Old Croc

He was one of those kids who enjoyed spending time with the older generation. His favorite place to pass a lazy summer afternoon was Granddad's den. The den was a place where magic happened, a place where stories reigned supreme. Towering bookshelves leaned precariously under the weight of their contents. A mahogany desk with a leather blotter and a brass counter-balanced lamp took up the center of an oriental carpet. Behind the desk, in facing chairs, he and Grandad created the adventures of larger than life heroes. His favorite was Old Croc, a rescuer of all things fair and valuable who had lost his leg to a crocodile.

Heavenly Moss

I am the moss that grows where grass will not.
My bed is silk to the polyester of grass.
My color is electric to subdued fescues.
My taste is sweet to the harshness of grass.
My stature is sublime to gangly blades.
I grow where I will not be trampled,
content to contemplate the richness of soil
and delicacy of dew drops.
I am the Heaven that is longed for.

When You Her See Her

When you see her ask her about growing up always moving
Ask her about fleeting friendships
Ask her about the glue that binds siblings
Ask her about sausage eating contests
Ask her about corny horror films
Ask her about fathers taken away too young
Ask her about dependency
Ask her about need
Ask her about love discovered
Ask her about giving birth
Ask her about trials of patience
Ask her about tearful separation
Ask her about professional success
Ask her about determination

You Are Loved

Sit my child.
Me, my lord?

A nod. I am pleased.
Of me, my lord?
A nod. You spoke of me.
I did, my lord.
You spoke of truth.
I spoke of you, my lord.
One in the same.
I felt abandoned, my lord.
You were strong.
I am sorry.
I am pleased.
I am yours.
You are loved.

A Life Story

A girl is born
A woman falls in love
A wife is married
A mother gives birth
A mother loves
A grandmother loves
A great grandmother loves
A matriarch dies
A soul is newborn
A God loves.

Missing the Vent

What ever happened to these?





The triangular car window vent was perhaps one of the best car design features ever. There was no need for air conditioning below temperatures of 90 degrees when you could direct a 60 mph wind stream onto your face.  Fogging windshields?  Fagitaboutit!  They just didn't happen when there was the ability to create a strategically directed flow of air.

That triangular window was genius engineering at its best. As a society we should demand it's return.
I want my...I want my... I want my window vent.

The Cats Will Play

Shocking Dude and Language Lass head off for Costa Rica at the end of the month. He for a one week vacation near his wife and she for a month long stay of language enrichment.

For the week they are both gone, I'm wondering how much devastation their two Siamese cats can wreak upon the apartment.  I'm envisioning scattered drawer contents, emptied pantry, and perhaps some rearranging of smaller furniture items.

Hmmm... if I can find out who will be cat sitting perhaps I can ship a baggie full of catnip.

Upon his return, Shocking Dude will no doubt be in for some very vocal chastisement. I'm thinking a bottle of z-quil will be in order.