Posts Tagged With: postaday

The Smell of Hope

 

Nothing.

Nothing surpasses the scent of rain in the desert.

Raindrops meeting ground smell like hope.

Each droplet washes dust from the air.

Those first tentative splashes

hold every scent the sky has held.

Millions of them combine

to baptize a world hazy with heat and baked too long.

Life pours out of the sky

washing

renewing

cooling

calming.

As clouds loosen their purse strings,

Heaven sighs,

Earth relaxes,

and the two settle into each others arms

like a long married couple.

 

Paths fill with every scent washed from the air,

puddles grow and overflow with evaporated life,

temporary ponds hold every drop of love the sky bestows.

And the land

savors this elixir,

love potion extraordinaire.

Flooded water retention basin after a desert rainstorm.

Flooded water retention basin after a desert rainstorm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I created this poem in response to a writing prompt from WordPress: “What’s your favorite smell?”

The photo I took earlier this week after far too many months of no rain here in the Phoenix area. Normally, this scene is an open expanse of grass, but after an hour of rain, it became a temporary pond, drawing out every desert dweller in the neighborhood.

 

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Categories: Hope, Nature, phoenix | Tags: , , , , , , | 7 Comments

My Closest Friend is…Dying

I saw this Daily Post prompt today and thought this would be good for me to write about. I thought I might simply write something but not really post it. It would be cathartic, healing, helpful, insightful. Writing on this topic could lead to some much-needed answers.

I’ve written about her and our friendship before, but that’s been a while. It’s time to think things through again.

Vault Door

Vault Door  (Photo credit: mmahaffie)

Crap.

I sit here blank and empty.

Now I see I have a bunch of steel walls of denial and protection shielding me from facing this reality.

Oh, we talk about it. She and I. What her funeral will consist of, who will speak, what music to have, even what food to serve at the luncheon afterwards.  We’ve talked about her headstone, a bench for visitors. We’ve talked about how she doesn’t want to die in a hospital, but at home. We’ve talked about the raw deal this is. We’ve talked about the good stuff that’s happened in spite of such misery. We’ve talked about the constant pain, the nausea, the chemofuzzybrain. We’ve talked and talked and talked.

Not sure there’s a topic we haven’t touched on.

We’ve talked about our lives. Lots of that stuff. That’s what makes friends, talking about real things, worries, bad choices, craziness, kids, husbands, fun times. It’s a pretty even give and take, too. You’d think it wouldn’t be. You’d think it’d be me listening to her and her concerns. But no. She’s quite the listener. And she gets it. She gets my odd life, she commiserates with my whiny ways. She asks how I’m doing and then she cares and remembers. It isn’t all about her. How’s that for an amazing friend?

There are days I do a bunch of the listening, but we’re pretty evenly matched on talking and listening.

She’s got my back. And I’ve got hers.

That’s friendship. Someone you can count on who gets you.

It stinks big time that I’ve finally got this best friend ever in the history of the world after a zillion years and now she’s going to go away.  It’s not like she’s moving across the country and we can call every day. It’s not like she’s moving up north for more reasonable weather and we can still text back and forth. Crap. No. It’s not like that at all.

As far as I know there’s no social media, telegraph, phone, wireless connection, garage code or front door that I can knock on to get in touch with her once she’s gone.

three drinks from sonic

(Photo credit: Rakka)

Then what?

I have no idea.

I don’t even want to go there, think that far ahead, or be that person.

I’m just going to stay in denial. Who says I can’t. No one, that’s who. I can pretend as long as I want that our friendship will last forever, that’s she’s always going to be there.

I’m going to pretend that we’ll keep getting diet cherry Cokes at Sonic for the rest of our lives, until we’re dragging our great-grandkids along for happy hour slushies and corn dogs.

You would, too.

Believe me. With a best friend like I have you would be in denial, too.

Categories: Death, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Simplify. Are you kidding me?

“Pick a random word and do Google image search on it. Check out the eleventh picture it brings up. Write about whatever that image brings to mind.”

Simplify? Who me?

My jaw hangs open. I am astounded.

Do you ever wonder how things happen that seem so serendipitous?  So random, and yet, so planned.  Like a happy accident.

That’s how I felt when I counted to eleven on my Google image search.

It’s my Destiny

Obviously I am destined to read this book. Whether is will help me solve my current dilemma or simply add to it, I don’t know yet.

Like any good reader/writer, there is a bit of chaos, semi-controlled, here and there about my home.  Sometimes the chaos is winning, sometimes I am.  Freshly dusted flat places become receptacles for a few papers, a magazine, a DVD, and a mountain begins to grow.  Okay, maybe only a small hill.  But piles erupt spontaneously as if to taunt me.  I try to stay on top of it, but work, family stuff, errands, writing, reading, eating, volunteer stuff, laundry, cooking, sleeping, all seem to get in the way of the housekeeping.

book pile

book pile (Photo credit: luiginter)

I usually have a few, (okay, many) books around the house in different stages of “readingness.”  Bookmarked, dog-eared,  left open cover up, left open cover down, an empty mug holding the page, another book holding the page open.  It gets a little silly. But, let’s be clear; books are not clutter.  No way!

Here’s a bit of irony for you.

One day one of those hill-like piles had a book on the topic of decluttering perched precariously at its peak.  It was Clutter’s Last Stand if I remember correctly. Although, it could have been half a dozen other books on the subject of dejunking, organizing, winning the lottery merely to hire a full-time maid, simplifying, streamlining, or decluttering. I own a few books on those topics.

My husband thought that particular dusty book, resting on a pile of  stuff and clutter was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

I was not amused.

The clutter and the chaos drives me crazy!

I attempt solutions:

  • Trying to tackle it all myself with what little energy I have left after work and on weekends. Not so much a solution, more a self-inflicted bad mood.
  • Enlisting the help of family members met with more success when the children were much younger, didn’t hold down jobs or go to school or date.
  • MSH is a bit perfectionistic and takes a really long time, but he builds a pretty nifty set of shelves.
  • I buy books on the subject of decluttering.  I read books on the subject of clutter and how to manage it, reduce it, or live with it.
  • I actually declutter a little.
  • I dream about implementing all the amazing ideas in the books.
  • We move to a bigger house.
  • We move to a smaller house.
  • I secretly hope for a small disaster that wipes the slate clean.

I feel the weight of the nonsense surrounding me.  The already full sink of dishes when I’d just spent half an hour washing them up taunts me. The overflowing laundry basket snickers at me.  The opened box of Halloween decorations I have yet to put up cackles. The unswept floor sends shivers up my spine. The bathrooms rival any haunted house. The garage is the stuff of nightmares.

Unfettered Revelry

Seriously, there aren’t that many people living here.  We’re gone half the time working, and asleep  the other half. The stuff all out-of-place makes me wonder if it all gets up and wanders around at night or while I’m gone to work and flings itself about in wild, unfettered revelry.

No wonder I conjured the word “simplify” when I sat down at the computer.

I Sigh.

I consider staying up all night to make a dent in the piles.

MSH made the bed the bed this morning, and it looks inviting, calls to me, sings comforting, happy songs to lull me over to it. The pillow joins in with harmony. The alarm stares in a hypnotizing blink.

It’s much, much too late to attempt tackling any of the chaos and nonsense.

For now, I think I’ll take the Scarlett O’hara approach,  “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow!”

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , | 8 Comments

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