Costumes (Friday’s Free-For-All)

Before I share let me say, I am aware of the cynical tone of this piece.

I said, “of this piece” because I am not a cynical person. Sarcastic, yes, but not cynical.

It’s not the quarantine or the Covid 19 bug that is bugging me, hell it’s not even the empty shelves in the grocery stores or having to wipe with an oak leaf. That is not a big deal, remember I was a piss poor country bumpkin so this just reminds me of happier days as a child.

So what brought about this Friday’s Free-For-All on this Good Friday? It’s the peee-puuul! Well not ALL the people – and definitely not you friend. (Insert winky face, smiley face and through in a bunch of virtual hugs)

Sigh. People never fail to amuse me.

So while I am feeling amused during this holy time I thought I’d get up on my Hickory stump podium and compose a poem. (And a picture)

Costumes

You look for your Jesus in a cheap red suit in December and a bunny suit come Easter.

You dress Him in costumes and [unknowingly?] mock His sacrifice.

You keep Him naked, wounded and nailed to a cross; not to remind you that he was the Passover Lamb but to have him languish in his suffering. You sacrifice him over and over again, creating molten images to hold him on the cross.

You have married Him to Santa and a goddess named Easter/Ishtar; you worship their imaginary offspring of pretty packages and hard boiled eggs, savory sweets and bunny rabbits… none of which can save you. Ha! These objects of your affection are inanimate – they cannot even save themselves!

You dress for the occasion – Sunday’s best. Is this your costume?

Donned in your fetching attire you sit down to feast and stuff your belly with unclean meats and your spirit starves. But it’s “holy”. .. So holy! You take it all in and shit it out. Cleansing?

Amidst fearful news you fret over toilet paper and regurgitate biblical verses [verses you haven’t taken the time to read, much less comprehend] and warn of Christ’s coming… of the great rapture.

Ohhh child, you are ripe for the devil’s picking.

Have a blessed Good Friday & Happy Easter Y’all

Guess What? (Friday’s Free-for-All)

Well the kittens I mentioned last month have all found new homes [and new names I suppose] so it is a little quieter around here. I like the quiet but I think I may have a touch of empty nest syndrome.

It’s not anything like the empty nest I experienced when the last child left home, it’s more like uh…

Shucks, I don’t know…

Like losing your blanket? Kind of…

Like adjusting to the new furniture arrangement? No…

Like a new haircut? No…

Like finding a $20 bill? No…

Well by the time I find the words I will be over the empty nest thing but speaking of the last child to leave home, guess what?

Sniffles and snorts.

Baby boy had a baby boy this month! Remember when I was trying to find him a wife?

Okay, he didn’t have the baby – his lovely wife did but he helped as much as a man can.

Listen, I have to tell y’all I was a little concerned about how much help he would be. Most of us know how raunchy it can get in the final stage of labor. A natural labor. In a birthing center. Yeah!

Well I am proud to say he did just fine and his wife? Daaang, what a trooper! And to look gorgeous through it all?  Just wow.

When I rehashed the story for the umpteenth time someone asked, “Were you in the delivery room?”

My are you serious look.

Oh yeah, I was all up in there. Honestly when they asked for privacy I knew they wanted me near them.

Chuckle to self.

When that same someone exclaimed their disbelief in my audacity I just sighed, shook my head and said, “I thought you new me.”

Now some of you will see where a bit of Mary’s character in The Clan Destiny Series  comes from.

Here’s a snippet from chapter 10:

“Ma’am you cannot come back here. Not yet.” A strange nurse spoke, stepping in front of the charging mother.

“Oh yes I can!” Mary replied as she darted around the woman and into the room where Linda laid clutching Steve’s hand.

“Hey Mama.” The laboring woman grunted, “They let you in? That is great. Whoa…. Here comes another one. ” Mary ran to her daughter’s side and took her hand.

“She has got a hellacious grip, doesn’t she?” Steve asked, noting Mary’s fingers had turned a deep indigo color under the squeeze.

“She sure does.” Mary answered, leaning down to kiss her child, “My baby girl is strong and little Turner will be strong like his mother.”

“I’m pretty strong too.” The father-to-be replied with a sheepish grin.

 “I’m sure you are.” Mary said without looking at him in a tone reserved for children, then with a mature pitch directed to Linda, “Where is your sister?”

“She went to see Larry – said she might knock off a quickie in the doc’s lounge while they were prepping me.”

“She was joking, right? I hope she was just kidding. I will go and -”

“Not now mother! For crying out loud… dear lord baby Jesus! This is really starting to get on my nerves.” Linda writhed in the bed, twisting and squeezing the hands she held for support. “Tell the nurse to check me again and tell `em I have changed my mind – I want that epidural and I want it right now!”

“You remember she said you were dilated too far for the epidural. We are going to get through this baby. Come on let’s do some breathing, follow my lead.” Steve coaxed, inhaling deeply and exhaling through pursed lips then panting with an odd hiss.

“Shut up!” Linda growled. Bearing down she pulled Steve’s hand to her mouth.

“No, no. Don’t bite me Linda… let me go.” He pleaded, attempting to pull his hand away until Mary’s free hand made stinging contact with his head.

“You let her bite you if she wants to! Don’t you dare pull that hand away or I swear to God I’ll bite you myself.”

HaPpY Friday y’All !!

A Poem & A Picture (#NPM)

I love it when someone suggests a poem and I can supply the picture(s). Luuurv it! And who does not love Emily Dickinson?

” Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”? ”

Those lines hooked me on the poem. Muchas gracias!


Make Me A Picture Of The Sun – Poem by Emily Dickinson

Make me a picture of the sun—
So I can hang it in my room—
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin—on a stem—
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune—
Put my pretense—away—

Say if it’s really—warm at noon—
Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”?
Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—
And skip the Russet—on the tree—
Let’s play those—never come!
Emily Dickinson