Poetry, writing, drawing, painting and more.
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?
I find journaling laborious. There’s no fun in it. Yes, it sucks! With that being said, writing stuff down is the best way to keep track of it. A budget. A gratitude journal. A prayer journal. The notes on my phone is a rockstar. Especially since I discovered you can make it read to you.
This isn’t my first rodeo with MyFitnessPal. A free app where you can log your daily calorie intake. This app will let you do a whole lot more. But I’m sticking to the free version. See my series called ‘Waste not. Want not’. I entered Ollie’s biggest cheapskate contest. But if they’ve ever named a winner, well it wasn’t me.
As with all problems in my life, the solution is me. My relationship with food is, I see it. I like it. It tastes good. I want it all. I don’t want that good feeling good food creates to end. Buying individual serving sizes is a waste of money. But I know me. If I have a 10 oz bag, I’m eating a 10 oz bag.
I have set goals in the past. I have used this app in the past. But as I get older, I know things are going to become more difficult.
I’ve adopted a now or never attitude. And this birthday is going to be a big birthday for me. No. I don’t expect my muse to fall out of the sky and land in my lap. 😔 But what if this happened. 🎉 Let’s just call it like it is, my crush. 🤭 Muse feels more grown up, more artistic. Crush feels like I’m back in high school with adolescent hormones raging.
Back to journaling. A friend of mine was encouraged to journal by her therapist. We discussed ways to get her interested. Okay, so with the 999 ways to journal, maybe I don’t dislike journaling after all.
It takes time. I have to guess at portion sizes sometimes. And I take breaks from doing a food log on the weekends. This isn’t a licensed to eat all the food. It’s a break mentally from the never ending food log.
I bogged myself down the last time I tried with ‘I’m going to be doing this the rest of my life’. If my best friend is a good example, no I’m not. She has gotten to where she’s content with her weight. Eats pretty much what she wants. And doesn’t worry about it much. That’s where I want to be.
How much would you pay to go to the moon?
There is a concept among some Christian’s that we have no business in space. That we need to remain on Earth. Doing works on Earth. Spreading Christianity on Earth. That the desire of humanity to venture into space is a waste of energy, resources, and time. Resources better spent doing other things.
According to a Gallup poll updated in 2022, 81% of Americans polled believe in God. 21% said God exists but they have doubts. 7% are convinced that God doesn’t exist. According to the same poll (during the 1950’s & 60’s) 98% of Americans believed God existed.
I went through a time in my life where I was mad at God. Yes, I hated him. I called him names. Ignored him. Had no use for him. I blamed God for humanities mistakes. I judged God through what I saw in humanity. Then I like to think, I grew up.
Many people believe that God has abandoned us. He’s a deadbeat dad. A shyster, a low life. Then there are others who treat God like a genie in a bottle. They just need to ‘rub him the right way.’
So, where is God? When you feel down, out, spent, on your last leg, drawing your last breath; where is God? Has he abandoned you to live on the international space station? Does he live at your neighbors house but wouldn’t dare cross the fence? Does he live in church but just one church? Does he live on Mars? Is he the man in the moon?
Where is he? Who among us hasn’t screamed this question at him? I have many times.
Romans 8:9 ESV
You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him.
1 John 4:16 ESV
So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.
Most likely, I’ll never get to go to the farthest reaches of anything. Other than my imagination. And guess what? God is there because he lives in me. I take him with me every where I go.
Sometimes, this isn’t a comfort. When we are worried about our job, health, a loved one. God living inside me seems lack luster. When you need a physical hug. Someone to say, “good job” or “every-things okay”.
Would I like to go to the moon? Heck yeah. How much would I pay? At this stage in my life? Nothing. Saving for my future here on Earth. If I was offered a free trip, I’m on it. Taking God with me.
I lost the link the website for the Gallup poll. I will post it later when I find it again.
https://news.gallup.com/poll/393737/belief-god-dips-new-low.aspx
Are you familiar with the saying, ‘one man’s junk is another man’s treasure’? Most of the stuff I get rid of is ready for the trash. Here’s an example of why.
Little Man
Please be advised ADULT LANGUAGE!
Little man spun around and started screaming. “Pussy! Pussy! Come hur. You gotta see dis! Pussy!” The sound of his voice caused Esther to shutter. A movement that Oscar noticed. Before long this scrawny looking woman came into the living room holding a baby with three smaller children trailing behind her. They looked like stair steps, her being the tallest.
“Bro, whur your manners? I’m Otis, Oscar’s my big brother. Ery-body call me Oat. This hur angel is my wife Pussy and our brude; Austin,” he pointed at the baby. Next in line was, “Larry, Teddy, and Tim.”
Esther clasped her hands together as she stepped into the living room. “I’m city trash.” She spoke with a southern accent so fake it dripped with honey. And continued, “and I half expected your youngins to be named Larry, Daryl and Daryl.”
“Oh, she be funny bro.”
Oscar was about to die. He never looked up from the floor.
“Well I see ya got well mighty fast. Earlier you couldn’t get out the bed.”
‘Son of a bitch’, Oscar didn’t like to curse even in his thoughts. He could feel a panic attack coming on. He started to sweat and shiver at the same time. He didn’t want Esther to see him like this. She would think he was pathetic. Heck he felt and thought he was pathetic.
Oat just started laughing. “We goin’ down to Hardee’s fur dinner.”
The two oldest boys started chanting as they shuck their fists in the air with joy, “Hardee’s, Hardee’s, Hardee’s.”
“Checks come in?” Oscar said it before he could stop himself. That wasn’t very nice. But his brother brought out the worst in him.
“Ya could pitch in and give some green for ma’s dinner. Hardee’s ain’t cheap.” Oat sputtered. “I got 5 mouths to feed.”
Oscar just glared at Oat.
Esther suggested, “how about we send her a bowl of soup and some corn bread?”
Oscar liked that idea much better than shelling out money but he couldn’t move. All he could really do was glare at Oat. Knowing his mother, she would eat the soup all the while bemoaning that no one cared enough about her to buy her a cheeseburger. It was a lose lose for him.
“Should’ah known country not good ‘nough fur you.” Pussy rolled her lips.
Esther laughed, “oh honey, you don’t have a clue what you’re talkin’ about?”
Pussy stopped in the door, “we’s country.”
Part 8 The End
This time when Bo opened her eyes, it was the sheriff. When he realized she was awake, he pointed, “this is Mini from the diner. She’s studying to be a physical therapist. We are going to get you up.”
Gently, Mini moved Bo’s feet toward the floor. The sheriff put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up. She screamed from the pain. Chad swung the door open. “Good, you might need to help.” The sheriff calmly spoke. “Little lady, walk to the door and we will leave you alone for today.”
Every move she made invoked a scream. Mini was on one side, the sheriff on the other and Chad was in front of her. Each step shot needles from the bottom of her feet, up her legs. Each step brought a scream from her lungs and tears to her eyes. Chad locked eyes with her. His black eye wasn’t shining quite as brightly. But his eyes had filled with moisture listening to her screams.
She collapsed at the door. He caught her carting her to bed. “5 more minutes NuNu,” she hissed.
“How’d she know that?” The sheriff asked.
Bo focused on the yellow ring under Chad’s eye. Her arm burnt as she tried to raise it. I.v’s had been attached to her. “You’ve been out for days now.” He held up a tablet, “I’ve been learning about you. 5 MINUTE PLAN is the title of a poem you’ve written where you just want 5 more minutes of sleep.” He paused. She just blinked. “Your blog wasn’t hard to find.” He laid the tablet on his lap, “how did you know my sister used to call me NuNu?”
With great effort she squeaked out, “I didn’t.”
“How do you know that song you keep humming?”
Bo whispered, “what song?”
As she closed her eyes, Chad screamed “don’t pass out on me again!” But she was gone.
Voices filled her head, “she’s been speaking Spanish, French, and Russian according to the internet.” That voice was the sheriff
“This bullshit all started with a visit to the cemetery.” That was Chad.
“She wasn’t like this when you first met her?” That was Dan.
Chad sighed, “no.”
“How do we fix this?” The sheriff spoke, maybe.
She heard the door open or close? The voices were too muffled to hear what was being said. Was she trying to get up? She needed to hear what was being said. A desperate pull was urging her out of bed. She thought she saw her hand wrap around the i.v. pole. It struggled against her as the carpet grabbed at its wheels. She kept telling herself she had to hear. Had to know what was being said. This force that was pulling her to the door felt like it was outside of her. Invisible yet strong. Pushing her to the door. A glance at her feet set off alarm bells inside her mind. Her toes were curled inward; to her eyes, her feet were blue. Swollen ankles protruded from under the hospital gown someone had dressed her in. ‘Must hear!’ Raced over and over in her mind.
Her hand was shaking wildly as it reached for the knob; it was absent of her presents. The door knob was blurry. She wasn’t sure it existed. ‘Open it!’ Her mind screamed.
The knob wiggled with her finger tips only centimeters from it. Light poured through the crack blinding her.
Chad was standing; with a bewildered look on his face, in the bright glow of the door. He caught her as she fell.
Bo was dreaming?
Chad, the sheriff and Dan were standing by the gravestone. The sheriff started digging in top of the grave. A perfect ditch. “Normally, I don’t condone the destruction of graves.” He wiped his brow, “I’ll make an exception in this case.”
All three men pushed the stone in the ditch.
Dan started beating it with a sledgehammer. Screaming and sobbing as he pounded away at the stone. Chad too was crying. His tears paled in comparison to the heartbreak Dan was pouring out.
Bo felt herself scream. She felt the fall. The pounding on the gravestone. As if it was happening to her body. Each thrust felt like a bone breaking; blood vessels busting. Her skin burnt. As they covered the rubble with dirt, she couldn’t breathe. The weight of all that soil was crushing her chest. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.
Something was happening to her. A smile danced across her lips. Wet, a little coarse, what was rubbing against her cheek? Warm puffs. As she pulled her hand to her face, it touched something soft and furry. “You’re soft.” She muttered opening her eyes. A bone shaped tag danced before her, “Van Helsing?” A giggle tried to escape her raw throat, “Chico isn’t short for Van Helsing.”
Chad laced his fingers through hers, “hi. His name is Van when the sheriff calls for him. But for whatever reason he will only answer to Chico for me.”
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.
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. 🤣
Poetry & More