Monday, December 23, 2013

Samuel vs. Santa Clause

Santa Claus: Santa Claus
The above photo was taken by RW Linder at  My computer is struggling with hacking into Google.

Samuel leapt from his bed, his entire body filled with anticipation.  Today!  Today we will meet again, Santa!  He and Nana were heading to the Mall for the annual tell-Santa-what-you-want visit.

However, Santa was his equal in every way.  The game is afoot, jolly fat man!

The preliminaries of the day over and his winter gear zipped up, Samuel noted The Mother at her cluttered craft table, painting last minute projects in acrylic paints of all colors.  Samuel gifted his mom with a spontaneous hug.  “I love you, Mommy!”  

Then he was off.  Off to see Santa.

No side trips for them—Nana wanted to eliminate collateral damage.  She remembered the last Hallmark debacle.  After shattered snow globes, Samuel had moved on with a red Sharpie© marker and signed twenty sympathy cards with hearts and “Nana”.  Not again, little man.

There he was: The Jolly Fat Man himself.  Samuel gave him a shy smile, accompanying cold blue eyes.  Bring it on, do your best…

Then Samuel stood at the bottom of the red carpet stairs.  Santa smiled, acknowledging his old adversary.  Samuel wriggled up onto the red velvet lap with the difficulty a three-and-a-half year old child.
“So, Samuel!  What will it be this year?  What do you want?” Santa added, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

Have I been naughty or nice?  Samuel smiled the smile of the innocent. Then Santa whispered into Samuel's ear, accounting the sins of the entire year.
How did he know about the car oil?  And the screw driver?  Mommy’s brush?  Samuel sighed in admission...confession given. 

Samuel squirmed uncomfortably.  ”So, Samuel, I will visit your fireplace again.  Sugar cookies this time.”  Santa laid a finger aside his nose.  “Ho, Ho…”

Samuel suddenly hugged Santa tightly, patting his back and long hair, before climbing down.  Later, dude.

As Samuel raced to the exit door, Nana ran to catch him.  Pretty spry, Nana!

Then the shouting and assorted obscenities began.  Samuel turned to see Santa in his new improved suit, white acrylic paint streaming down Santa’s pant leg and onto his black boot; his back plastered with black handprints and flowing stripes of yellow.

Samuel tossed the acrylic bottles into the trash bins, and Nana grabbed him.  They escaped, Samuel and Nana. She was smiling.
Spilled paint bottles

Friday, December 20, 2013

Santa: the real adventures

My "Samuel and Santa Clause" post isn't ready until Monday, Dec. 23, so the site was blank this morning.

I could not leave that as it was.

Here is a video, short and sweet.

Hope the last days of shopping do not wear you out.  There is also the wrapping of presents marathon ahead.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Almost words

Almost word, almost name.
Buzzing, flitting--
Out of reach.
Evading defiantly:
A drunken gnat of memory.

Tantalizing with maybe,
Could be, almost…

Sleep descends,
Eyes heavy in a curtain of dark.
Hidden letters a-b-c stretch out,
Swatting the inebriated midge.

smoke grey hazy pattern picture and wallpaper

The almost-name, almost-word
Rises from the hazy smoke
Of buried, cluttered


Monday, December 16, 2013

Fields to Wall

1457000.  Patchwork fields of the County Down countryside, Northern Ireland.
Morning misted grass
Velvet brushed green

Beckons, cries out
For a child,
Shoeless and wild.

Race across bare grass
With bare feet
Unfettered and free.

Hedge to stone wall,
Run and invite all
Follow, come, join...

Weeping eyes reply,
Cannot run, sadly sigh...
Travel ahead and discover
Fields touched by many.

Through golden gorse,
Beneath rowan trees,
Still, but for wren and sparrow hawks.
Come, follow...

There is yet another
Field awaiting,
Weeping eyes.

Ireland's Eye at Low Tide
Island of Eye/panoramio...Google maps

Friday, December 13, 2013

Jim and Eileen

BONDIS Wall clock IKEA
Jim always called her his “goddess”.  In the early years of their marriage when both were sparkling with the joy of love, Jim had a talent for making her laugh.

Whether it was running along the beach or watching a movie, Jim and his goddess Eileen enjoyed each minute of their lives together.  The years had flown by with surprising speed.

She smiled at the memories of Christmases past, of their children growing, and happy times as she walked by the nurses’ station.  The medical staff always appreciated the elderly pudgy and wrinkled woman who came unfailingly to see her husband in the Alzheimer Unit.

When Eileen entered his room, Jim’s face lit up and for a few minutes his eyes smiled at her.  “Ah, my goddess, my beautiful love…”

These underlined words are from Delores  at Under the Porch Light.  Each week she sets up 6 words and a sentence prompt to be used as the writer wishes.  Please go to her site by clicking on the peaceful stream in the right sidebar.  You will discover some other takes on these words!  Go there, go quickly!

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Marshmallow Dilemma, part 2

The situation was dire, very very dire.  The marshmallow coated the small town was showing just how nasty marshmallow truly is.

At first the population tried to dig their way out.  The marshmallow stretched and rebounded, white rubber bands.  Then some young kid suggested using fire to toast their way out.  A good idea for a child, but marshmallow continued to burn past the yummy stage, and the town was barely saved from a raging wildfire by local firemen.

The rain did not solve the problems either. 

The top layers of the marshmallow became leathery, which seemed a “hurrah” moment.  Unfortunately, only children were able to walk across the top.

What about getting food to each home?  Children were dispatched pulling sleds across the tough layers, carrying basics to place on porches.   Boxes were appreciated by everyone, even cranky Old Man Hinkle who lived alone.

The military was called in, with their scientists who finally discovered that liquid nitrogen would freeze the marshmallow solid and could be chipped away.  

Toasted Marshmallows
Source: an interesting site
All residents were ordered to stay inside their houses, and cuddle close to the fireplace, with a crackling fire burning high.  The helicopters flew around and over the town repeating this message many times.

All townspeople stepped of onto the solidly frozen marshmallow and began chipping away at it with every sharp tool. 

Liquid nitrogen
This is a great site for experiments.
The military succeeded in clearing out the main thoroughfare and counting the citizens.  All were accounted for, except for Old Man Hinkle. 

Small, elvin Timmy climbed up the steeple to see if Hinkle could be seen anywhere.  The only evidence of Hinkle was some ski trails across the leathery top.  Old Man Hinkle was a wizened scrawny guy; the leathery marshmallow top allowed him to escape the marshmallow-cursed town.

A letter had been left behind on the kitchen table:  ”I’m outta here…Gone to ‘Vegas…”

P.S.  I neglected to back-link the original story which inspired this follow up story:

Go to:  Marshmallow is not just for cocoa  This may clear up any confusion about 'what the heck?'

Monday, December 9, 2013

What?! No PEOPLE magazines? National Geographic?

Today I drove my daughter to the doctor’s office.  Felt like old times in many ways.

It was for physical therapy, following rotary cuff surgery.  The past two weeks have been horrible, but now she is able to focus her eyes and move without excruciating pain.

We were in the waiting room.  That is the gist of this post:  The Waiting Room.

I have written about the waiting room experiences before.  This is not a theme at all, in case you are worried.

Unlike other medical facilities which have a variety of magazines, this office was specifically for guys.  Magazines on football, basketball, NASCAR, baseball-and all other sports were two magazine deep on the coffee tables around the room. 

Then I looked at the walls.  Framed jerseys, with names, numbers, and autographs were circled around the room.  It was claustrophobic.

Going to a third magazine hoard, I found two non-sports magazines.  One was filled with advertisements for local plastic surgeons and offers for Brazilian Butt Lifts and/or liposuction. 

The second magazine was a children magazine, Highlights.


Had to cater to all the clientele.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Marshmallow is not just for hot cocoa.

Source: Who started the first marshmallow fight?

The yard bore a striking resemblance to pure white snow to/in the aftermath of  of an/the explosion in the/a marshmallow factory.

The surprise explosion had spread an aromatic scent of vanilla over the marshmallow-covered town.  Even the steeple  of the nearby church was coated with the sticky white stuff.  Several red cardinals were glued there, their pitiful songs heard about town.

Finally, an elfin boy named Timmy climbed up into the steep interior and then was lowered by rope to free the poor birds.  Oddly enough, the cardinals were able to fly away to nearby trees.

From the heights, Timmy watched faraway children dashing with toboggans in hand to slide down  “Killer Hill”.  He guffawed as each child became mired in the marshmallow ‘snow’, sinking rapidly into the white gloppy goo.

Winter Snow Covers Ground in North Iceland

P. S.  Kudos to Delores at Under the Porch Light who delightfully selects 6 words AND a sentence prompt to be used as the blogger desires.  Access her sight by clicking on the peaceful stream image in the right sidebar.  There you will find some exciting and excellent takes on Delores' offerings.  Well done, Delores!

Another fine new Christmas Carole Proposal

Let the Carols Ring!
Another new Christmas Carol proposal! 

Already in Wal-Mart and other fine shopping stores, the toy aisles are burgeoning with this year’s new “gotta haves”.  The ceilings are dripping with garland; strands of flashing Christmas lights line the tops of the shelving.  No help needed to find the kids’ toy section!

Meanwhile, shopping in the fabric/craft area or any place in the store, all adults can hear the chorus of Christmas Techno overlaid with children whining for that special toy…and that one…

Here is my proposal for a new song.  We sang it frequently to our youngest daughter “Mary”.  She hated it then and apparently she hates it now.

From Fine Young Cannibals:

The thing about Mary was that her whining voice could be heard all through the store.  Never had any trouble locating her if she wandered off.

What do you think of this suggestion for a new Carol??

Please understand this is all in jest.  I love Christmas Carols!    Starting to play them over store speakers at Halloween wears thin after six weeks.

p.s.  Today is my birthday.  Born in 1951.  You do the math.  No happy wishes needed, just rejoicing that you and I and other readers have reached this point of our lives.  Rejoicing that writing is something that thrills us all.
I probably wont be checking my blog until next Monday, as I am going to party like it is 1984.  Not really, but it is a thought.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Age of Stones

Rounded pillars
Tumbled, tossed
Like dice
Across sage hills.

Cairns guarding
places of rest.
A title for each,
Royalty from earth

Where legends
Spring alive and angry,
Buried secrets,
Hidden people

Hold onto
Invisible hands,
Ancient bones.