My Heart Goes On

    Pulsating within me, throughout life pieces are given. Sealed with a kiss, I promised forever to my husband. Unconditional pieces given at first glimpse to my daughter, then to my son. Each piece pulsating deep within them, living again through their memories.

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Knock, Knock

     Knock, knock.  She coughed, fresh blood peppering her handkerchief.   Bone weary, rankled with pain, her breaths shallow and spare.    Knock, knock.  Persistent knocking, rattling her brains.  Enough!   Flinging open the door, embracing death, welcoming everlasting life.   The valiant warrior succumbs. Sweet relief.

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Choices

     Envious of her physique, I assess my own.  I would kill for her ass.  Sigh.   Elect torture courtesy of a local gym, or find a superb plastic surgeon in New York?  Contemplating my pizza, I resign myself to hereditary genetics.  Life’s choices.

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Sweet Revenge

 

    Vicious nuisance, slaughtering her chickens. Once ensnared, she slaughtered him.  He simmers in a bath of red wine and spices.   Vengeance feels good. Wiping blood that has trickled from her mouth, she licks the spoon.   Revenge tastes sweeter with pinches of salt.

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Silent Haiku

interrupted sighs

laughter, voices, noise extinct

sensual vibrations

Inspired by the prompt at

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The Model

   

   Twenty pairs of inquisitive eyes scrutinize as my kimono pools at my feet.  I model.  Damn goose flesh!  Blushing, I avert my eyes.   Rustling newsprint.  Their eyes dissect me inch by unforgiving inch.   Focused.  Determined to capture my essence in two dimensions.

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#MondayMusings

         It’s Monday, so it’s time to muse!  Today I am rocking out to pure nostalgia.  Anyone who knows me at all knows I am passionate about music, and if you know that much about me, you might also know that I love movies and own a vast collection.  This weekend I indulged myself and updated my collection with a DVD of “Dirty Dancing”.  While I have the video cassette, I no longer have a VCR.  Because of that fact, I have been steadily beefing up my DVD collection with some of the titles I love that I have on VHS so I can actually watch them again!

          With “Dirty Dancing”, I get the best of both worlds…amazing music and a coming of age romance that tugs at the ole heart strings for the bargain price of $5.00.  Now you can see why I couldn’t simply walk past this one.    I LOVE this movie.  It was released in 1987, a year after I graduated from high school.  My daughter and I sang along to all the songs, and I find myself still singing them today.  I have them cranked to full blast on Spotify as I write this.  If you haven’t seen it, you must!  If you have seen it, you must see it again.  It is well worth the effort.

             It was one lazy ass weekend at my house, staying up late watching movies, playing cards, and sleeping in until late into the afternoon.  Saturday was made better with a Notre Dame win, and Sunday was dominated with grocery shopping, dishes, house cleaning, and laundry.  I even managed to get a bit of knitting done!  Thanks to 4-H and my tutelage, my daughter is quite the baker so while I cleaned, my daughter made bread bowls which were filled more than once with homemade steaming hot chili topped with melted cheddar cheese and then promptly devoured.  I love weekends.  There is nothing I look forward to more, and unfortunately, there is nothing that passes quicker than a weekend.

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Over Haiku

passionate kisses

bygone tender interludes

ancient history

Inspired by the prompt at

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Freedom

“You left college,

forfeited your marriage,

 your friends,
 and your life…

  to care for me.”  

 Damn tears!  Cancer sucks!

Mama pleaded, grasping my hand.

 “Promise me...

 to live life,
 chase dreams,

 love.
  Experience everything...”

Sighing,
 she relaxed and welcomed eternity with grace.

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Who's the Cook?

        Food.  Everybody loves food to a certain degree.  We all eat it to survive. There are others who eat it for pleasure.  The question is who cooks it?  At my house, that would be me.  I take full chef honors.  There used to be a time when my husband ruled as Lord of the barbecue grill, and my realm was confined to the kitchen.    My kids and I would wait, with baited breath and growing appetites, for him to come home and cook something, anything, on the grill. 

        One day my husband decided I needed to master the barbecue grill as well.   The skill was on the list of things that he should do and could do, but unfortunately hardly ever came home to do and didn’t want to be bothered with when home.  If I wanted the taste of barbecued meat grilled to perfection, I needed to learn.  So I did, all the time with the nagging thought in the back reaches of my brain that I was being prepared for a life without him.  Is he trying to tell me something?  Probably not, I am just a tinge paranoid.  I am a strong, independent woman, whether I want to be or not.  This life as a trucker’s wife has made me that way.

            

  

       

         Growing up, it was the same scenario on the most part, since my dad was also an over the road truck driver like my husband.  While he was away, Mom ruled the kitchen and did all the cooking.  When Dad came home, he not only presided over the barbecue grill, but also dazzled us with his skills in the kitchen.  Crazy enough, it was my Dad that attempted to teach me how to cook and insisted on me helping.  He taught me how to cook breakfast: eggs, pancakes, french toast, you name it.  He showed me how to make his spaghetti and his barbecue chicken.   My Dad actually had a huge collection of recipes that he began accumulating after my mom died, and I got that little gold mine when he died in 2004.

    
           Even though I watch “Master Chef” avidly and am openly in awe of Gordon Ramsay, and secretly scared shitless of him, I have no delusions that I could compete in the Master Chef kitchen, nor would I desire to.  However, we don’t starve, and there are a few dishes I am damn proud to claim as my own concoctions.  Yes, I cooked that.  My mantra has always been and always will be: if you can read, you can cook.

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Storm Haiku

torrential downpour

crash of thunder, lightning strikes

glimpse Nature’s fury 

Inspired by the prompt at

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The Dare

“I triple dog dare you, eat it!”

Squeamish, Tommy screwed his eyes tightly shut, and dropped the wiggly worm into his mouth, gulped, and shuddered, grimacing.

“Well?”

“Blech! Slimy, salty, disgusting bit of nastiness!”

Huh, Google claims worms taste like bacon.

“Really?”

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Between Haiku

full comprehension

subliminal messages

linking you and me

Inspired by the prompt at

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#MondayMusings

       A little late in the day, but not too late for a little musing this Monday.  15 years ago today I was eagerly anticipating my cesarean section scheduled for the next morning with a twinge of fear and a whole lot of excitement.  I had never had a baby before and even though I had taken the childbirth classes at the hospital, I still felt ill equipped for what was to come.  Besides, I spent 99.9% of the movie shown the expectant parents about childbirth and cesareans cringing horrified behind my pillow.

        I endured a tough pregnancy with my first 
born.  Let’s just say, I don’t do pregnancy well.  I was not one of those fabled expectant mothers who simply glowed.  Tinged a sickly, pasty, green,   I struggled through every minute of my pregnancy plagued with nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, riding on the hellacious roller coaster ride of hormones, high blood pressure, and gestational diabetes.  To be honest, by the time it was time to go under the knife I simply wanted the pregnancy to be over.  I simply could not imagine the reality of the baby, I would soon have.   I had no idea whether the baby would be a boy or a girl.

        Fast forward 15 years and here I am preparing to celebrate the beautiful and smart girl I was blessed with by blowing up bunches of balloons, suspending them from the ceiling, and stringing a “Happy Birthday” banner in their midst.  The real celebration won’t commence until this weekend when my husband comes home.  Still, I couldn’t let my little girl’s day pass unnoticed.  Tomorrow I will bake cupcakes, a simple precursor to the birthday cake she will have this weekend.  She will get to blow candles out on both occasions, because really a person cannot have too many wishes!   Then, once both kids are home from school, away we will go to the local pizza place to inhale as much pizza, pasta, salad, and bread sticks that are earthly possible to inhale without exploding.

     Only a handful of hours to go until her fourteenth year will be gone and her fifteenth year will dawn.  No matter how old either of us get, she will always be my sweet baby girl and I will always be her mommy and for that I will always be eternally grateful. 

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