressing) on yet another peninsula. This peninsula points North and is, itself, located on yet another peninsula which also points North. How unusual is that? There is certainly a symmetry, of sorts, to be seen here.

Oddly, at times here when a corner is turned and certain scenery comes into view, I am reminded strongly of that other peninsula. I find that rather amazing, given the distance between the two.

The other evening I lay in bed with cool air pouring in through my windows and listened to the lighthouse fog-horn periodically whonking its warning to ships traversing the strait. And I was reminded of a time, when I was back there - diagonally across this country on that other peninsula - when I would lie in bed and hear that uniquely mournful wail of train whistles. I remember my uncle used to say that the sound of the train whistle took on a completely different timbre when autumn was in the air. I wonder if the fog-horn warning the ships will sound differently as this summer turns to autumn. I wonder if I will remember to notice.

I hope I can be forgiven for this little bit of personal mind-wandering. I'm sitting here at the moment looking at a soft layer of fog that is flopped impertinently across the bay, robbing me of my view, and trying not to think of the discomfort I'm experiencing from the first round of some minor surgery yesterday. So I'm thinking, instead, of everything and anything else. Like... whatever happened to really good books? You know, the kind that don't have the F-word in every paragraph. Not that I've never said the F-word, mind you. I can swear with the best of them when the occasion warrants. It just seems to be rather gratuitous these days more often than not - as though the author feels s/he must include it or be thought old-fashioned.

So I turned, last night, to Amazon - that marketplace of all marketplaces and the convenience of which I absolutely adore - to search for something to read. I finally found something and was reading it in less than a minute (bless the Kindle), but the search was marked by pitfalls and potholes in the form of "reviews." I'm not sure whose idea it was to allow just anyone to write a review, but I'm pretty sure there have been better ones. If you want to read a good book I would advise only glancing tentatively at the professional reviewer's blurb. Then go with your gut. Otherwise you will be wading, for hours, through the most inane - not to mention grammatically-challenged - chatter imaginable.

I picked something old-fashioned.

And now, I shall fluff up my pillows and settle in on my sleek, Scandinavian, anything-but-old-fashioned sofa, push my present discomfort aside, and lose myself in the troubles of some fictional someone else.

Ciao!


.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Medusa Morning

Magpie Tales: #24



Emerging, satisfied, from the warm, moist cocoon of her bed - and leaving him to watch her go, she peers into the mirror in the hall.

She: My God! Look at my hair! What a mess!

He: You look beautiful.

She (secretly smiling): When I look into my mirror I know you are lying.

He: I'm not lying. You are looking at yourself through the eyes of a beauty pageant judge. I'm looking at the real you.

She: Then the real me must be Medusa!

He: No doubt. You can certainly turn a man to stone.


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