God’s coloring book
Winter Season
Uninvited guest
“For what?” Her smile was warm.
“This afternoon. I haven’t played in the snow,” he thought for a moment. “In a long long time.”
“You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkled. “I love snow, winter, rain, it’s magical to me.” She sighed. “I know that sounds silly.”
“No, not at all.” He blushed. “Not at all.”
“Do you not own a t.v.?”
“There’s one in the guest room. I don’t watch a lot of t.v. I have this condition, that if the t.v. is on, I’m watchin’ it…”
She interrupted him, wiggling her fingers at him as she talked. “The house could burn down around you and you’d never know it?”
“How’d you know?”
She laughed, slapping her knee, “I’m the same way. It could be fishin’ and I’m watchin’ it. Golf, it doesn’t matter. The president of the United States could be sittin’ in my living room, but if that t.v.’s on, he doesn’t exist.”
He smiled, “oblivious to the world around me.”
“It must be like a human bug zapper.”
He chuckled, “I’d never thought of it that way.” A beeping noise went off in the kitchen. “Dinner.” He helped her out of the floor. This time when they touched he felt his right arm tingle all the way to his shoulder. Right, he told himself. Not even. That only happens in the movies.
“Your fire place, wood or gas?” She asked.
“Gas. But I love the sound of wood, so I paid the extra for the sound package.” He blushed, “why?”
“Just being nosy.”
“It used to be a wood burner but when my aunt got sick the wood smoke choked her so we put in gas.”
“COPD?”
“One of many health problems.”
They were busy eating their soup and enjoying a quiet dinner when someone pounded at the door. Oscar jumped. Esther thought it was weird, but said nothing. It was a good thing his spoon was empty or he would have been wearing soup. “I’ll be right back.” He excused himself from the table. From his reaction, she figured he knew who was at the door.
“Least I not beat the door down dis time.” The voice roared.
Okay, Esther thought. Scar-rie
“So ja get city trashed moved in?”
What? She almost choked on her cornbread. How dare him. He doesn’t even know me. Trash!
This little man waltzed into the kitchen as if Esther wasn’t even sitting there. As he walked past the table, the odor from this fellow about knocked her out of her chair. It was a mixture of beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. She now knew what $3.00 worth of bathroom Polo from a truck stop smelt like. His clothing looked like they hadn’t been washed in months. Esther could appreciate a work uniform. But to not wash one at all was a lack of pride.
Oscar stood in the door way, his head hung in shame. Little man stirred in the soup pot sniffing as the steam wafted up and out. “You got maw’s cookin’ knows how but I got dad’s good looks.” He wiggled with delight. “You sure you not one of dem homo’s? Sum times you act just like a girl. Take the ways you spruced up this house and the way you dress.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Esther couldn’t stand this little man. Even if it meant losing her new friend, she had to say something. “There isn’t anything sexier than a man that knows his way around a kitchen. That old saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; for us females it’s, ‘honey you cook dinner tonight and you can have anything you want.’ And as far as the decorating goes, what can be sexier than a man that can pick out his own drapes then shake the dust off yours.”
Oscar got a private joy and charge from her comments.
My last weight loss journey: choices
Life is a series of choices. Should I get up and go to work today? Or not? Should I wear jeans or dress pants? Should I eat breakfast at home or wait?
When you are dieting, more choices take shape. I want a candy bar but I’ll eat these apple chips. I will drink more water. Have a banana instead of a sucker.
I’m still eating some junk. For dessert after lunch, I ate a little Reese’s bat.
Instead of this single serving (1.25 ounce) bag of apple chips, I’d much rather have a bag of Doritos.
Don’t eat the whole cornflake chewy; which is what I want to do. Break it up into the 3 servings recommended on the package.
All the choices.
Update: I’m gonna have to buy a belt. 🤣🎉 I guess I could use some rope. 🤣
Personal history
What major historical events do you remember?
Leafing a mark
Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?
Part 7
Bo opened her eyes to see an old man’s profile standing in her open door. Long white hair. Long white beard. Chad stepped into view, nose to nose with this man. “Coward!” He roared again.
The sheriff’s hat bobbed in the background.
“If you are not a coward, tell me then.” Was this man about to break out in tears. He looked into the room, locking eyes with Bo. His thin haggard frame began to shake. Each step toward her was a clumsy mess. He fell in a chair that was near her. Tears streamed down his face. “Are you able to talk to me?”
“Brown blob.” She giggled.
He looked confused toward the men that followed him. Chad pointed at the sheriff. “Oh.” Compassion filled his features as he turned back to Bo. “What do you remember?” He whispered.
Dan; if that was his name, wasn’t as old as she had thought. White hair, white beard, sun drenched skin, but his eyes told the real story. He wasn’t as old as he appeared. Maybe her age? Maybe he was standing at the crossroads of life as well?
“Nothing.” She finally whispered.
He looked again desperately at the other two men. Chad was staring at the floor. The sheriff at Dan.
Chico bounced on the bed, army crawled up to her shoulder and laid his head down. It took massive amounts of energy for her to raise her hand to pet him. “Good boy.” She moaned. “You’re soft.” She hissed, “5 more minutes
*When she opened her eyes, Dan was still sitting in that chair. His chin rested on his chest. No, he had on a different shirt. Didn’t he?
“Hi.” His voice pulled her attention from his shirt to his face. He was no longer angry. “I’m Dan.”
“Bo,” she whispered.
“Chad said your name was Ruby.”
She smiled. Was she able to smile? Smiling took energy. In her head, she was smiling. “I like Bo.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired.” She thought for a long minute, “sore.”
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
With closed eyes; Bo started humming.
She thought she heard the door open. “Bastard! You filthy bastard.” Was Dan crying? The room was filled with crashing sounds.
“That’s enough!” A very authoritative voice said.
Yes, he was crying. She could hear it in his voice as “you filthy bastard”, rang out again.
Bo opened her eyes to see Chad sitting in the chair sporting a black eye. “Hurt?” She mumbled.
“You hurt Dan worse. That song you’ve been humming was ‘their song’.”
“What song?”
Chad sat straight up in the chair. “What song?! You’ve been humming a tune for days now.”
“Days, NuNu?”
Chad’s heart stopped, “what did you say?”
“5 more minutes.”
Balancing act
Winter Season
The invitation
Ask. A voice inside his head called. Ask. “I…” he stammered looking away from her; “made a large pot of soup and I’d be honored if you’d join me for dinner.”
She was stunned. The two halves of her spoke at once saying hell no and trust him. Should she let down her guard and accept his invitation? Shoot, she’d already spent the better part of the evening playing in the snow with him. “Why not?” She smiled, shoving her hands into her pants pockets.
“There’s no reason why not. Either you want to or you don’t.”
“Oh, you really are an ellic through and thru” She giggled.
At the door, Oscar took her coat, slipped off his shoes, then spread out her coat in front of the fire place. It was soaking wet. When he took his coat off, he was dressed very handsomely. He had on a pair of jeans and a dark gray sweater and a white dress shirt with pink and gray stripes on under the sweater. Very metro, she thought. She had this strange notion in her head that because he lived in God’s Country that he would be wearing Carhart and flannel. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just an image she had in her mind.
“Do I need to take my shoes off?” There was a hint of concern in her voice.
“I never ask my guest too.” He studied her face. He could tell this made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t anything like any of the women he knew. The couple women he had invited over to his house had no reservations about taking their shoes off. Odor or not.
“But you prefer them too?”
He gave a slight grin as he lowered his head toward the floor, “yes.”
She took her shoes off right beside his. Nail polish! He thought. Nail polish? He disappeared into the house. As she looked around the room, she noticed the coffee table covered with papers. Some had big red grades on them. Other’s didn’t.
“School teacher?” She asked as he walked back into the room.
“Yes, high school science.” He handed her a pair of socks.
She blushed, “thanks. I packed all of mine up. Silly me didn’t lay a pair out to wear.”
“It happens.” He picked up her shoes and put them as close to the fire as he could get them before toddin’ off again.
She sat down in the floor between the coffee table and the bay window looking out toward her house. She couldn’t help but notice that the entire living room was oriented so that he could look out the window. But as she studied the room, it was a logical choice unless he wanted to stare at the fireplace.
For a man, his living room was well put together. His couch was chocolate brown with tan pillows; two overstuffed recliners were tan with chocolate brown cushions. The fireplace was behind the couch. It seemed a little odd that the back of the couch was toward the fireplace. But what was oddest of all, no t.v. There were a couple framed prints on the walls and several live plants. The room was neat and very tasteful, except for the papers around and covering the coffee table. She figured he was either metro sexual or gay.
He sat two cups beside her in the floor before he sat down. “Hot chocolate.”
She took the warm cup, nuzzling it to her nose. “If you don’t mind me saying, all the men I know,” she breathed in the heat from her cup as she corrected herself, “knew that enjoyed hot chocolate are gay.”
“The straight ones don’t know what they’re missin’.” They both laughed. “Thank you.”
Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?
Part 6
He put his hand under her head. She was so groggy. “5 more minutes.” Bo bemoaned. She could feel herself being lifted but could do nothing to stop it.
“Ruby,” hands held her face. “Ruby?” His voice was laced with anguish. When he put his hands on her shoulders, her head wobbled backwards.
“Boss, did you find her?!” Bo thought she recognized this voice. But from where? Pancakes danced through her thoughts.
“Ruby?” He steadied her head.
“What kind of drug is she on?”
She opened her eyes to see a fuzzy Chico sitting happily near her.
“Ruby?”
“How’d … you know….!”
The anguish softened, “it’s on an envelope in your front seat.”
She moaned then whispered, “call me Bo.”
When she opened her eyes, there was a patch of bright light with a brown blob in the center. After a few blinks, the bright light was an open door. The brown blob was a person. A cop? A gold badge glittered with the rise and fall of his chest. He was talking to the door frame? Of course not. That would be silly. He nodded toward her. Her breakfast companion came into view. Both men walked into the room.
She weakly giggled, “brown blob. Brown blob.”
Her breakfast companion smiled, “how are you feeling?”
“5 more minutes.”
“Seriously; what kind of drug is she on, Chad?”
“Did Chico find anything?” Chad asked.
She heard a deep sigh, “no.”
A very gruff voice filled the darkness of her mind, hurt spilled from it. “It’s happened again.”
“We don’t know that.”
“What do you know? That’s always your story. You know NOTHING!”
“Dan, go home. Calm down.”
“Chad!”This new voice screamed. There was a moment of silence. “Walk away, coward!”
Waste not. Want not: dented cans
This poem is being written in stages to highlight the things I do toward frugal living.
My contents are still delicious you see.
I’m bent. Beat up. But not broken.
There is a way to tell if I’m still good. Here it’s spoken;
at the same time, push on my ends.
If I don’t pop, or given in any fashions, eat my contents all up. Your hunger pains, mend.
Poetry & More 