Now I'm Sixty-Four

Now that I'm older, hairs on my chin, wrinkles on my brow,
Will you say I need a face lift right away, and hearing aids, like, YESTERDAY?
Now that my hair is silvery gray, my eyesight sorta poor,
Will you berate me, or will you hate me, since I'm sixty-four?

You are older, tooooooooo!
And, if you say things wrong,  you won't like what I do.

Will you suggest I wear ortho shoes or carry a cane?
Dye my hair and get new teeth and join a gym, get my waistline dandy and slim?
Jog every day and get a boob job, and never ever snore?
Will you berate me, or will you hate me, since I'm sixty-four?

Every summer I could rent a condo
On the Big Island, where there's all that sun.
Or go to Pareeeeeeeeee!
Florida, Japan, and Spain, all are calling me.

Is a makeover just what I need?  Eyebrows plucked and neat?
Special classes just for me in pilates, new hips and of course, new knees?
If those are your thoughts and wishes for me, there is the front door...
I could be much older, and oh so much colder, instead of sixty-four!

Tell Me Your Story

For Aunt Delva

Tell Me Your Story

August 21, 2012

Someday when I cross over 

To that great Someplace Somewhere

I want to find you waiting

In your hard-earned glory there.

Your life was full of sadness

And tragedy and woe.

Your life was full of troubles,

How much I do not know.

But now all that is over

And now your ears can hear

And now your soul is mended

And now your mind is clear.

I want to know your story -

The life you had to bear -

When I cross over someday

To that great Someplace Somewhere.

Tale of Abuse

My niece posted a video on Facebook of a woman showing how to apply makeup to cover bruises caused by an abusive partner.  It inspired me to tell my own story.  In 1974 I was married for a few short months to an abusive man.  This is definitely not a "little ditty", and not humorous or poetic, but every word of it is the truth.





A squeeze on the hand...that's how it started. 
A hard squeeze, almost crushing, that left my hand bruised for days. 
"Ah, he just doesn't realize his own strength!"


A strange slit in the aluminum cake pan.
"Were you mad at something when you cut yourself a piece of cake?"
(Sheepish grin on his face.)


A punch on the arm when I said something he didn't like.
Speaking a little too close to the truth brought this out in him.


Another punch on the arm. And another.


"God, please make him have a car accident and die."


The vacuum flew by me and made a big hole in the wall.
"God, PLEASE make him have a car accident and die."


An unopened can of Pepsi thrown at my chest so hard the poptop flew open.
Pepsi everywhere, and a bruise as big around as a grapefruit in the center of my chest.


I asked myself, "Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life?"
I answered:  "No, absolutely not."


A call to an attorney and the Sheriff's Office.  


So grateful that the house and the car were mine.  So grateful that I had a good-paying job so I didn't have to depend on him.  So grateful my children were mine, and not his.  So grateful I didn't wait till God answered my prayers the way I wanted.  He doesn't normally kill people like that, and I didn't have to have it on my conscience.  


I wish all abused women could get free as easily as I did.


But mostly, I wish abusers didn't exist.


"God?  Are you listening?"

Regarding the Exceedingly Great Length of the War

Inspired by a talk I heard at Stake Conference tonight.  (Alma 62:41) It doesn't rhyme, it is not in any poetic format that I know of, it's just my thoughts.


When the trials are lengthy and seem to never end,
I have a choice: 
I can blame God and harden my heart and become bitter and hateful
Or I can soften my heart,
Listen to what He says,
Accept His plan for me,
And be humble.

At the end of my life, I want to be an old softie.

Welcome Back, Sunshine!

This is another pantoum.  I find I like the challenge of writing them.

Welcome Back, Sunshine!

Welcome back, sunshine!
You've been away too long.
You make me feel so fine
I could burst into song.

You've been away too long,
The gray clouds filled my days.
I could burst into song
For I see no gloomy haze.

The gray clouds filled my days.
You make me feel so fine
For I see no gloomy haze.
Welcome back, sunshine!

Soup's On - May 3, 2012

Soupcon
On rare occasions I found this word
But whatever did it mean?
I pronounced it Soup-kon and wondered if it
Was a mixture of veggies and beans,

Or a conglomerate of items
That to me, just do not match
Like plaids and stripes and polkadots,
Or an evening gown with a patch.

I decided today to look up that word
And was taken aback to read
That it comes from a word for suspicion,
A big surprise, indeed!

In English it means a hint or a trace,
A bit, a wee little dash,
A jot, a mite, a pinch, a speck,
Or a tiny little splash.

Until now I hadn't a soupcon of thought
What a soupcon could possibly be
But now it's ensconced in my brain and in
My vo-cab-u-lar-y.

Indecision

Should I leave?
Should I stay?
Should I grieve?
Should I pray
For reprieve,
Or just say
I am peeved,
By the way?

Ah, indecision!