Three Feathers

Early morning before the crowds

I took my usual path

to stretch my legs and clear my thoughts

a good start to a good day.

In the green grass between the ways

lay 3 feathers gently scattered.

No sign of struggle or owner,

just sitting perhaps misplaced?

while feeding among the brush.

I bent down to retrieve them

carefully clearing the debris.

I gave thanks to the bird

even gazing up in hopes

of finding him watching me

pick up his three feathers.

My inspiration this morning,

I quickly decided.

Left there for me to discover

despite the voices in my head,

other people’s voices,

telling me to leave them rest.

I disagree! These gifts

are too important to not pick up.

Spiritual signs from the heavens

whichever heaven awaits you,

nudging us to follow the higher path-

to glide, to soar, to watch in wait.

And find true meaning in your life

like the bird does-

exploring the heights

before you lose your feathers.

I sit here typing the feelings

and enlightenment these beautiful,

avian implements have given me.

I feel as if these feathers fell

off of my own wings.

Guess we'd rather be in Colorado

Over two years ago, a big opportunity clicked and we made the move to Florida starting what became an exciting adventure. New state, warm climate and things to do all year long. We were close to the beach, the ocean, Orlando, Key West, the Everglades, tiki bars, South Beach, the intercoastal, and the Caribbean. You can bike, walk and boat all year long-It’s a tropical paradise. Okay, it’s humid and hot in the summer and the snowbirds are intolerable but it’s a gorgeous state with amazing fauna and wildlife. I almost forgot to mention lanais which are screened in rooms attached to most houses where you can be outside but inside which is totally cool.

But now we’ve packed up our life into pods and are trekking westward back to our home of Colorado where the temperatures can be below zero and the winds on the plains can be debilitating. Although I lived most of my life there, the years in Florida have forever tainted me. Like Adam tasting the apple, I know the secret and it cannot be un-known: there is a beautiful place you can live where it’s warm all year long. So how will I stay warm in Colorado?

The warmth of Colorado is it’s people and how they survive the crazy seasons: sub-zero snowy winters, insane-weather springs, 100+ degree summers and perfect falls that don’t last long enough.  These are the people who never fail to be in awe or appreciation of the state’s beauty that morphs from golden prairie grass to high tundra and jagged foothills that stand guard in front of the 12,000-13,000-14,000 foot Rocky Mountains that eventually fall westward to a desert-like landscape not unlike Utah or Arizona. The landscape is as diverse as it’s residents who are blue and red, crazy intelligent with a side of stupid gonzo, and who get where they’re going but sit back and enjoy the ride. Not to mention, these people will find almost any reason to wear their shorts regardless of the weather. Great local music flows everywhere, the hispanic culture colors the neighborhoods and the food and these hardy residents are fiercely protective of their home and their neighbors across the state.  What is the core they have in common is their connection to the land- farmer, rancher, roughneck, hippie, urban gardener, skier, boater, four wheeler, biker, cyclist, rock climber, hiker, glider, or camper-that they all would bleed to preserve the blessings the state offers. It’s as if Colorado itself is the supreme leader of the residents and they all happily follow.

Writing this has helped me remember why I want to go back. The reason why I will leave the beautiful weather.The reason why I will leave the amazing rain and lightning shows. The reason why I will leave year round flowers and vegetables. The reason why I will leave a great job. I want to get back to my people who respect, love and protect themselves, each other and the beautiful land we live on. I really missed these folks.

Braless

Bras have imprisoned us too long.

Like some medieval form of torture

we strap on, day after day.

Who’s the prisoner?

What are we trying to hold in

and what exactly will escape?

Itching, binding,

straps digging, carving, forming caverns

into our shoulders

deforming our body

ruining our natural, beautiful shoulders.

We’ve all  been constricted long enough

and I, and they, want to be free.

Freedom for air, freedom for movement,

freedom from the iron maiden.

Sadly we comply

why?

because loose boobs

 and pointy nipples

aren’t socially acceptable

 why?

because you don’t want

to be uncomfortable

when you look at them.

So stop looking at them

         then.

I’m not a bra burning feminist

I’m just a woman

wishing to be comfortable.

Simplicity

Wow! Almost 30 years of adulthood accumulating a life and what to show?

A leather couch, some nice antiques, and that 40” HDtv. Yep, I had a house of stuff, some used, some not but I can say, “yes I have a glue gun, a Coors pool table light and boxes of beanie babies that I refuse to giveaway because that collector’s market will definitely come back some day.” Hopefully I’ll still be alive for it.

Pack everything in pods and live solo in an efficiency apartment for 3+ months and you will get all kinds of perspective. Everything I cook has to be in a large non stick frying pan, a spaghetti pot or on a cookie sheet. I have 4 large plates, 4 small plates and 4 bowls which encourages me to do the dishes daily if not more. I have two wine glasses from which I drink Cabs, Chards and Sake and my mother’s spirit has not come down yet to haunt me!

I can take a potty break while cleaning out my cat’s litter box which, besides giving you TMI, shows how adaptable we can be when we have to be.

I sit on the loveseat watching the palms sway and doves pace the roof. I do this instead of watching tv however I’m sure not knowing the channel lineup on DirectTV spurs on this activity. I read and write daily not to mention walk and bike more as this kind of recreation is priceless when you are cooped up in a one-room apartment with 3 dogs and a bomb dropping cat. I’m sure the neighbors think I am just an exercise nut.

I have 3 houseplants and rotate between two sets of bedding. The shared laundry room is in the garage so I wake early Sunday mornings to complete my chore before the other residents awaken. The same smart logistics are applied to the backyard to keep the different units’ packs from meeting and having a postering contest accompanied with uncontrollable barking. Texts back and forth keep the rival gangs at bay. I have no heat and a window unit air conditioner that makes the back part of the apartment very cool but not so much the area the bed and couch are in. My closet is the size of two coat closets and I make every corner and ledge count. My kitchen table is my work table and my writing table and my junk table and the only place that doesn’t have dog hair on it so it’s my folding table. I don’t have an assigned parking spot and if company is visiting another unit, I park where I can and I don’t get mad about it. And I will not even start on how bad and overloaded the wi-fi is here but after enough endless buffering marathons, you learn to rely less on the internet. So I go out on the water and watch the fish jump and the clouds float while waiting for that perfect Kodak moment.

I am the mercy of others and my needs have to be met with what I have and none of this sucks. Living simply is not a novel idea but it’s one we’ve forgotten to enjoy. Our desire for excess that serves little purpose is controlling us and driven by the retailers. We need to break free and I hope I keep this mantra when I go back to the real world. I know I will try.

Regina and the wild frontier

My heroes have always been cowgirls

and I found one of the rootinest, tootinest.

And the wild west lives in the heart of,

who would have guessed?,

A Jersey girl.

And this east coast Annie Oakley,

wears her steel toed cowboy boots

and diamond encrusted leather chaps

swearing at y’all up and down,

her fist raised up, ready to strike

as she ropes the wind.

That wild wind we’d all chase

if we’d just get on our horses and run

over that long prairie, through that storm

She fears not the ride

resting none

settling little

‘cause she ain’t afraid to die

for it all

to make that dream come alive.

And she don’t mind if you give chase

follow behind

mimic and steal
and she yells at you to keep up

this trip is for all of us cowgirls

because she’s tired of us laying down

like sheep in the slaughterhouse.

It's time to explode

blow it all up

positive and negative ignite

sparks flying from her opposite poles

polar opposites

bipolars

but aren’t we all just looking for lightning in a jar?

I remember when all my older friends would say, “wait for your 40’s, that when life really starts”. I rolled into my 40’s and I began to see the light except no one told me your body starts to change and it’s not for the good.

2 years in and riding the wave of my fabulous forties, I was pretty sure I was on top of the world looking down at all my silly thirty something and twenty something friends. “Ha” I say to them as I’ve got my health, my security, my experience and I still have my youth. That is until I turned 42 and my metabolism took a permanent part time job. It was subtle at first, I’d gain a pound or two after a few 2 am Denny visits after the bar but the difference was I couldn’t instantly shed those pounds and the next few days of indulgence led to a few more pounds of weight. I could barely eat a couple of cookies without worry. The second digit in my weight soon took residence in the next number up and I realized I had permanently gained 10 pounds. Worse was a few days of starvation didn’t fix the issue. I had to exercise and starve to maintain that younger weight but I wasn’t used to starving. I had been in the habit to eat whatever I like whenever I like for as many days, in a row, as I’d like. My eating life had changed significantly.

I got used to watching what I ate and when I ate it and I maintained a slightly higher weight and considered it a life lesson. Then came 44 and the unimaginable happened...I found a grey hair in my bangs. And that grey hair soon invited other grey friends to take up residence in my ‘do leading to a grey hair revolution that needed well chosen hair color to cover up. Problem is that the grey hairs don’t like to be hidden from company and they fight like hell to be seen. They affect your color, your cut and the way your hair lays down on your head. It was a battle and I then realized why some ladies I knew had just let the grey hair come (and I apologize for my comments I made in private). The battle is long and fierce fighting those creepers. I increased the frequency I visit the hairdresser in order to keep my tresses looking like they did 5 years earlier.

It just isn’t your metabolism or your hair that changes in your 40’s, it’s everything. I’m not sure what gene or what dead brain cell all the sudden makes you forget to zip your zipper but I have recently forgotten that habit that I spent the last 30+ years of my life doing. I don’t remember to zip up but I do remember about 20 minutes after leaving the restroom to casually check my pant opening. It’s a delayed reaction but it does minimize the amount of people who see my barn door open.

I’ve lost my strength too. I used to be Wonder Woman and was able to carry a chair or table but now I need to ask my husband for help. Or opening a jar...I had those rubber jar openers the insurance company would send me. I just kept them so I had their phone number but now I actually have to use them! Oh, and I can’t multi-task like I used to and have to write myself lists of things to do but then I can’t remember where I put the list. I am so off my game these days. That sound you thought was gunshots? That’s the sound of my knees popping after I sat too long and sadly I can’t sit on the floor anymore because the only way I can get up is to get on the floor doggie style and slowly grab a chair to prop myself up slowly to standing.

All of these things affect us 40+ women as well as our weak bladders, our arthritic hands and feet (oh God, why did we wear those high heels in the 80’s??), and our less than elastic skin. I’m telling you it’s a bad day when you wake up and schlep yourself to the bathroom mirror only to realize you have not just one wrinkle but many. And this makes you so cynical so that when you get carded, you just want to spit in the clerk’s face. Really buddy? How many 20 year olds have worry, laugh and smile lines? NONE, okay, now give me my bottle of Chardonnay because grandma needs a drink!!

Just the other day I was with friends having a Cosmo. I had enjoyed one at their house a week before and the man of the house had put a splash of grapefruit juice in it to jazz it up. I asked him not to put in the juice this time because it gave me heartburn during my last visit. Everyone stopped and smiled knowingly at me. Welcome to the age of acid reflux my darling. No!! I said. Acid reflux is something in commercials that big pharma markets to and I am not that audience. Geez, soon you’ll tell me I have low T and I’m not a guy!!

The 40’s are great. You are brilliant, confident and free from the chains of youthful expectations but life is fair and as you enjoy reading your 401k statement or reviewing your 800+ credit score, your body is changing for the worse. No, you won’t die but you have to diet, exercise, yoga, moisturize, color your hair and pluck. It’s not easy but it’s a change you’ll eventually accept. My advice to my young readers: take care of your skin, don’t scrunch your face and stretch everyday. Good luck!

A solitary lamp lights the small efficiency I call my home making the far corners dim and secretive. The white drapes billow from the movement of the white ceiling fans. My friend from Lanzarote would call it the tierney of the color white. Miles Davis plays from a turntable in the corner, his chaotic trumpet oozing through the small, cramped quarters.  The dark, calico feline sprawls across the top of the sofa cushions, precariously positioned for an eventual slide that will disrupt her sleep. Outside, a thunderstorm growls refusing to give rain and, every so often, my eyes catch a flash of light sneaking through those white linen drapes.  By the time I look, its gone and any glance out the window proves fruitless as if that was the last bolt of the night.

I heard a quote by, of all people, Russell Brand that gave me pause.

Fear is more powerful than faith.

It was in regards to the Scots deciding to stay with the United Kingdom instead of becoming an independent state but that’s not why the quote hit me hard.

I have the ability to seize new opportunities and faith has me pondering these options and fear makes me want to fall back in line with the path I have followed for decades. Yes, my career has been very good to me and I don’t regret a day of it. However, I don’t have that passion for it as I did once. I am looking for a career that drives me, ignites my spirit and satisfies my soul. I no longer want to work for a paycheck only.

If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. -Marc Anthony

I am not as lucky as many folks I know who have had a talent or a passion for something they have been able to form into a job, a hobby or a backup plan. I have been scattered, sporadic and detached from any dream so I can’t say I am going to quit and become an opera singer. I could but we all know I can’t sing.

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.  -Andre Breton

I recently met an artist who owns a gorgeous home on the water. She works from home creating commissioned art as well as she runs vacation rentals out of her two homes. She does very well with the rentals. I’m sure at some point in her life, she had a day job that consistently and comfortably paid the bills but she made a conscientious decision not to continue with that life. What’s funny is, with her two careers, she probably works 7 days a week but she really enjoys what she does. She loves to speak about her art and her current project and she also loves meeting the guests who stay at her homes and shares fond stories of their visits. The vacation vocation creates the time and the funds that allows her to create her art. Sounds like she followed her heart.

One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure.  -William Feather

Just like everyone else, I am afraid. I fear the uncertain path, the loss in income, failure, embarrassment, and disappointing others. I most fear hurting myself. But I need to set that aside and not let it stop me. I’ll be mad at myself either way; for failing, yes but also for not starting or trying. Maybe I’ll succeed and no one needs to be mad?

If ever my body should stop

where I cannot be of use or work

set me in this room

my chair facing out the windows

as I could not tire of the views.

In the morning, early, face me to the south

where the birds peck on the seeds dropped

from the night rain and wind.

The pigeons, the finches and the mocking jays

move from spot to spot and from tree to tree.

I will never tire of their feeding dances

and their ascents and descents before my eyes.

In the afternoon when the high sun touches my skin

and warms, too much, my face,

place me in the northeast corner where the shadows start to play.

And the vines reach high using the palms and the ficus

as ladders and whose flowers

the butterflies and moths and dragonflies

find sweet nectar to the taste.

As they flutter and zip erratically  

outside my window frame,

I’ll try to see and watch them all.

As does my feline visitor who does the same

from her vantage point on the window sill.

And we’ll gaze for what seems hours

until we both fall quietly into a nap

while the creatures and the breezes still move outside our closed eyes.

When I awake from my slumber, later in the afternoon,

move my chair to the southwest corner

where the sun is still fighting for sky

from its opponent the black clouds

that bring in the early evening storms.

I will watch as the hawks and falcons

glide the wind currents up high

in a game to see how long they can go without a flap of the wings.

And I watch and I count, deciding the victor.

My eyes will move to the clouds, carefully watching their patterns,

which way they go and at what speed,

to calculate if my home, my sanctuary, will be visited

by the impending downpour.

Or, if it will dodge west making way to the upper north country.

And when I hear the grumbles behind me,

I’ll spin my head around,

as I have full windows on 3 walls,

to see if my storm to the west

will meet weather coming from the north or the east.

Combining coastal air and everglade heat

for a possible intense show of light and noise and winds.

This is where I want to be

should I have no other choice

but to sit and gaze.

9/7/2014 Lake Worth, FL

I'll remember you

Winter’s day in north Mississippi, early 1935,

came two boys but only one was to be

poor but well loved and nurtured.

he carried an amazing voice, a rare gift,

in the church choir he would sing

the glory of the Lord.

With that passion of song and inflection of emotion

he would change music

and deeply touch us all.

America was hurting, the lines were white and black

and the white young man sang the black man’s blues

from Texas to Georgia, he travelled through towns of all sizes

girls would swarm, boys, with eyes wide open, would dream

of what they, too, could be

like that poor boy from Tupelo with the golden voice..

And the world fell in love

with a gritty but velvet young man

with southern politeness spiked with raw sensuality.
An angel with a pompadour of black hair and
a snarling upper lip that crescendos into the killer smile.

A man to become King.

Decades have passed since the King left this world

but he has never lost his crown.

The legend of rock-n-roll music still rules.

From almost every country in the world, men dress like

the king to play homage to old and new fans

as everyone sings the words they’ll always know.

And his loyal fans still pilgrimage to Memphis

to absorb the atmosphere of the famous jungle room

and to look up that white carpeted staircase

envisioning him walking down to greet his guests.

They walk through the buildings and along the grounds because

his belongings are the only connection to the physical man.

And behind the house, they lay tearful eyes on the spot

where his body lays in eternal slumber.
A king who still rules, with grace, his musical kingdom.

http://youtu.be/Zf-fORxQvW0

Gone but not forgotten

I miss the sound of a percolator
and watching the black liquid jump into the crystal top.
Most of all, I miss dunking plain cake donuts into that cooled down coffee with my grandma.

I miss the smell of baking bread in the house
and time moving so slow, bitterly slow, waiting for it to set and cool.
So rewarded while watching the butter melt over the top before savoring the taste.

And the sound of a rotary phone blaring throughout the house
running to answer because there's no voicemail
but when you press the receiver to you ear in excitement...disappointment.
Mom, it's for you!

I miss feeling the static emitting from an old television console then touching your nose. Zap!
The sound of click click click, turning the TV dial from number to number. 2...4...7...9..
ugh! every channel is the President talking about boring stuff.
I guess I'll read a book or listen to a record.

I miss those summer mornings running, full speed, from the kitchen table to the bicycle.
I'll be home later mom. And you did come back in time for your next meal.
And the kids would all gather at a favorite park or friend's house.
Eating 5 cent candies from the drug store
and enjoying the refreshing taste of very cold hose water.

Going to the drive-in and sitting in the middle of the front bench seat.
Right between mom and dad. Getting up for the umpteenth time
to use the bathroom. An excuse to mill around the cars or
hang by the concession stand drooling for some popcorn or Jordan Almonds.
Not needing the very poorly hidden subliminal messages during the movie break.

I miss number 2 pencils and standing in line at the pencil sharpener giggling.
And recess...flipping and twirling on the monkey bars or bashing the tether ball.
And when it would rain or snow, going into the gym and to find the parachute set up,
complete with spotlight creating shadows of goofy, spastic children as they danced behind it.
Or dancing the Virginia Reel fearful of which member of the opposite sex you would reel with.
I don't miss that past me who would toss school papers out along the sidewalks
while walking home on the last day of school.

Vinyl records you were so careful not to scratch.
Barbie dolls whose hair got cut and faces were marked by permanent pens.
And pennies that could buy you a piece of gum
and horse fields in city centers that eventually disappear in lieu of houses and progress.
Paper masks on Halloween with heavy winter coats covering the outfit that let everyone know exactly who you were suppose to be. And swimming in the creeks or tubing on semi-truck tubes.
I miss these all but am so blessed to have tasted those sweet days.

And every generation will have bittersweet memories that the eras will shape
but, regardless of decade and diversion, will have the same longing and love
for those special times that eventually become a soft nod and a wistful smile.