Guest Poetry!

My dear friend Mohamad al Karbi has a lovely blog, and as I was there reading some posts about the Blog Directory he has started, I found a post by his daughter that struck a chord. I have always enjoyed Sham’s work; from the time when she was a small girl. It’s obvious that as she has grown, so has her talent. Enough of me blathering on. Here is Sham and some of her latest work:

How love plays.

How simple, How small,
How delusionally a speck,
How simply infectious,
When many say it’s right,
How it pops in your brain,
When you least expect it,
How it then turns around,
Without you seeing it,
How you cry at the sound,
Of its soothing music,
How you feel the arrow,
cut through the wind,
When love is out of reach.

A long day

The screaming in your head,
gets louder and louder,
The pain in your arms,
Is pounding louder and louder,
The fire in your eyes,
Is burning louder and louder,
But why?
The pain is so clear,
You feel you are naked to all danger,
You’ve been stabbed so many times,
It’s hard to count all the pierces in your body,
You stagger forwards,
And let yourself get comfortable on your bed.

This.

Harassed and caressed,
You ran away, screaming for help,
You remember the old days,
THIS.
When you were six playing with rocks at the road,
In ragged and dirty clothes,
THIS.
You were so poor, two days would pass,
And you forget to eat,
Imagine changing your clothes, ha!
THIS.
But your heavy headache jeers you back to reality,
Now time has changed, for you were a superstar, nothing less,
But alas, when you are poor,
At least you don’t get…
THIS.

Cheaters

Cheaters always want you,
To be loyal,
While they are unfaithful,
But you know that,
If you love someone you wont cheat,
If you want to cheat,
Set them free,
You also know that,
Trust is like a paper,
Once it is crumbled,
It can’t be perfect,
But all you could keep thinking was,
“I tried to keep us together,
You were busy keeping secrets.”

Advertisement

A FEW SUGGESTIONS FOR 2021 YOU MIGHT LIKE TO CONSIDER? — A TALE UNFOLDS

This is a post from my friend Ark.

Anyone who knows me will know how much I concur:

Reduce or completely give up eating animals – including fish and other marine life. Please! Adopt an animal from a shelter or SPCA Buy a vegetarian/vegan recipe book and make a meal or two every week for you and/or family and friends.  Plant a few vegetables – even if you have no garden, a couple […]

A few Suggestions for 2021 you might like to consider? — A Tale Unfolds

What’s a Woman to Do?

Many years ago I suddenly found myself suffering from a bad case of vertigo.  It was horrible.  I couldn’t move my head at all without getting ‘the swirlies.’  The swirlies felt like being drunk without the fun of drinking.  Dizzy head-spinning frustration consumed my life for weeks.  Unfortunately, this meant I couldn’t drive or work.  It sometimes meant I couldn’t walk into the next room without help.  The ‘swirlies’ made my life a living hell.  Trying to find a cure wasn’t easy, either.

There are a whole lot of remedies for vertigo.  I tried them all.  There were a slew of home remedies.  No relief.  The docs gave me pills.  They didn’t work.  They suggested something called the Epley maneuver.  This consists of lying down and turning your head.  You turn your head 45 degrees and then get up and down.  Lie still and then turn your head 90 degrees and so on.  Up, down, 45 degrees, 90 degrees…it was a veritable geometry lesson.  As I worked my way through the steps, I had a sneaking suspicion that I would end up as an isosceles triangle.  I did do a fair impression of a lopsided octagon, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t work.

I saw more doctors.  They were stymied.  This had gone on for weeks!  Was this going to be my life now?  I was in panic mode.  I was in “I’ll do anything if it will help” mode.  I wasn’t hopeful but I decided to try one last-ditch effort by seeing an ear, nose and throat specialist in the big city.

I walked into the exam room and the doc was older.  A lot older.  He told me he was just temporary and he was doing this rotation as a favor.  He had come out of retirement to “help out.”  I was not encouraged.  All I could think was that this guy was probably old-school and wouldn’t have anything new that might help me.  After all, none of the typical remedies had helped and I was sure I wasn’t going to get anything new from him that the other docs hadn’t tried.  You know, they always say that you can’t judge a book by its cover.  That phrase was certainly true in this case.  I was right in that he didn’t have any fancy cutting-edge technology, but he certainly had a unique solution.  

He asked me what I had tried.  I gave him the list…pills, herbs, the Epley Maneuver, and as soon as I said that, he stopped my recitation.  He said:  “Ok, I want you to try the Epley Maneuver again.”  And with that, I stopped him mid-sentence.  “I told you, it didn’t work.  I tried and tried and it did nothing for me!”  He just smiled and said:  “I want you to try it again but this time I want you to use a vibrator.”  Huh?  “You want me to what!?”  My mouth opened so wide that my chin was on the floor.  How on earth would THAT help!?  He smiled again and said:  “I want you to put the vibrator against your ear when you are doing the Epley maneuver.”  Ohhhh…ok…I guess.  It sounded ludicrous but what could it hurt?  At that point, I would have tried anything.

So I had to find a vibrator.  I figured I’d find one online and it would arrive in a discreetly wrapped package.  Yes, that was my plan.  But fate stepped in.  On the way home, we stopped to get groceries.  As we were headed for the checkout line, we walked past the clearance bin.  I don’t know why I looked but there were these boomerang-shaped things with a tag that boldly announced that they were vibrators!  What!?  Vibrators in a grocery store?  Just at the time I needed one.  On sale!  I’m not sure what possessed me but I picked up all four of them and headed to the checkout aisle.  I figured if this worked, I could do my vibrating Epley Maneuver anywhere in the house.  Plus, if one broke, I would have backups.   I know I wasn’t thinking logically but there they were, when I needed them, and on sale.  Who wouldn’t buy them all?

This serendipitous discovery was made in a local grocery store.  I was in line and had two other people with carts behind me when I noticed that the checkout person was a woman I went to school with.  Any sane person would have gone to another line or put the things back hoping to get them later when there wasn’t a childhood friend working there.  I thought about it, but I was desperate.  I wasn’t going to be deterred, even if it was going to be embarrassing.  My head was swirling and all I wanted was to get back to normal.  I wasn’t going home without those vibrators!  And yes, I know how that sounds, but you know how desperate I was!  Ok, that made it sound worse…I’ll just carry on. 

Finally, it was my turn to pay.  In between the celery and peanut butter, my school chum found four brightly colored, boomerang-shaped objects that sported big red-lettered tags proclaiming they were vibrators.  There was NO way anyone could miss them, or mistake them for something else.  My old friend started to scan them and hesitated for a fraction of a second.  She gave me the quickest of glances and then she looked back down and turned bright red.  Yes, I could have explained, but who would have believed that I was buying a vibrator to cure my vertigo?

It was only after I got home that it occurred to me that scanning one vibrator might have been a little embarrassing considering we were school friends, but scanning four might be a little much.  I’m not sure what went through her mind but I would bet that any scenario she came up with was pretty scandalous, and nowhere near the truth.

The good news is that my vertigo was cured almost overnight.  And now, here I am, the proud owner of four vibrators…and no vertigo.  What’s a woman to do?

I am finally within a day of posts… whoo hoo! I think that means it is time to celebrate. To unwind and relax a little. And what better way to relax with a nice night of fishing, bug catching, watering flowers and talking to the neighbors. Many of you will not understand that last line, […]

via Mumbles … Equivocate — Leigha Robbins

I Am So Very Proud

I don’t normally do such things, but I am so proud of one of our own.  I met Shivam Srivastava right here on WordPress.  He was just about to turn twenty and I was struck by his heart and his art.  His sketches of many topics were lovely, but I had no idea how his talent would blossom.

In the blink of an eye, he was in fashion school learning every technique he could, and producing lovely garments along the way.  But when I saw his current portfolio, I was blown away.  It is extraordinary.  He’s combined the science of light with the art of fashion in a way that is so good that he was featured in the video I link here.

If you want a taste of his talent, just scroll down and click on the photo of one of his latest creations.  Leave a “Like” or a “Love” and support a fashion designer whose name will be uttered as stars walk down the red carpet.  I have no doubt of that.  This will truly be a case of “I knew him when…”  I am so very proud!

The Garden Is Dead, Long Live The Garden!

You might remember that I got my garden in recently.   If not, you can review my progress here:  Blood, Bug Guts, and Cow Manure

It was with great satisfaction that I put that last plant in.  Such anticipation!

But this morning the garden was a devastating sight.  The plants were black and wilted.  The garden is dead.  At least most of it is.  It just doesn’t seem fair that a few days ago it was 90F, but this morning we had frost.  A June 1st frost!  That is insane, even for Maine!

So now it’s time to find some replacement plants and try again.  I’m going to wait a few days, though.  We’re supposed to have frost again tonight.  My father would have been furious with Mother Nature if this happened to him.  I have to admit, I’m not too happy with her, either.

Sigh…

Blood, Bug Guts, and Cow Manure

Not exactly a combination you would like to have under your fingernails…unless you are me…in May.  Yesterday, I finished planting the garden.  Even though I am covered by black fly bites that made blood run into my eyes, I am happy.  It didn’t matter that I had bug remains smeared on me where I bothered to swat at them.  I was focused.  I had a garden to plant.

I do have to admit that I was particularly driven because I was two days overdue in getting those plants in the ground due to a frost warning a few nights back.   Sorry Dad, I know I broke your rule of having it all in before Memorial Day.  There is a small part of me that worries he might be judging me harshly from beyond the grave, in spite of the frost warnings.  Not that he didn’t pay attention to such things himself.  He watched the weather with an intensity that would awe any meteorologist .  If the weather was going to keep him from planting, it was a somber household until the seeds were in the ground.  All of the pieces had to fall into place in order to have a successful garden, and he expected Mother Nature to cooperate with his timetable.

During the winter, the seed catalogs were highly anticipated.  Once they arrived, my Dad pored over them for weeks.  Every variety was scrutinized and compared.  This went on until the seed order was finally placed.  Then the waiting began. And even more waiting.  So much waiting.  But eventually the order would appear in the mail and the waiting was accompanied by keen anticipation.

When March arrived, it was time to put those little vegetable seeds in pots so they would have a jump-start when planting time finally rolled around.  The garden had to be in before Memorial Day, come hell or high water. Maine’s growing season is short and my Dad wasn’t going to waste a single minute of it.  There were no excuses short of a blizzard.  And even then, the peas had better be planted.

Peas were special in that they could be planted as early as the soil could be worked.  In this neck of the woods, you aren’t a true gardener unless you have peas ready by the 4th of July.  But if it snowed after the peas were planted, that was ok, too.  After all, a late snow is ‘poor man’s fertilizer.’  My Dad believed in copious amounts of composted cow manure and it made our heavy clay soil friable beyond belief.  If Dad thought the plants needed an extra boost.  he would make a manure tea.  He’d dump a ridiculous amount of composted manure into a 55 gallon drum, add water, and let it steep.  Then he would use that as liquid fertilizer.  As if that attention to detail wasn’t enough, I swear he charmed the earthworms into working the soil from the bottom up.  Earthworms were revered in our garden and carefully protected…unless there was a fishing trip coming up.

Once the garden was in, there were many things to do.  The time waiting for harvest was filled with weeding, watering, and fertilizing.  He ruled over that plot with a level of stewardship that was unrivaled.  He had hard and fast gardening rules, too.  One rule was that you could only water at night. The sun glinting through the droplets might damage the leaves.  Watering at night had an added bonus in that it kept the frost damage down if  there are cold nights at the end of the season.  There were many more rules, but that one is a good example of the level of care the plants on that patch of dirt received.

It seemed like forever before the radishes were ready, then tender lettuce leaves arrived, and of course, those yummy peas.  As the season rolled along, all manner of vegetables were picked,  plucked, and pickled.  There was a never-ending supply of tomatoes, cucumbers, and beans.  New potatoes, sweet corn and beets followed.  Late in the season, the revered Blue Hubbard squash was picked.  It was so big, and the skin was so shell-like, that my Dad had to cut it apart with a hatchet.

All too soon, the plants were blackened by frost and pumpkins were picked from withered vines.  The dark days of winter passed ever so slowly until the brightly-colored seed catalogs arrived, yet again.

Maladjusted Mondays, #21

NOT Linda.

Greetings! I’m Jan C. Johnson. Thanks for joining the fun here on Maladjusted Mondays, a growing collection of scathing exposés in which I rat out my uncooperative appliances. I originally published these posts on my blog, Joywriting: Everybody Has a Story, where I do occasionally write about something besides my appliances. You can visit me there any time by clicking here.

The following post first appeared on my blog May 11, 2020…

Appliance Agitation

Here we go again… not long ago, I was relaxing on the patio with a good novel while a load of cycling clothes and other truly gross stuff was in the wash. Everything was fine until Brent popped his head out the back door and said, “The washer is making a weird noise.” I sighed and went to check it out.

He was right. It sounded like a cross between a freight train and someone trying to start a car with a run-down battery.

According to the knob, the machine was in the Spin cycle. We opened the lid to find the washed clothes just sitting there, having a spa day in the dirty water that was supposed to be draining out of the tub.

Not cool. (By the way, that damage in the center was from years earlier when I working on a sewing project. Who damages their washing machine while sewing?)

Brent suggested I should be the one to choose the new machine, since I’m the laundry guru. We’d been under “shelter in place” for a few weeks by this time, so I was happy to skitter off to Lowe’s. Brent stayed to fish the Lycra out of its sudsy hot tub. Did I mention he’s a hero?

After two hours of looking at machines/considering pros & cons, I came home to find the bikewear all rinsed and neatly hung on the pool fence. Don’t worry; those little things on the spikes aren’t shrunken heads, just our cycling socks.

I gave Brent the good news that I’d bought a Maytag. It would arrive on the next delivery date. Eleven days away.

A look of horror crossed his face. “ELEVEN DAYS??”

“You seem skeptical.”

“ELEVEN? DAYS?”

“Sure. It’s no problem–I can hand wash whatever we need until then.”

After all, we have a sink in the laundry room. Plus enough T-shirts to last until the week before Thanksgiving. Besides, the dryer still works. I pictured swishing a few lightweight items around in the sink, giving them a good rinse under the spray faucet, and tossing them into the dryer.

Brent pictured my suggestion a little differently:

Re-enactment of an imaginary event. No rocks or laundry were harmed.

Okay, fine. The next morning, I called Lowe’s to cancel the order. Brent researched washing machines and found a local indie dealer who could deliver a Speed Queen the same day. The new machine even has some of the old-school features I like!

And so, our wardrobe maintenance hasn’t missed a beat.

But just watch the rest of the appliances talk the Speed Queen into joining the revolt.

Thanks for reading,

Jan

EIGHT!

I just want to remind you just how lucky you are.

All winter I have refrained from complaining about the cold, snow, ice, and general winter ickiness.  That whole refraining thing stops now.  I just watched the local weather forecast.  I just saw a snow map.  That’s right, a SNOW map.  Depending on what model you look at, we could have 2 or 3 inches…or 8.  EIGHT!   AS MUCH AS EIGHT INCHES OF SNOW!  EIGHT!  It’s time to get your mother a snowsuit for Mother’s Day!

They say this forecast is subject to change, and that had better happen.  My guess is that we’ll have an inch or two, and it will melt quickly.  That might be so, but I can’t help but grouse at least a little bit.  I really want to grouse a lot, but I was outside today trying to get some weeds out of my raised beds and I was barefoot.  I was barefoot, and I was happy.  I know I’ll be happy again but if this storm brings 8″ of the white stuff, prepare yourselves.  Because if that happens, there will be more complaining than you’ve ever heard before, and your luck will have run out.

Road To Nowhere

Being housebound, I have had time to think of all sorts of ridiculous, unimportant, and trivial things.   Therefore, it’s not surprising that I’ve been remembering idioms I never would have guessed would be so apt.  All of these have crossed my mind at one point or another in the last two months:

 

You’re going nowhere

All dressed up with nowhere to go

Getting nowhere fast

In the middle of nowhere

Nowhere to be found

Out  of nowhere

Nowhere to be seen

 

In order to alleviate the tedium brought on by our current situation, we’ve been going for rides just to get out of the house.  Those Sunday afternoon rides of yore are now Monday through Saturday rides, too. Of course, when we go, we have no goal in mind because we can’t stop anywhere or see anyone.  It never fails that when we head out on one of these jaunts I envision David Byrne running in place.  I love Talking Heads, really I do, but it’s perturbing that every time we leave the house I have this song in my head.  EVERY.DAMNED.TIME.