Fighting with God

Genesis 32: 22-32

Your will shall prevail.

Oh Lord, this is not easy.

You have lifted a vail.

This direction makes me queasy.

Is this truly the path you wish me to follow?

With Jacob you wrestled.

Lord, I am terrified. In this sin, I wish not to wallow.

I am relying on you to be my trestle.

I hear you. I think I understand.

Even Jesus asked for this cup be removed.

Guide me through your plan.

I do not disapprove.

My knees shake.

While my blood boils.

My heart quakes.

The current fold, I wish not to soil.

Help me Lord.

Guide my hand.

This next phase of my life, help me ford.

I am terrified of this (quick) sand.

I made you a promise.

Only you can redirect my life.

Only you can make me conscious.

Bring an end to my strife.

Your face is what I seek.

Bring me to Peniel, oh Lord.

How long will we wrestle?

How long must I suffer?

I’m working on a story. It’s working title is ‘Out of the Shadows’. This poem was written for that story.

Reading too much

I’m one of those people that over think EVERYTHING.

You patted my arm, what did that mean?

Are people just allowed to be friendly any more?

Most people are not touchy as they walk out the door.

We are (after all) in the south.

“It was good to see you,” flowed from your mouth.

I’ve only seen you like 5 times in my life.

Don’t you have a wife.

Last time I looked, you were sporting a gold band.

That is where I make a stand.

If you are to be in my world,

God will make sure we give it a whirl.

After a proper divorce decree.

That will surely set you free. 😉

Heart of Death: Ode to Poison Ivy

Colors beautiful and rich.

You make my skin itch.

Fall colors draped like a sash.

Just to brush up against you gives me a rash.

Around and round the tree, your a twister.

No! No! No! Blisters!

So beautiful. You don’t discern.

You make my skin burn.

Leaves of orange, yellow, and red.

On your leaves, I will not tread.

As your chlorophyll wanes,

your ability to hurt me maintains.

Itch! Burn! Blister! Spread.

You I surely do dread.

How do I kill you? You need to die.

From you I will shy.

Temporary Freedom

Over the summer of 2020, while we had been advised against traveling or having social-gatherings; I put my summer to good use. I had some pretty new cabinets put in my house. Well, used but new to me. We had a social distance paint party to get them ready. I have amazing friends. It was a lot of hard work this do-it-yourself project. But they are so pretty. I got the idea that I would try to build a spice rack to match my pretty new cabinets. One whole shelf of my pantry cabinet is taken up by spices.

Kentucky weather is so unpredictable it’s hard to plan much. This particular November evening was nice. So I decided to gather my supplies to see what I had to work with. Ooooo! And play with my new/used drill. Power tools rock!

By the time I get home of an evening and get Chico walked (my 10 pound Chihuahua) it’s almost dark. But since I’m going to be right here on the carport; I figured I’d hook him up on his run to play; 10 glorious feet of freedom. He doesn’t play much. But he can bark at everything that moves. I always feel sorry for him. He gets to go out twice a day on most days. So this would be a nice change for him.

I started playing with my wood scraps trying to get a basic shape and layout.

Chico barks here and there, nothing to worry about.

I keep working away on my spice rack.

Roamin’ Fred or Freda comes trottin’ down the road and with the strength of a Shetland Pony. Okay, a bull dog. With a nip here and a growl there, Chico and Freedonia or gone.

Now I’m a fat girl and my running distance is about 10 feet. I think I made it across my yard; an impressive 25 feet for me. By this time Chico and Runnin’ Free are out of sight; though, I know the direction they are headed.  

Now not only am I going to be a sad girl because my dog ran away; I’m going to have a heart attack because I’m NOT a physical person. Did I mention it’s dark? My dog is a dark color and I am armed with a cellphone flashlight.

Yes, there could be an ambulance ride in my future.

But I found him; panting all the way. He had almost made it to a very large mobile home park near my house (Freebird Terrace); draggin’ his run behind him.

The end.

Breaking In

One Sunday, I’m hanging out with *fam-ends. As the day wounds down, I run to my house to take fresh dry laundry off the line and care for Chico, my little dog.

I finish my tasks and head back out. In typical me fashion, I have my hands full. I stuck the key in the lock while trying not to drop my precious red neck elixir. Now mind you my key has been acting wonky for awhile. It sticks. I was expecting more of the same. Not this time. Oh no. It just spins. Round and round it goes. Then key, with tumbler attached, comes out. I stare at it in dismay. Great! Followed by 2 (two) small gold colored springs that I will never find. They may be padding a birds nest by now for all I know.

Okay. What now? I’m locked out of my house. I’ll go down to the basement. Surely I have tools down there. I need a pair of needle nose pliers. I have a socket set and a hammer. That helps me not. Here’s a snow shovel. Nope. No help.

To my best friends house I go. We come back armed with a pair of needle nose pliers that are used to repair jewelry and 3 smart human brains. Okay to be fair, 2 smart and 1 average brain, me. We can do this.

We try the pliers, a health care coverage card, nails. This lock can be picked. Right? Couldn’t do it with the card how about a trowel and a hammer. If – I – can – just – get – behind – that – dead bolt. Nope.

One friend got honked at as she was walking around the house to find not a single window that she was able to open and climb through. Add all the facts together; she’s pretty and had on cut off glitter shorts. The person driving the truck didn’t stand a chance. If worse came to worse, we were going to pose her petit frame on the side of the road to ask help from passers-by. Mask required of course. Help accepted; covid rejected.

Fiddle, tinker – did that round thing move? Fiddle, jiggle – no it didn’t.

We could hear my little dog whimpering on the other side of the door. No amount of coaxing could get him to turn the deadbolt from the inside. Shame on you Chico. Stretch your Chihuahua body up there and turn that knob.

We finally did it. More inner parts of the lock fell out exposing an area that surprisingly I did have the right tool for in the basement.

We didn’t have to pose my friend on the side of the road. I didn’t have to use my sledgehammer. No extra damage was done to my door.

Praise the Lord.

*Fam-ends – friends that are closer to me than my family.

A Rose in Winter

Withering like a rose in winter,

the crown of red dries and turns to dust.

A stem so feeble a gentle wind could break it.

Spring growing rain.

Heat of summer.

A gentle kiss from young lovers.

Admires eyes gazing at the perfection nature has made.

All just fleeting memories.

Was it ever young?

Was the crown really red?

The leaves a lush green?

Was it truly perfection?

It can’t remember beyond yesterday.

Was the sun really warm?

What was rain?

Does existence really matter after all?

When does exist mean death?

Was the crown really red?

Taken from ‘The Reconstruction of Me’. A collection of poems I started in the early 2,000’s. Not a published book.

Heads Up

The first thing I do when I get home is to take my dog to the bathroom.

As we head out, walking down the driveway to the yard; a vehicle is driving past. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this black object flying straight toward me. The projectile wizzed by me. Yeah missed! Praise God. From the SUV I hear, “SSSOOORRRYYY!!!” As it speeds on down the road.

What the?! Talk about catching me off guard. All I could think to do was say under my breath, “jerk.” The SUV is gone by this point. I’m not going to tuck Chico under my arm and chasing the trash monger down. I’d have a heat stroke. It’s just 83 outside. Plus I’d only make it about 25 feet. That is my running distance.

People throw trash in my yard all the time. Only once while I was physically in the yard. No one has actively thrown trash at me before.

We continue our potty time. I take the baccor can to the mail box. In the hope that the mail carrier will run it over. Score one for me.

As we come back around the house, the trash monger pulls in my driveway. Not only did he apologize but his wife got out to retrieve her almost full can of chaw.

He explains, “I’m sorry. My wife dips. As I reached over to get me a big drink, I got her dip cup. I was about to throw up. I grabbed the can and tossed it out the window. I said, ‘I almost hit that lady. I’m sorry.”

I accepted his apology. She collected her chaw. They squealed their tires as they backed out to leave.

At least he didn’t throw the dip cup at me. Gross!