Saffron, Sage and Scarlet

  It's almost like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - an elusive feeling, and you find yourself in a cool, crisp wind thinking - where is it? what is it?  And you never find it, but oh, listen!  It rustles on the wind or crunches under your feet as you walk.  You  feel it in a vacant, lonely place inside of you, an empty kind of echo that needs filling.  

It was late this year.  The trees are two weeks behind in turning - so say the ubiquitous they, who are also elusive.  But this morning, I sensed it  in the second frost of the season, saw a hint of it in the Bradford pears just now beginning to blaze, in the yellowing leaves of wild grapevines, edges curled like old parchment, the history of a fallen season scribed gold in their veins.  

 I decided if I could not find it, I would follow it, mapping a course for places it would have visited first.  I headed west, toward peach country, pushed along by a nipping north wind, and as each mile fell behind me, I saw where it had drifted like an autumnal will-o'-the wisp:  grass, hoary and glittering in the early sun; a sudden burst of scarlet flaming through the green; saffron and sage punctuating the distant pines as the hills rose and fell with the open road.   

 I stopped at a roadside market where the vendors were bundled against the first blast of autumn air.  The shed was lined with baskets and baskets of heirloom apples - Pink Lady, Winesap, Golden Delicious.  Sweet potatoes and pumpkins - mellow and fragrant.  It had been here.  We shivered together for a while, and for the vendors' time and conversation, I purchased a mixed bag of apples and sweet potatoes, a taste of the elusive season.  

And I drove farther into autumn, where houses were sparse and colors were deeper.  Not yet, not quite, but I could see the hues begin the burn - a flaming testament to living, a burst of wisdom whispering secrets in the north wind.  

I'll never catch it, or touch it, but it will ruffle my hair with a chilly hand.  It will tease my tongue with its fruity and mellow flavors, and I will lose myself in its colors, melding into saffron, sage and scarlet - a celebration of life.

for the autumn children

A Vagabond Song, by Carmen Bliss

THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—  
Touch of manner, hint of mood;  
And my heart is like a rhyme,  
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.     

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry          
Of bugles going by.  
And my lonely spirit thrills  
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.     

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;  
We must rise and follow her,  
When from every hill of flame  
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

and so

just a quick note. 

i went shopping last week.  it was a necessity - all my clothes were on the verge of falling off of me - and that is the best feeling!!!  we've been doing the south beach diet since august 1st, and i dropped three sizes since then.

i don't mean to sound like a promotional for the diet, but i've made a career of dieting in my life.  have tried it all.  that nasty cabbage soup diet...it's enough to turn you against vegetables.  the atkins diet works great, but after a while, you look at the meat on your plate and suddenly all you can see is roadkill....and choking down one more vienna sausage for lunch eventually sends your esophagus into spasms of rejection. 

but this one works great. there's a wide variety of vegetables, you don't have to eat grease, you can come up with some great recipes to keep things interesting and it's virtually effortless.  at least, it sure seems that way to me.

and now, i shall go do sit-ups.  nothing is without a little bit of pain.

y'all have a fabulous weekend.  happy halloween!

 

 

forty-seven

and so i'm sitting here, sipping a cup of chocolate cherry kiss coffee (it tastes just as good as it sounds), enjoying the cool fall weather that blew in just today, and continuing the serious note of late - I'm counting my Many Blessings.

today was a special day for me.  not just because it was a birthday.  and boy, did i celebrate - with chocolate.  an intense chocolate orange bar with almonds, and chocolate cake with whipped frosting.  i bet i gained six pounds, but figured it was a holiday so what the heck.  what made the day so special was the walk my son invited me on this morning.

we went down to what i fondly call the back 40, spike bringing up the rear and marking every tiny pine that had sprouted and simply enjoyed the morning.  it was wonderful, and even more wonderful that dale invited me into his domain.

and then when i got back, the folks over at Galadrial's Respite (if you're a poetry lover, that is THE place to go for reading) had surprises waiting in the garden gate.  my friends, jesse johnson and lisa shields had each written a poem...for me.

do you know how humbling that is? to see how someone else sees you, in words...and knowing you cannot possibly be that deserving of their regard.

and there was a card from Lahoma that made me smile and giggle and i finally told her what an inspiration she is to everybody. i should have done that a long time ago.

and all this, plus my little granddaughter's words - you're my best fwiend in the whole world - made me realize just how very blessed i am, and how i don't do enough for these people...

thank you, jesse, lisa, dale, rouge, kellye, lahoma, charles and little sara.  you're all stars in my sky.

Prince Wherever-You-Are

A friend sent me a list of her daughter's requirements for a love interest.  It was your typical - witty, charming, etc. - pretty much the same things you would answer on one of those internet dating sites.  And it's good that the young lady has her mind made up about what she wants.  Who knows, she may even find it - but my friend said,  I'm a lousy mom.  I can't assure her because I don't believe he exists.

Well of course he doesn't.  That list is an ideal, and ideals are hard to find in this world, if not impossible.  There is no absolutely perfect man, and if there's a perfect woman, she's produced by Mattel.  Come to think of it, maybe the man is too.  I mean...Ken smiles all the time and never says a word.  Of course, you have to wonder what he's smiling about.

But we've all made that list at one time in our lives - or at least most of us have.  Ok, SOME of us have.  And while we were ticking off the requirements...did we consider dirty underwear, towels on the floor, burping from either end, bad moods, or that people change?

There will be arguments.  There will be making up after those arguments.  He won't always be witty, and God knows, he won't always be charming.  There will be fifty-eleven things that are not ideal about a person.  Cruelty is out - none of that, physically or mentally.  Apathy, either.  If you find a partner worth having, he's willing to work with you, to try to see your point of view, just as you should try to see his.  And it won't always be 50/50 - that's another ideal - but sometimes, it does happen.

We all want the best for our children, and that includes Prince Wherever-You-Are.  We don't have to assure them he's out there.  We, as moms, cross our fingers and say our prayers that the man they fall for won't be a psycho, abusive, or a total ass.  And if he is, maybe the list does come in handy, because none of those things is on it, and we can point it out. Aside from that, we all learn that no one is perfect, including ourselves, and that our wants in the love department can serve as a guideline, but it isn't something that can be strictly adhered to. 

If I offered advice to my daughter (and i have, whether she listens or not), it would be - Take your time.  Don't rush.  Look at everything and ask yourself, if you have to, is that what you want for the rest of your life?  And ask yourself if you can live with things that aren't quite  ideal. 

 

 

Little Lonesome Rosie and Co.

On Monday, my son miraculously made it through the switchboard to my extension at work and said - Mom, you'll never guess what!

I did not want to guess and told him so.  There are two boxer puppies outside!  I don't know where they came from - I've already been to the neighbors to see if they've lost puppies, but they don't belong to anybody so far.

He was excited.  He has always had a weakness for baby everything - puppies, kittens, humans, possums...but another dog - not to mention two - is something we do not need.

Well, son, I said, if they're boxers, they have to belong to somebody, and they'll have to go back.

And then it hit me, this sudden suspicion that these pups did not magically appear at the corner of my porch, so I asked - Are you sure you didn't bring them home?

Oh no, Mom, they were here when I got here.

Ha.  Later that evening, at the store, one of son's friends said - so how do you like the puppies?  They're mixed, but they'll be good dogs.  Dale was tickled when he picked them up at the fire station.

They're cute, I'll grant you that.  One looks just like a boxer, the other is a gray brendle with gray/green eyes, and my cat, Rosie, is thrilled to have new prey to stalk.

Rosie has been lonesome ever since I gave her brother and sister to the policeman's family several months ago.  At first, she didn't know what to think of the dogs, but she quickly learned to hide behind boxes and pounce on the poor, unsuspecting things - and frankly, I'm glad she has something else to pounce besides me. The dogs - whom I have tentatively named Kate and Sally - don't seem to mind too much.  As a matter of fact, Kate (the brendle) seems to have developed a rapport with Rosie.  They sleep together.

Kate is the rambunctious one.  She has already learned to climb the couch - not a good thing.  I don't allow animals on my couch.  But there she is, every morning after Rosie has finished terrorizing her, in the corner of my sofa, looking relaxed while Rosie looks a bit put-out over the whole deal.

And I certainly didn't mean to fall in love with them, as I'm sure Rosie didn't, but they're sweet and clumsily funny in that leggy seven week old puppy kind of way.

I wonder if, given the number of animals I have, if government aid is available.

 

strange happenings

this has been a strange few days.

i have a screen name i seldom use.  as a matter of fact, i don't chat on it, write on it, or anything else, although i set up the buddy list.  i had considered deleting it, it's so useless.

i noticed there was mail on it, the other day...so i switched over.  my buddy list had been wiped out, and there were names on the recent buddies list i've never seen before.

very odd! and so today, i noticed there was more mail on it.  it said - hi, and that was it.

both my kids deny using the screen name, although it would have been fine if they had. 

next, yahoo messenger disappeared.  now, i don't know what's going on...but i WILL investigate.  wonder if i've been hacked.

The Silver Bullet

Daddy had worked as a long distance trucker, a correctional officer, and finally as a supervisor at a textile plant. He didn’t like the driving time as a trucker, didn’t like the other officers at the correctional facility (he felt they were too abusive to the convicts, as they were called back then), and he danged sure didn’t like anyone else telling him what to do. In the late 1960’s, he rented a store from Mr. Walt Covington – the same store my grandfather had owned years before.

“Why should I earn money for somebody else when I could be accumulating my own?” were his words to Mom. And when she openly worried about the start up funds being used, he told her “Jan, it takes money to make money.”

The man was brilliant. If he had had an education, there’s no telling how much he would have ‘accumulated’, but from that point…he bought the store he rented, and then bought another one. Shortly after that, he built a store of his own design – a combination service station and grill.

My brother, Mike, and I worked at the store before and after school and on weekends. Mike pumped gas, stocked shelves and drink boxes, and I made sandwiches, milkshakes, and the best fries you could ever want to taste. It was a big success, as Dad knew it would be.

“I’ve got the best location in the whole county,” he crowed over a celebratory swig of Jack Daniels.

Not everybody in the county was happy for The Silver Bullet when he opened the store. His reputation as the moon shiner that couldn’t be caught preceded his grand opening, and the ABC officer,  kept a close eye to make sure the Dad complied with the terms of his off premises alcohol license. That didn’t bother Daddy…his days of running shine were behind him, and he had settled into his new business.

“I don’t have to do that anymore. Let the 'em look.” And he grinned, repeated the phrase I would hear over and over, “I have enough money to burn a wet mule!”

But it was the knowledge that there was someone watching closely, someone who could destroy his dream that led to the February night that changed us all forever, in some way.
…

Every minute of that night is freeze-framed in my mind. The time on the clock was 6:45. We were getting ready to close – Mom was counting the till, and Dad was going through the ‘book’, the charges he had made for that day to customers. He had his gun, a .38, in his right pants pocket. He always carried itat closing time. The last merchant who had owned a store at that location had been killed a year earlier, and the building had been set fire afterwards…

I had finished cleaning in the grill, and was drinking a coke when the car pulled up to the gas pumps. It was red…the color of that winter night. Two women got out of the car and came into the store to use the bathroom. They had been drinking. Dad went out to pump the gas. Odd that he would do that…usually, he let my brother go.

I was watching. Dad was pumping the gas, and I heard him ask the men to put their liquor bottle away while they were in the parking lot, but they didn’t want to do that.They got out of the car, and Dad stepped toward the store doors. They were advancing on him, and The Silver Bullet led them away from us by stepping in front and backing away from them. One of them had a knife, the other a broken bottle. Dad took a step back, and then fired the gun in the air. The blaze from it was blue. They kept advancing, and Dad stepped back again, and fired another shot in the air. The man with the knife drew his arm back, and The Silver Bullet took aim and fired a third and final time.

The scream that floated above me was mine, but I didn’t feel it, it was not a part of me. I only heard the high pitched wail as I ran from the plate glass window to the door. Mr. Holloman had come into the store, and he grabbed me, kept me from running outside.

The wounded man had staggered to his open car door, slumped there, and every ounce of blood that was in him spilled out onto the concrete. There was no puddle of blood, there was a river of it, running red, and Dad was kneeling in it, trying to apply pressure to the wound.

Mom had called the sheriff’s department and the ambulance. Dad came to the door, minutes

that seemed hours later.

“Are they coming? Call them back, Jan, oh damn, he’s dying!”

“They’re coming, Marshall, they’re on their way.”

“CALL THEM BACK! Tell them to hurry!” and he was gone again, kneeling again…

The women in the bathroom had come out, the girlfriend or wife of the dying man rushed out and knelt with dad in the blood, and then came running back in. She held out her arms to me.

“Oh help us, please help us,” she moaned, and I put my arms around her and we hugged tight for that minute. I wanted to help her. I did. I was only twelve.

After that, the night was a blur. My brother and I were herded to the back of the store, where a highway patrolman gave us cokes they had broken ammonia capsules into. I was crying…not sobbing, but the tears kept coming and wouldn't stop. Mike never said a word; his lips were pale, his eyes still wide and frightened. We were allowed to come out again when our uncle came to take us away.

The lot was filled with ambulances and county cars, their lights flashing blue, like the fire from the gun, blue and red swimming against the dark.

Dad was standing under the lights outside, talking with an officer. I took a good look at him as I walked by…he was ghostly white under fluorescent light, and tears poured from his eyes.

I don’t think he knew he was crying.

haibun attempt

It is late afternoon as I drive along the stretch of country road that leads to Pleasant Hope. The cemetery is around one of the curves, to the left, beside the white A-frame church.

Tall pines shine
gold, threaded
through green needles

I wonder how much this road has changed since my mother’s youth. This is her past I’m visiting; I recall her stories of walking to church on dusty, unpaved roads.  She could not, or would not, make the trip today. Perhaps she is afraid progress has covered what she knew, and she would rather not see.

The church is as she described it. I trail a finger along iron railing.

cool to my skin,
i touch
my mother’s memories.

minimalist poetry

Some November minimalist attempts:

Late autumn:
Even the scavengers
Have gone.

november:
Hoary ghost
Rides the north wind.

Barren:
Nothing to stop
The tumbleweeds journey

Broom straw:
Sand swept
In semi-circles

Late autumn:
tree skeletons
frame the skyline.

my dog
buried under
heaped monuments

defiant mums
gold dust shines
through silver frost

fire leaf:
wind shivers
a candle’s flame

morning cathedral:
even the crows
are silent.

here ya go, liza

a blog from my hospital days.

Fifty Ways to Say No?

How many ways are there to refuse? Apparently, there are many, but this week I witnessed one of the most unusual ways, and hope to never see one more…punctuated. Let me tell you the story:

Last week, we received a health law violator. The man is ‘eat up’, as we say in the south when someone has an overwhelming case of something, with tuberculosis. On the outside, the man travelled from state to state, coughing the germ which hangs in the air for thirty minutes and waits for you to walk through it breathe it in after it’s expelled. The short of it is – his tb was discovered during an emergency room visit, and after refusing to stay hospitalized, the man was released and referred to a local health department for treatment.

Well, he didn’t go. SO – authorities tracked his butt down and sent him to us, where we can confine him to respiratory isolation and force-feed him the meds that will make him non-infectious and non-threatening to the public.

The first thing he did was make his dissatisfaction known. He told the sgt – “F*CK you!", scared the pee out of the lab lady who went to draw blood by springing from his bed and beating on the walls when she knocked on the door to the isolation room, and told Pat in X-ray – You not talk to me! You not talk to me!

SO..it was my turn to meet mr. eatupwithit. I typed up a nice, neat little authorization for release of information, went upstairs and tagged an officer to go with me to isolation and then we went hunting for a mask to wear – which we couldn’t find. The officer passed the paper through the door to the inmate.

“We need you to sign this so we can get more medical information for the purpose of continuation of treatment, sir.”

Did he say – no, i won’t do that. Did he say – HECK no, I won’t sign it?

Nope. He said

“F*CK YOU!", balled the authorization up, threw it on the floor and peed on it.

I guess a simple ‘no’ wouldn’t have been emphatic enough.

The next day, he called up to the nurse’s station and said..I need somebody.

My favorite nurse, Brown, went to his aid.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you either, mister. What do you need?”

“I don’t like you.”

By now we’ve figured out this guy doesn’t like anybody who could help him get better.

I hope he doesn’t find a more inventive means of saying no while he’s with us.

just what the doctor ordered

folks, it's a momentous occasion.  my friend charles, of whom i've written, sent me an EMAIL.  what's so amazing about that?  it's against his religion, or something.  but since he took the time to send it, i wanted to share it here.  was cute!

BIG BAD WOLF
>
> Little Red Riding Hood is skipping down the road when
> she sees
> a big bad wolf crouched down behind a log.
> "My, what big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf."
> The wolf jumps up and runs away.
>
> Further down the road Little Red Riding Hood sees the
> wolf
> again and this time he is crouched behind a bush.
> "My what big ears you have, Mr. Wolf."
> Again the wolf jumps up and runs away.
>
> About two miles down the road Little Red Riding Hood
> sees the
> wolf again and this time he is crouched down behind a
> rock.
> "My what big teeth you have Mr. Wolf."
> "With that the wolf jumps up and yells, "Will you
> knock it off,
> I'm trying to poop!"

Perspective

It's still early in the week.  I promised myself fun and adventure, and by the end of this day, realized - hell.  My life IS an adventure. 

Upon entering the lobby at work this morning, I spotted Jonesy, the dog handler and his charge, a beautiful chocolate lab.  I've known Jones for years, didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable walking up to him and saying - wow, i know why YOU'RE here.  And the lab bounded up, nudged my hand and acted very pleased to see me.  Now, when a drug dog seems to take a liking to you, you have to wonder...did my brother leave something in my car and the scent is in my clothing?!  So I said to Jonesy - Man, I hope this doesn't mean something.  He laughed and said, no, she's just being a regular dog right now.

*

On Friday, a young man transferred into the unit from another camp.  He should not have been moved.  His platelet count was eighteen.  Eighteen!  We were able to get him scheduled for clinic on Monday - he is in such bad shape, clinic wanted him back on Thursday.  His labs were drawn again...his platelet count has dropped to ten.  If he falls, he could bleed to death before he could be transported to the hospital that's less than three minutes away.  If he sneezes too hard, he could die within minutes.

We're a field unit.  We have no infirmary, nor a safe place for inmates at that kind of risk.  PA talked to him, offered him a seg cell for his own protection. 

*

Over the years, I've seen some of the damnedest things in prison, and some of the most sad.  One inmate was a stroke victim.  I had read his crime version - he was guilty of decapitating another human being and had absolutely no remorse.  He was just plain mean before, and even more so after his cva.  He hated fish.  Every Friday, the kitchen served fish, and every Friday, Brown invited me up to watch her deliver the tray to his room.  The inmate couldn't speak intelligibly, but he managed to get his point across.

Brown took him the tray.  He stuttered - FSH!  F**K!  B***H!, then smacked the tray across the room with his hand.

His condition deteriorated.  He was in and out of acute care hospitals for a period of months.  On his final trip out by stretcher, he shot the bird to every nurse, aid, officer, and other inmates in the hallways.

He definitely was not a man to find religion in his final days.

But there were those who were truly penitent. And it's appalling to see potential so wasted because of a moment of rage, a moment that might not have happened had the person not been under the influence of drugs...

In most cases, it's impossible not to feel compassion.  I am no bleeding heart liberal, but I could tell you stories.

suffice it to say

that the past few weeks, life has been a bit stressful.  we all go through that - but my latest bout has influenced me to take a cue from Gem.

Gem has given herself a thirty-day challenge - even posting pictures of her progress!  Congrats to Gem (if i had the link copied, i'd put in a hyperlink) for what she has accomplished so far, and for serving as an inspiration.  She's a sweetie pie!

And so, following her lead, my challenge to me is...adventure.  What kind, you say?  That's a tough one - sometimes, just walking out the front door is adventure enough, but the definition that suits my purpose(s) is fun.  Relaxation.  And it occurs to me that even the most mundane things can be an adventure...it's all in how you look at it.

I don't have anything mapped out.  Isn't that just like a person with a goal? (*grin*)  But since it's brand new, I'm sure it will formulate during the day, as all my plans do.

I'll be back.  Happy Monday.

 

has anyone else

been spammed?  opened my journal and found SPAM LINKS posted by something named blaze1wyteowl.

this has never been a problem before, but it's here now...so y'all be on the lookout.