Letter c day 75

So this day has just officially gone to crap. I reached over in the flower garden to straighten the decorative flag pole the wind had blown over. That got my left ear, head, a couple places on my neck and arm stung by yellow jackets. Arm, neck and head hurt but the ear is ridiculously painful. Meat tenderizer did help some once Vic was able to find it. Wegmans no, Target no, ShopRite yes. I’ve iced my ear several times thus far and taken the benadryl as advised by my daughter-in-law and Dr. Lee. Bee stings are so much easier in places that have some fat involved, my little ears don’t. 😞

Tonight those nasty creatures are going to regret stinging me.😞Game on!

Why are grocery stores so f-ing behind on stocking their shelves? Wegmans has epically failed on so many levels since COVID 19. They seem to be able to restock their product but not the competitors for one, two the amount of vacant shelves compared to other stores is not acceptable. For the life of me why are spices, teas, and condiments like ketchup and mustard so difficult to replace. I have never been one to go to multiple grocery stores but since this crap has unfolded it’s becoming the new norm.

The dirty deed is done with minor setback one of the yellow jackets stung Vic while I was spraying in between the patio pavers where I had seen them earlier going in and out.

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I told you yesterday about my appointments getting changed. Annoying but not impossible.  It feels more like a Tzu moment especially since there is forward movement.

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”― Lao Tzu

The wall reminds me of Pink Floyds, Another Brick in the Wall. I had a teacher like that back in high school that mocked my early poems. She didn’t succeed I still love poetry. I write poems almost everyday. Mrs. Davis should have listened to Nelson Mandela and encouraged me to write instead of embarrassing me because her droning was so boring I escaped into poetry.

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”
― Nelson Mandela

This is one of my favorites about the lake I lived near at my old home. I have so many positive memories of that lake. My children and I went there from the time they were born until they each had left home.

I used to go there after I finished the night shift when I worked stocking shelves and swim alone before going home. Once the weather got to cool to swim I would simply sit there with my coffee I had grabbed at Dunkin when they were still 24 hours and contemplate my future. That lake was my haven.

 

At The Lake’s Edge©
The long rocky shoreline had rough water tonight
this breezy spring twilight in April.
I came to watch the evening sun set on the water.
I heard the loons crooning to their mates.
My tranquility was disrupted by a child’s screech and
two young people paddling hard in a canoe.
An elderly man fished on the opposite shore while
a woman read a book in her chair on the dock.
I shivered as the waves swished against the beach
and the cold spray hit my leg as I sat on the rock.
I struggled to regroup my thoughts, to close this day
The peace in my world was jeopardized so
I sought the calm of my beautiful beach haven.
I ached to find my composure once more
As I immersed myself in the beauty at the lake’s edge.
My mind rambled to the times when I brought my children
to swim and play in the chilling water in the summer’s heat.
Those moonlit nights on my way home from work when I swam
successfully working out stress in my own way.
I committed to memory the reasons why I must pick me up once more,
I need another sunrise, to gaze at another sunset on the lake’s edge.
The troubled emotions, I felt when I arrived have dissipated because
the lake’s rippled water refreshed my essence.
I heard the soft call of a loon, the woeful song was
a gentle reminder of my lover who waits for me
Good night, my lakeside haven!
Thank you for giving me sanctuary,
I am okay now because of you.
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The one I wrote today I tossed into the Virtual Blogging Adventure I’m hosting on WDC and sharing here. It’s now in both places.
My Grandpa said I would want to stay
once I commit to Katherine’s way
Nope, I have things to do
He handed me a chew
and shook my hand, you’ll be back someday©
a limerick about Katherine Australia
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For some frigging reason every time I go to cut and paste the link into my blog Wind of Change by Scorpion appears instead even though I cut and paste the right one.

I’m too tired and uncomfortable to keep frigging around with this tonight. It’s easy enough to google.  My ear is throbbing intensely. Apparently wordpress has a lot of quirks not worked out as Marilyn Armstrong pointed out.

Tomorrow’s a new day and hopefully a less painful one.

 

 

 

letter c day 70

This quote so fits this letter-c journey. “Difficulties are just things to overcome, after all.”― Ernest Shackleton I couldn’t agree more.  The letter-c  doesn’t define me, it doesn’t control me nor will it ever be the end of me. Positive outlooks are key for any health battle. “Superhuman effort isn’t worth a damn unless it achieves results.”― Ernest Shackleton

On that note, I’m going to take you to my song choice for the day by Pink, A Million Dreams.  I think all the time about all the dreams I haven’t accomplished yet. I look at all the things I’ve collected a long the way but there’s still those missing elusive ones I want. Letter-c won’t deter me.

Writing has always felt elusive to me because I was guilty of looking at myself through the eyes of others, judging instead of appreciating every word I did put on the page in spite of the situation. Many of you aren’t aware of  the darker times of my life, the demon aka my first husband, who took great pleasure in undermining me. He wrote his name on everything I wrote. When I’ve told people that, they looked at me like I have three heads but then when I hand them my journals they hang their heads because they had no idea what kind of man he was.  It took a lot for my muse to gain the confidence to break free of the toxin. Now, when I look at these journals, I see documented proof I wasn’t diminished by his actions instead I became stronger.

 

 

I put the words on the page. They’re not perfect but they’re mine. I said to a good friend, “Art isn’t clean… if it is then you have a blank canvas, you haven’t painted yet.”~ Lyn Crain. Occasionally, I have gems.  Or in my case, my pages aren’t written yet. I know how destructive that self-critic is, but thankfully the letter-c has given me a nudge. Writing the vignettes isn’t always fun but then I’m reminded of Hunter S. Thompson’s quote, “writing is the most hateful kind of work, I suspect it’s a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don’t do much giggling.”

I didn’t understand love when I  first began writing poetry but I knew it offered me a means to express my fears, my dreams even my anger. This one is from 2003 when I was feeling conflicted about the direction life was unfolding.

Love denied me,

 offering instead sharp and bloody thorns

hidden behind fragile blooms.

 Its flattery prose was spoken softer

than a petal’s caress teasing

my smoldering heart to waken

before dousing it with

despair.©

I’ve never chosen a name for it. There are times when I simply think Reality Check works as the title but the less skeptical me knows love exists but at that time I didn’t believe it was possible.