Category Archives: Life is what we call it

how life impacts me, and quite likely you

Middle Aged Aphrodite


Ive got back fat
And jiggly thighs
Disproportionate boobs
Tiny lines rim my eyes

My butt acts as balance
To my rounded tummy
My chin grew a back up
My joints now sound crunchy

What’s that on my hands?
Oh my lord, those are spots!
Hormones keep misfiring.
Now I’m sweaty and hot.

My body is a temple
Homage to aphroditic me
It displays the historic
With pure honesty.
Beauty evolving
With the passage of time,
Youth Crumbles slowly
Etching the life that is mine.

Solitude And Silence


2006-03-04-20-55-26I seek the elusive

In the cacophony of life.

A time of silence, solitude

A brief escape from the noise

And weight of the day to day

I know they are out there,

Sometimes apart, often together

Usually ignored or forgotten

Because action, clamor

Get favored attention.

Sometimes I catch them unaware

So I snatch them quick,

Before they escape,

Knowing that solitude coupled with silence

Is rare and exquisite.

Then I bask in the quiet,

Resting, healing, blissfully alone

As I shore up my defenses.

Too soon they’ll slip away again,

My grip too tenuous to keep them.

Dysphoria by wysewomon


I didn’t plan to write this post on National Coming Out Day. I didn’t plan to write it at all. But I have thoughts, and you know where that leads me. After I published the post “U…

Source: Dysphoria

From Those We Give Power 


“Hear our words.” Cry those we’ve given power.

“Hear our message divinely evoked.

We’re the ones you picked to lead forward.

Listen closely, heed the wisdom we speak.”

 

“Heed not.” The empowered sternly warn us.

“Those who dare question the gospel we preach.

Dismiss with all malice, any message that differs

or actions that would cause you to think.”

 

“Stand against” Warn the despots who lead us.

“Quell against all we’re against.

We’re the ones who’s words always matter

Especially when they are speaking the truth.”

 

“Enemy!” Is the clarion call.

When compassionate dissension

suggests peaceful solutions

and threatens to shatter control, tightly held.

 

“Attack and destroy.” The leaders command.

“Any who would stand in our way.

We’re in control, don’t ever forget that

Now go, and do what we say.”

 

“It’s your fault.” Wail the once august leaders.

“Look at the destruction you wrought.

You failed us, and left us bereft.

Take the blame, as you justly deserve.

 

Silence from those we gave power

Gone, those we foolishly ignored

We are left to pick up the pieces

Of a world we nearly destroyed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tootsies


2016-06-05 20.04.12Who would have thought that the simple task of painting one’s own toenails would give a stark reminder that not only you not as young as you once were, but what little flexibility, dexterity and visual acuity you had been lost along with your restraint when using profanity. I just discovered that, by not only trying to put polish only on my toe nails, but going for broke and trying to paint a simple tricolor design on them.

What was I thinking?

My first problem is that my toes are now too damned far away. I can get closer to my left foot than my right, thanks to spinal damage. If I try to paint by sitting and bending over, then my slowly….oh so slowly shrinking  food baby and its matching middle-aged grandma double chin, gets in the way. I still  can get a foot up onto the bathroom counter. It’s not pretty and my hips bitch and moan the whole time, but I avoid curved obstructions easier that way. Then I have to tackle issue #2.

I’ve never been all that coordinated. In fact I readily admit that I do lack a coordination gene. I can stumble over thought, and fall down over the ghost of pebbles turned to sand.  I drop everything, pens, glasses, my phone, my food.  If its in my hand, an item’s remaining there for the time allotted is in peril. I also have learned that my artistic skills are best left to crude stick figures, and coloring books. The act of painting polish neatly onto a nail is beyond my skill set. And I was professionally trained! Or at least they tried. I can make either a single color that I wait to dry, then pick off all the overage, or a beautiful mess, with more than one color. Which is caused in part by #3.

I have had horrible myopia since third grade. I can now wear contacts to mostly correct my distance vision, but then a couple of years ago, my close vision decided to take a trip just a bit further than the length of my arm. Ironically, I can see perfectly, if my contacts are out, and any object is no more than five inches from my face. Readers, I now own 4, help with closer activities, like  reading, computer work, texting, Facebook. But there is this no clear vision zone. That is the closest I can get my feet to paint my toes. That means I am painting tiny little dots of nail, in a blur.

If I wasn’t so darned independent and very ticklish I’d get  daughter to paint my toes for me, or rope my darling spouse into it. But not today. Today, I;m just waiting for my brightly colored mess to dry.

 

 

Insomnia


moonlit windowI listen to the sound of dark
While everyone is sleeping
Nebulous tones most won’t hear
Are why awake, I’m keeping.
My brain synapses must be afraid
Of what they may be missing

I check the time, yet again
To see how much is passing
Time slows down to a crawl
When it’s sleep, that I’m not getting
Please, dear body, tell my brain
Of the dreams they now are missing.

Be A Pebble


In this world ofripple instant information, being an empath can be a challenge. People like myself sometimes physically feel, or close to it, the emotional impact of what happens to others.

Acts of violence and atrocity that I read about can make me want to weep. It makes one like me feel frustrated helplessness. Every time I hear how people fear, hate, every time I hear, or read about people who have such little disregard for humanity of others I want to somehow wade in and fix it, But I can’t.

If I could, I’d take every refugee, every victim, every sick, lost and abandoned soul home with me. But I can’t.

If I could, I’d turn every fist, every gun, every bomb into bread, butterflies and flower gardens.

If I could, I’d take every hate filled, greed and power hungry cleric, pundit and politician and make them hold hands until they learned to be nice to each other and to us. But I can’t.

So what can I do? I’m just one ordinary woman, a single person in a vast ocean of humanity. I can’t stop terrorism, or convince politicians and pundits to listen to the people and really work to make our world better. I can’t tell people and businesses to stop turning our planet into something that even planet destroying aliens would pass by as a project not worth bothering with. I cant reach out across an ocean and dry the tears of a person who’s life has been torn apart by war, or help bury their children, or even ensure they have safe place to lay their head tonight. I can’t even fix the many heartbreaking problems that are all over my own community.

What frustrates me even further is those who see our helplessness, and our tiny attempts to let others know we care, and scoff at our attempts as inept and ineffective. While technically they are correct, they are also quite incorrect. While changing a profile photo to the flag of a nation who’s just suffered a tragedy or a symbol to commemorate support for a disease, or other symbolic imagery, is small, it has a way of letting others know that we do care and are at least trying to understand.  Our scoffers are just as frustrated as we are, but they prefer mocking our tiny attempts, demanding instead that we do the impossible, fix the big ones.

I want to be a pebble. My tiny drop in the ocean of humanity rippling out, meeting other the ripples of other pebbles, who meet other’s ripples. I want us to all be pebbles.  I want our tiny ripples to be the mundane, but still monumental actions of making someone smile or laugh, or helping a beleaguered mom with two kids and her elderly father, load groceries into the car at Walmart, or by buying a coworker lunch even though they brought their own,  by giving blood, giving clothes I don’t wear away, buying a package of socks and giving it to the local soup kitchen.

Yes they are tiny acts, those little waves of caring, but when one act prompts another, and then another, and then even another, the potential…oh, the potential is limitless.

It truly bothers me when people complain about something like changing a profile photo as a sign of solidarity with those who are suffering. It saddens me when they want to deny those who are in need. By saying no, by being willing to turn people away, or blame them for their plight, and then turning around and trying to ridicule us for caring.

They don’t want to be pebbles, thinking such a thing beneath them. They are denying the impact of the pebble, seeing it as insignificant ripples while standing on the shore. They fail to see how far one ripple can carry, or that it always returns to us, acting as a gentle kiss of reminder of why we threw ourselves in.

For those of you who don’t want to do the insignificant.  I understand. It may be just that, insignificant. But I also know one ripple, or one attempt to reach out to help another can carry further than any of us could ever imagine. So I’ll continue to toss myself in that ocean, while hoping someone’s ripples, maybe even mine, will soon reach your toes.