Uh-huh! Yuppp!!! Close your eyes and enjoy.
There once was a time when Skinny thrived on going out alone.
I would go to a local hole in the wall and listen to some of the best damn music heavens ears could ask for. There, I would often plunk off my shoes and dance with my eyes closed on the sticky bar floor. What you don't see never hurts too much and what I felt was...peace.
How many times can a person say... Just Give Me Peace ;)
Gawd, I love the sound of Reddog.
Kimbies, Curt and I made the walk together.
I was filled with absolute dread.
The day was young and our shadows were long, providing some distractive relief. I looked like a big girl...in my shadows.
My hair was pulled up in an "I dream of Jeanie" pony-tail. The way it swished left and right, through the air, kissing each shoulder with every step I took made me feel... a little magical.
At the curb of our destination, Kimbies grabbed my hand.
I flung her away.
'You have to hold my hand.'
'No.'
'Look at how many kids are in there. I told Mom I would get you safely to your first day of school. I don't want to lose you...so take my hand.'
p a u s e
'...now'
'I don't wanna go.'
'You're going.'
Kimbies grasped my unwilling little hand and dragged me through the gate.
The children inside this gate looked like barbarians...running, yelling, kicking sand, crying. So many kids...none of them buddied up. So many kids...all together, yet all alone.
Kimbies delivered me to a frantic looking woman holding a clipboard.
I watched Kimbies turn and walk towards Curty Boy... who stood just outside the gate.
His eyes like saucers, fore-finger hooked over nose, sucking on his thumb.
I waved to him. He lifted his free hand and gave me a small wave back and then they disappeared.
The lady with the clipboard contended with the unending line of kids.
The kids ran. They screamed. They kicked.
I watched.
'What are you doing?' she asked me.
'I don't know. What am I supposed to do?'
'Go play on the monkey bars or something'
I wandered over to the monkey bars. I climbed the rungs up and looked to the other side & saw a little girl, whom I thought was foaming at the mouth, frantically climb the other side. I waited until she got to the top before I swung out. She got a crazy, Dean Koontz-Highway smile about her fac
e. I trellised my way across & the, her she came.
Normally when I had crossed a kid on the monkey bars, we squeezed right past one another. Not this time.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Her curly head of hair looked like a sprawling clump of tangled seaweed & fishing net, ready to take me in.
The foam at her mouth looked as if she would like to chew on my bones.
And her legs, propelled by her body weight, swung fervently.
I scurried my pads to one side of the bars...
She kicked, growled, swung & snarled her jagged little face at mine.
'What are you doing?'
Spiddle was flying through the air...like her hair and her feet...but no real words.
I wasn't scared...I was shocked.
I could have kicked back.
I could have yelled.
Instead I waited...which seemed to do nothing but further entice this rabid kid.
Sometimes we pick our battles and sometimes they pick us.
Sometimes we just gotta let go.
So I simply let go of those bars.
Feet safely in the sand I looked up & could see her flailing in joy that she had won her little war.
I surveyed my surrounding.
A war zone...an unkempt zoo...a keeping ground for rabid beasts.
I walked out the same way I walked in, less Kimbies hand.
On the walk home, I felt my hair sashaying across my shoulders & began to feel the magic again.
Standing at the stop light, waiting for the light change, I noticed my shadow had grown shorter.
I didn't go home...nope, now on this first day of education.
Instead I went to the Big Old Oak Tree.
I climbed up into it and made my way to the branch that laid a canapy over our brick road...
I laid there all day, soaking up my lessons of the day...
Sometimes we pick our battles & sometimes they pick us.
I have a collection of collections.
My porch is the type that has not one wind chime, but a symphony of chimes made from elephant ears and bullets, tin cans & hand-tuned pipes, seashells & taps, crystal & spoons ...
I have th
e worlds tiniest dice. I have them made of plastic, wood, clay & bone.
I have bowls, drawers, boxes & dishes tucked full of old marbles, mis-shaped & dinged, that I have found around this old house & yard.
I have heart-shaped rocks, stones, crystals, jars, bottles, drawer pulls, necklaces & dishes.
But my biggest collection has always been my boxes.
They are made of wood(my favorite) & steel, clay & resin, china & silver, lacquer & leather, cardboard & tin.
My old photo ID's are in a cigar box from the 1950's.
My band-aids are kept in a small wooden box that housed cigars some 20+ years ago.
Scissors, tape, pens, buttons, batteries, CD's, paint & paint brushes ... all accommodated by boxes.
My eyes are conditioned to know what goes where...
My Sister Sing said she might like a new
palette...something different from the 8.5" x 11" cardstock she doodles on.
We decided that it would be most cost effective (we're always broke, never poor) if she just cut that 8.5" x 11" paper up into different sizes and shapes.
Without hav
ing to dip into my private collection, the leprechauns found me the mother-load of wooden cigar boxes... Interiors, and exteriors where she wants, to become a resting spot for all of Sweet Sings newly sized & shaped cardstock ;)☮
Artwork is 'The Wedding Box' by Sister Artist Singleton ILYSVM
'Special plans for your birthday?'
'Oh yeah, I forgot...I get older in a day.'
'Hahahaha, nah...we do that everyday, but we're only supposed to celebrate it only one day a year.'
'Yeah, I guess that's true.'
I think we're getting ripped.
We should be able to celebrate it everyday.
Hats off & a toast...to my beautiful Sister Sing & my most endeared, Butch.
Happy Birthday!
I Love You Both So Very, Very Much!
Another year around... May the circle go unbroken..as we grow older, our Love grows too...
Beautiful photo compliments of the www.
'True Story' Artwork by Sister Singleton
Working with what we have...
Six bare feet padded out the side door and over the splintery porch. Virginia toted a jar, Shania had one plastic cup and I carried a yellow bag.
That left one free hand to harness ourselves up with.
One foot at a time, one girl at a time...we climbed up onto the railing that was more wood than paint.
Up on tippity-toes, we stretched, hoisted and pulled... until all three of us were up there.
Armed with our peasant-girl smock-dress gowns, our bare feet, one jar, one cup, a yellow bag & the rising sun...we thought we were ready.
'Shit' flew from Shanias' seven year-old mouth.
'What?'
'We need a spoon.'
'A Spoon?!'
'Yeah, we gotta have a spoon!'
'Yeah, I guess we do.'
'Skinny, you got the longest legs. You get it.'
'Ok, be right back.'
Sun still rising, toes stretching, grasping, reaching, feeling for that rail, I climb back off the roof... much more difficult than the other way around.
Finally down, I look through the sliding glass doors.
Hmmmm... adults... making coffee, better not go there.
So I scurry back to my house & quietly slip through side entry & then through the swinging kitchen door.
The house is dark, except one lonesome light in the front room.
I could smell the coffee & hear the flipping of the newspaper.
Ut-oh... he's up. I swore that man awoke with the wee hour thud of that paper hitting dewey grass without fail!
I slid open our silverware drawer....why can't we be like other people who have all their spoons and forks neatly separated and stacked in their designated slots? Why must they be in a heap, scattered & cock-eyed like a pixie tornado had occurred in the drawer?
Ugh...'Pick-up-sticks experience,' I commanded myself, 'Come Into Play!'
Slivering, sliding...I stole one kitchen spoon and quickly exited the same way I came.
I ran three doors down to the base of the splintery porch steps & looked, again, through the sliding glass door.
Coast was clear.
Toes wrapped, yet again, around and over that rough old railing, I caught a glimpse of the TV screen inside.
I bent and peered....the back side of two adult heads. Perfect.
Armed with the coveted spoon, I hauled my skinny butt back up on that roof.
We climbed to the peak of that split level house & perched ourselves like birds on a wire.
We opened the yellow bag and poured into the cup.
We used the spoon to scoop out of the jar and mix it all together.
We started with loving spoonfuls, but the Florida sun soon baked down upon us
...and
Have a Nice Day.
Just Do It
Not so long ago I had a gazillion letters in my name.
Now I have 10. First name, middle name & last name...10 letters.
Some get repeated, some don't.
With my old name I could re-arrange letters and spell great little words like peace.
I Did It.
'Peace' may not be a word mixed in my new name, my current name...my final name anymore, but it's in my life...slivers, moments, glimpses, whispers of it.
Now, ironically enough 'Live, Love & Learn' 
are mixed up in my name and ... ah well, I'm pleased to offer up 'Peace' and just keep the change on this one...
Sometimes we gotta give stuff up...Live, Love & Learn to truly keep the peace.
'Smart Cars Inc of Acworth Georgia Ain't So Smart' ...Those were the words that spilled out of my lips as I walked up on the backside of my car this evening. 'Neither am I, I guess, because I have had some undertakings with them...but even I know leap year or not, there are never thirty days in February.'
Before getting into my car, I snapped this picture and my dinner companion & I laughed, poked and made light of how Smart Cars Inc screwed me over for essentially two months worth of my hard labor.
I commented about how they may be trying to continue to screw me. My dinner date chuckled 'Yeah, right.'
"I'm serious. It's been over thirty days. I still don't have my title. Watch, I'll get pulled over...probably tonight."
As evidenced my the eerie blue shade of my wooden peace sign hanging from the rear view mirror, there should be no doubt.
The officer didn't really accept 'Well, February 30th hasn't come up yet, has it?'
It took about 25 minutes, a confirmation of insurance, one drivers license, two squad cars and not one, but two, bills of sale and a fair sense of humor along with a bit of patience for the officer to just let me go...shaking her head.
SmartCarsInc Ain't Too Smart... There is Never Thirty days in February.
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