Cold breeze rolls through the camps
what, specifically, hinges on yes or no
freedom of different sorts
relative joy
joy as opposed to a word I cannot ascertain at the moment
what should be celebratory is a rather forced response
masked as something other than relief
what is the term for not wanting what you presume to want
what am I built for
questions to ask before it is too late
evaluate the odds, possibilities, illusions
dare to dream even in the miniscule
God provides, yet what if I want more than God offers
Each day carries new hope and new opportunities
I have learned to keep my eyes open for chances
to recognize special moments, demonstrate optimism, and
spread kindness in a world that needs all of the above
I’m watching TV — women in big hats,
mint juleps, a parade of sleek
muscled Thoroughbred hips
that glint like gold in the sun.
The cat slinks into the living room, fat
furry grin on her lips, and drops
something at my feet. It’s pink
and naked, still
at first, then squirming, struggling
to lift its stick neck, raise
the heavy blind head with twin
bulging bruises for eyes.
I call out to my husband.
I’ve been rooting for the big grey
latecomer named for a deadly
shark, but he spooks
and flips at the starting gate,
scratches from the race.
Scratches, like a cat’s claws.
Scratches, like a wound.
My husband gathers the chick
as I scold our pet, though I know
she has only done exactly
what she was made to do.
My heart aches, but I’m thankful
for compassion —
the way he takes the bird
out of my sight before he does
what he must do.
I am thankful
for preservation —
that today the grey will walk
safely back to the barn, live
to race another day, hear
the roar of another crowd, feel
adrenaline pulse hot
through his veins, do exactly
what he was made to do.
There is no rain at the moment. Some of the plants dug up from our neighbor’s yard on Sunday are still in the garden shed. We planted a few that day, then the rain came and we saved the last for later. I asked Larry to move them to the patio so we would see them and not forget about them. They may already be too far gone. I should’ve moved them myself. This is about worrying about who goes first. It is a much more present reality than it was 38 years ago when we first got together. Now I pay close attention to his every task. Could I do it If he wasn’t here? I think I’d find a way with most chores. It’s the money management, bill paying details I lack. Once we made an agreement I would take over. That didn’t last long. In fact it never began. I don’t know if it was because he wouldn’t let go, or I never embraced the task. I am stuck here between thinking I should do something about it now and not worry about it. I know, if it becomes necessary, I’ll figure it out.
2025
95 degrees, Larry
plays Gurdjieff music
Writers Block
I don’t think I’m very good at this kinda thing
They call it writers block when you’re sitting there toiling over what to write
They call it writers block when you genuinely sit there and try to come up with something to write that has coherence
I think that’s all bullshit
I call it procrastination
I lay on this couch writing for a site I don’t even really know that much about
I don’t really WANT to do this
But it’s good for me
Ya know?
Just like all the other shit they say is “good for you”
You have mental problems
“Go to a therapist”
You have medical problems
“Go to an urgent care or something”
You have a life you hate
“End it”
That never made sense to me for the longest time
“Just end your life”
What’s the point
I don’t know what waits for me past death
No one really knows
They all pretend too
Heaven, Hell, Afterlife, Darkness
It’s all speculation in the end
Speaking of the end
