An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Too much to do too little time loads of laundry clean out the van wrap gifts last minute shopping hotel arrangements Always the one traveling year after year No one returns the favor too far too busy too much of a hassle we can do it so they don't have to. Grin and bear it only to be ignored at family outings my kids too disruptive because they are different but she wants to see her cousins so we do it anyway. I need a vacation from my 'vacation' preferably someplace warm and tropical without dealing with family who really don't give a damn.

The ice is thawing where does this unexpected warmth come from? Years of the winter of chilly detente four hundred miles away. Last year the holidays all strained smiles and polite words, the brittle gestures of pained goodwill. And suddenly calls asking for clothing sizes for the children. And looking forward to the one visit per year. Not unpleasant but completely out of the blue. I suppose Christmas miracles do happen from time to time.

The longest night of the year Shadows fall quickly The temperature is enough to make the dead shiver. Icy winds blow from the north and the stars are far away Their light do not pierce the clouds. It feels ominous tonight as if the world is holding its breath only to see it puff in smoke in the chilly sky. Christmas lights shine from the windows candle flames flicker in time with the beating of the season's heart. Huddle around for warmth for the dark is everywhere at its peak but take heart for the light will rise again.

Emotional vampires watching people go through what you went through and experience all the rage the triumph the frustration Laugh when they laugh cry when they cry Vibrate with the desire to tell them what happens in the the next scene with the next mechanic and you have to refrain from spilling the beans and betraying the details before it is time to see it happen for them.

Another trip around the sun I don't have time to get philosophical when real life goes on. Kids have a half day of school Christmas in a week presents to wrap last minute gifts to get family trip to plan And yet a year older but not necessarily a year wiser the twenty-first anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday but I hardly feel it There are places to go things to do people to meet stories to write and life to live.

Staying serene in a chaotic season is always a challenge. Always remember where you are at this place in this moment. Focus on what must be done at the present Don't fret about the past or obsess about the future. There are still the same number of hours in the day. House to be cleaned plates in the sink presents to be wrapped. But also meals to be eaten songs to be sung breaths to be breathed bliss to be shared. Always remember what life really means it has to be lived not just spent on the practical things that do not satisfy the soul.

Gingerbread smell wafts through the house the oven is like a furnace pans of cookies come out little men decorated with colored frosting and googly eyes so Grandma can stare in horror and shout "they're looking at me!" Fudge with espresso powder and one batch with marshmallows several tries result in burnt black bottoms in the saucepans but the end result is worth it when it turns out just perfectly. Christmas carols from the TV defrosting Mariah Carey to the jazzy tunes and operatic orchestras as the coffee machine is kept forever warm hot water for cocoa and coffee as we wrap up cookie boxes for gifts. A tradition stretching back almost three decades some years just the basics: gingerbread, sugar, chocolate chip other years with cheese sticks, seafoam, crisp and chewy cookies always a hit with the families almost expected year after year but the kitchen is always warm with freshly baked goods.

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 I miss the clacking of typewriters Keyboarding 101 typing asdfjkl; fingers in home position Walking in the rain long summer days floating on inner tubes down the lazy river. The smell of gingerbread the laughter of children drive in theaters video game arcades. Sunday brunch reading at the library Easter Egg hunts pictures with Santa Nostalgia for long ago days a childhood left behind when life was day by day and the future was a dim prospect.

 I long for gatherings round the fire the laughter of children the merriment of grown ups. Updates on the year what shenanigans have you been doing from January to November. Food on the table perhaps not the most expensive meat or the choicest bottles of wine. Carols sung by the piano as the light sparkles on the ornaments adorned on the tree. Good cheer and whatever grievances stoked during the year are set aside for this one time. Did that really exist? A time of peace and goodwill between us? Or did it only exist in my mind?

The struggle between good and evil. The villain stands and does their required monologue. The antagonist reveals their bitter, tragic backstory while the heroine pines for the hero every night and lives in the fancy castle. The sidekick cracks jokes and gives sound advice. The malevolent wizard twirls his mustache and hatches his plots. The writer learns the rules studies the great authors diagrams the overarching plots then learns to break them and invent them anew.

 "I need this done yesterday I need this appointment made I need I need I need..." It's always what needs to be done and in true passive voice you're not the one to do it. It's me. I'm forward facing I deal with people set up meetings I'm the mover and shaker But in the end I'm the invisible shadow who pulls the strings and get no credit.

There is comfort in routine. To know what will come before, during, after. No stress in planning everything happens in the same time, place and manner. If life always went that way it would be easy to become complacent. But life never runs quite so smoothly. Emergencies happen the unexpected too. How do you react? Paralyzed with indecision? Face the challenge head on? Your routine is broken.

I watch her on stage in the company of fellow musicians as they tune their instruments and prepare to serenade the audience with lovely music. That could have been me forty or so years ago if I'd had the courage to tell my mother what I wanted to do and how I longed to do it. She was too tired the crowds too exhausting the sacrifices too great Unfulfilled dreams with her own violin she didn't want to open that book. Other priorities school was more important Get straight A's, help the family do what I want you to do then think about what you want to do you with your life. Forty years later my own daughter proudly plays because she loves it and she wants to and I smile and be happy for her and not just for me.

Yellow light from the windows is quite deceptive giving the illusion of warmth. Outside the trees sway and the bushes bend under the weight of a winter wind. Leaves swirl in circles chasing each other in endless torment whipped up in a frenzy some manage to break away to tumble into the street and scattered by passing cars. It is ice, not snow not a spellbound wonderland the gray sheen of treachery clings to every surface glittering like jeweled mirrors foretelling disaster. Brown grass crunch underfoot dirt frozen solid, a dark crust harder than the stalest loaf of bread. Suspended in time the ants sleep within and dream of a long awaited spring.

It's freezing today my body is like an old car that needs an eternity to warm up constantly backspacing fingers mistyping letters mistakes forever I wish I can rest but there's too much to do today. Appointments to keep deadlines to meet people to see meetings to go to I can see the wind stirring the bushes outside my window and the thought of going past the walls of my house fills me with dread. I need a mechanic to fix this rust bucket of a corpse that I animate.

Seventeen days two weeks, three days a fortnight plus three it's quite a while. A lot can happen in this span of time life can change before you know it. A blink of an eye to a human a stretch of eternity to a fruit fly. To take up a habit or to give one up takes a lot of courage and a bit of patience. Seventeen days of pen to paper or fingers to keyboard consistency is the key.

Too much too little too loud too demure too shabby too perfect too tiny too tall. no redeeming features no outstanding qualities no soft curves no defined lines no bright colors no variation in hue no heart or soul no sense of restraint. If everyone can't agree on what is 'acceptable' then why bother following an arbitrary set of rules? Everyone's a critic with their own opinion that certainly isn't a fact.

 The wind blows over the carpet of leaves spinning lazily about dancing between the trees as their bare branches sway too and fro greeting the gales of winter. The world sleeps under a blanket of gray the frosty morning light touches all with chill even as all are drowsy deep underground or burrowed beneath heavy blankets. The Gods watch as the predator swims through the the drifts of white searching for a hapless straggler to fill its belly for the short time of its perilous existence. The time ticks way too slowly for the ones who cling to the hope of spring and too quickly for the ones who enjoy the warmth of home at the fire's hearth.

 I wish I can tell you just how much effort it takes me just to go through the day. How many cups of coffee or sugary tea I need to function with a somewhat clear mind. The many times I need to get up and walk around exercise stiff joints only to sit in front of a screen again. The fake smiles and reassurances so that your world remains smooth and unbothered.

The holidays have started Christmas music loud and clear all the parking spaces filled relatives near and dear. Some of us are filled with hope that this spirit fills us with joy as we wrap up all the presents all the teddy bears and toys. But some of us look on with dread the ghosts of past and present weigh so much and memory of bad times heavy mixed with darkness and some such. The old year's end, the new one's nigh the day begins to grow dark although we try to start again the past still leaves its mark.

   Today we put up the Christmas tree A lifetime's worth of ornaments From travels past and life goes on so many ones I just forgot but there is one that hangs right there a simple globe of Mother Earth with "Peace" engraved in golden script is it achievable in the here and now? It's times like this that I wonder.

There once was a turkey named Frye who shouted "I don't want to die as somebody's dinner!" But the odds became thinner as September, October went by. And so our hero named Frye decided he wanted to fly. So he boarded a plane instead of the train his ordained fate to defy. He crisscrossed the world many times He took a boat up the Rhine went to France and Peru and then Timbuktu crossed the International Date Line. The dreaded day came and went He went to the post and sent a single postcard in words written large "THANKSGIVING CAN GET BENT!" He forgot a simple fact that holidays were still intact and so he was able to grace the Christmas table in a way he could never come back.

A beautiful mess There was a lot of effort but what was the point? At the end of the day no one agrees on how to fix problems. Everyone has their own opinions their own reactions their emotions their own priorities Parts of it are justified some of it is an axe to grind and a chip in their shoulder. What are we going to do about the source of the trouble and not just about the symptoms? Is it too much to handle too complicated to comprehend too expensive to implement and not expedient to their goals? Obscure the details frustrate the well-meaning deny the ugly statistics. Wrap it up in morality and point it at the enemy. At the end of the day, who will be the heroes and who are the enemies?

Your own traditions:. A new beginning a break from the usual every year might be the same a cozy restaurant a cabin in the mountains a seashore getaway Lights and garlands decorations and ornaments candles and music lots of visitors conversations togetherness a sense of connection. A quiet evening no chaos, no headaches no responsibilities, no stress enjoy your own company take a nap if you want no traveling stay at home. You have the choice to spend your time the way you want to without someone telling you "This is what we're doing" And you're trapped or bored. Your own life your own decisions on how to spend the holidays. Be it as loud or as quiet as you wish it.

Never cage a bird they have to be free to go where their instincts lead them. If their wings are clipped they will pine and die dreaming of freedom sweet freedom lost. Forced to sing forced to dance for the approval of others it wears a hood to keep an unnatural calm to stave panic at bay. Don't bite the hand that feeds you or claw the voice that raised you.

She had everything all planned out: doctor or lawyer Church every Sunday Living at home while going to college Marry a good man Have lots of grandchildren Live close by so she can visit whenever she wants. Had dreams of traveling to other places? "Take me with you! I want to see it too!" The perfect future one she could brag to all of her friends and the rest of the family the matriarch of them all and of course they would take care of her in her old age. So when they never call when her birthday rolls around and never drop by for milestones and holidays she curses their selfishness and wonders where she went wrong.

All I want is a quiet day where I can bask in the sunshine and free from my cares. The sound of ocean waves rolling as the tide comes in seagulls fighting over treats the laughter of children at play My notebook and me recording every sight and sound sketches in the margins to jog my memory. The smell of food from a nearby cafe loud music booms over the boardwalk. Try my hand at casting the line the other fishermen nod at me and hope for a good catch. For once in a lifetime able to put aside my worries say hello to my creative muse and set her free.

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Being a cheerleader can be so exhausting. It's hard to keep up a flagging spirit from going on a downward spiral. Last night I put my foot down. Looked her in the eye and said: "I'll always be here for you. I can help you if you need it But I can't do it alone You have to work at it too. "I can be supportive but if all you do is whine and complain there's not much I can do. "If you refuse to be helped then I cannot help you. If you don't take responsibility don't be surprised if you fail." There was the usual hemming and hawing but I could see the message sink in loud and clear. The only one who can do it is you. I can be your guide but when you need someone to put a foot in your arse... ...that someone will be me.

 Not used to being called "Ma'am" The cashier slips me the 'senior discounts'. The mail is marked "AARP: Real Possibilities". Children I once taught now have little ones of their own. Doctors tell me to watch my weight my cholesterol my sugar intake my blood pressure. Younger people are amazed because I "understood the assignment" and I know when things are 'sus'. Not a Boomer much younger, much younger though I get scoffed as one. You should see my face. I still have ideas and dreams and concerns about where life is going to take me. Wisewoman with experience still young in mind and heart. Don't count me out yet. I'm still here.

  What do you see with your wide stitched on eyes A perpetual smile on your stitched on snout and soft large ears on either side of your head? How many tears have fallen onto your once fluffy fur? How many miles have you walked on big awkward feet while being carried under a child's arm? How many times has a little hand pulled your orange striped tail? A not so little companion on the road of life sewn and repaired again and again washed and tumbled in the heat of the dryer. And how many years of loving smiles and squishy hugs for how many generations?

Terrible or terrific? You gotta be more specific Depends on the side you're on whether you've lost the battle or won. Fortunes made and fortunes lost take charge just like you are the boss! A mindset set upon the prize no cloud of doubt to hide your eyes. A sweeping change to set the tone and work yourself all to the bone to make your dream reality and plan for all eventuality. This will be solemnly remembered by everyone, enemy and kindred a bold new step into the unknown a time to reap what we have sown. And if it fails, at least we tried we set the blame on those who cried and wailed that it could not be done the spoils won't come whose efforts are none. Let's all join hands for a new tomorrow and bury the old with a wistful sorrow The future stretches like a starry sea and more for mine, no more for thee.

The Gift that keeps on giving a side effect of living you wake up with a scratchy throat your voice sounds like a demented goat. The kids brought home an unwelcome guest the kind that forces you to rest although you have do much to do and then the list gets longer too. Your nose swells up, your eyes are teary a single hour of work makes you weary the brain fog doesn't go away no matter how strong the coffee's today So readers, pardon this unwanted break Some lengthy words may be a bit late until this unwelcome guest is evicted my waking hours may be restricted.

Fight or flight what problem do I have to take care of now? Every time the phone rings I brace myself for whatever has happened. I steel myself for the next issue I have to address I have to take care of Even though my throat is scratchy and my mind is cloudy with the fog of fatigue I'm the only one the contact person all day, every day. Crisis after crisis and even when the clamoring voices grow silent and peace reigns once more I cannot relax for I know that the cycle repeats and that I have to face more and more alone. I am tired.

Last on the their list but first on mine. I listen to music that I compose myself They can march with me waltz with me shuffle with me or they can choose not to I cannot control their reaction but I can control mine. Turn the other cheek they always say I simply turn around and my face is in shadow they cannot read my expression which unsettles them to no end. My world is pieced together and might join theirs or might not. You are welcome to visit but remember that you are just that a visitor, not a homesteader.

Truly it felt more like November last night The bite of cold wind in trees leaves carpeting the sidewalk Sky dotted with stars so clear that you can see forever The glow of bonfires crackle of burning leaves sharp tang of apple cider The last dregs of summer suddenly up and left chill in the bones. Flannel shirts wool sweaters and scarves double layered socks. The earth goes to sleep tumultuous dreams ready for spring.

After four long days quiet reigns over the kingdom but the consequences are long lasting. Upstairs the king coughs a tickle in his throat unaffected by soothing drops at night his snores are loud. The children are relieved at the change of scenery all day outside the walls finally free from all their chores. The queen sits in her chair finally able to concentrate on matters at hand. The list has only grown longer. Life has returned to somewhat normal until the next time the calendar dictates a so-called rest.

I wish things were the way it used to be. Before all the gloom and doom. Stories and songs little life's joys poetry and art. Talk of places we want to go and dreams to share Spring on the horizon but weather the storms into summer's fury. Leaves fall dying winters are cold but warm by the hearth. Before the shadows encroach before the sun disappears before mist blinds our eyes Is the present worth living if the future promises nothing but heartache and pain? I would like to think that hope springs eternal to buoy flagging spirits. For if we give in to complete utter despair then we have already lost.

I remember my father at the mahjong table passing his hands over the smooth marble tiles marked with images of bamboo and balls and of the Four Directions North, South East, West Separating them into pairs of two and forming each side of a triangle. I looked over his shoulder taking in every strategy as he chose one tile to discard another forming rows of numbers pairs and long chains pon and ron chips and money changed hands Planning only went so far and then there was luck. Of course mother never approved because gambling went against her morality and her religion. But she couldn't stop him.

The gates are open into a wide open meadow where the grass is greener and the wind is cleaner. An invitation to walk through to the other side of sanity. Waters flow in the river fruit hang low from the trees A perfect blue sky with clouds even if the calendar is wrong. All it takes is one step to cross into the sunlight and out of the shadow. Leave the hatred behind See the world for what it could be all the possibilities unshackled by fear and despair.

Not so easy to pretend She reads what's posted on the tablet's screen. Her peers all talk they have a grasp on reality that defies their elder's expectations. She questions She seeks answers She wants solutions. The truth cannot be sugarcoated The lies will not be placated She has wise eyes. In a world of uncertainty She knows her own mind her own beliefs. Not so naive she is world weary She is sixteen.

I sat at the table idly twirling my chopsticks through a bowl of limp noodles when I heard commotion coming from my right. A young mother was there with a screaming infant in a baby stroller and a little boy pulling at her sleeve for attention. I remember those years with three little ones in tow in the space of five years bone tired and just existing just taking it from day to day. And I think to myself oh my dear, what have you gotten yourself into? These days seem so long but the don't last forever. I wonder what kind of world these children will inherit what kind of place will they have in fifteen, twenty years what will we leave them?

At one point it was okay to pretend that everything was going to be all right. The blinders have been lifted things are real. Reality has hit and history has repeated. I see a possible bonfire my kids' futures suddenly turn to ash and slip through my fingers but I refuse to give up I refuse to give in But I will not curl up and die. There are still good people in this world We need to stick together. The dawn will rise once more.

Three in the morning too late to sleep, lie there or will you get up? So many worries what will happen tomorrow? Will things be all right? It all feels for naught when all you see are dark clouds. Brace for the sunshine. Look out the window And the world is still asleep And all is quiet. Then the sky is born Rosy pink light in the East Chase all the fear away. The impact you make might not be felt for a while. Keep doing good things.

The Spirit is Willing but the Hands won't work So many ideas put on hold. Playing scenarios in my head black and white, like a noir film forgotten. Heating pads like oven mitts I hold a steaming cup of chai between frozen fingers Pencils lay unused the Muse cries out for attention I tell Her to wait. Ink runs dry dust collects on the letters that need to be answered. Thoughts chase in circles Needing to write, write, write but fingers cry out for rest. Tender Loving Care and the knowledge that the Body just knows what's best.

The first of November the morning is already colorless and grey It's like flipping a switch suddenly winter has already gained a foothold. There is one thing that shatters the illusion it's still seventy degrees Hardly crisp brisk weather don't need the sweaters or the heavy jackets yet. A month and a half until Christmas chimes in but the weather is like spring. I stand on the porch the winds are picking up but it hardly feels like autumn. It's contradictory makes me wonder how the world is changing.

Raindrops quiver at the edge of clouds like tears being held back by pure force of will. The sun has abandoned the skies above for greener pastures and more cheerful views. Grey clouds as the seasons turn warmth chased out by cooler winds and life fades leaving grave markers behind. The veil between the worlds thins for just this one time look between time and space open your heart and mind. What secrets can you learn what knowledge can you acquire even as the night finally succumbs and cries in cold rain.

The miracle drink that helps me push through the day. Through the sniffles and the fatigue and the ringing on the phone. On a cold autumn morning when it is quiet and still contemplating over a single cup. The very aroma takes me back late nights grading papers. In a cafe watching the customers sketching their lives. It's 2 A.M the baby refuses to sleep it becomes a much-needed ally. Mug in hand I somehow work through this heavy fatigue Tonic of the Goddess locked in a handful of beans I depend on this kindness.

Quiet days perpetual coffee in warm mugs just me and my boy he keeps his spirits up even while he has a cough and the yucks but his smile always brightens my day. Not your typical young adult he sees the world with fresh eyes and is able to get around an electronic landscape he loves to draw and write his thoughts even when he has trouble putting them together. A toddler in an adult's body and days can be challenging but he has a good heart and he quietly keeps being himself.

The road to chaos is not smooth, of course it is bumpy unpaved and fraught with monsters. Days of detours bridges closed snowstorms cave ins sinkholes You can only carry only so many spare tires or jump so many batteries before your car decides to give up the ghost. Run down motels in the questionable part or town cheap food at the local greasy spoon barely enough to live on. Moods from the high highs to the low lows. A pendulum that swings without warning or concern. Happy laughter to frustrated screams that turn on a dime. You wonder how others manage the trip with smooth sailing when your own journey is fraught with anger and frustration.

Low stakes Low maintenance: "Don't worry about it. I'll take what you don't want." Always there Always dependable Willing to lend a helping hand Drop things at a moment's notice. The right words The right procedure People have to know We need a paper trail. Never rocking the boat Never do the unexpected A quiet life A peaceful existence. The day the mainstay collapses The day the support isn't there what will you do only then you feel the loss.

Chipping away at the old block In the Valley of Despair in the Shadow of Doubt. Can't go forward Can't go back thanks to this boulder in the way. If you look beneath the surface you see words chiseled there: you'll never be as good as them. The dying light highlights more text what's the use of it all you'll only fail. All I have is a single pencil the point blunted and flat chipping away at the stone. Suddenly a gift box lands at my feet. It's labeled "TNT for you and me." The sticks bear names written in gold the names of friends. I laugh and light them up they sparkle like candles on a rather forbidding cake. The sight is spectacular as the block crumbles away flung to the four corners of the world. The path is now clear going forward will not be easy there will be more rocks in the way. No one can surmount this alone sometimes you need a push or a box of explosives.

I'm starting on a blank canvas. Pristine, untouched prepared with loving hands. The brush touches the surface there's no going back. Flaws and perfection accident and true design evolving in the moment. Colors swirl and take shape forms appear before my eyes. I've learned to let the muse take hold and guide my hand. Plans never last longer than a fleeting moment. The bare bones in my mind's eye the details become clear at that very minute that very second. It all comes together without my conscious effort to get in the way.

"God doesn't give you more than He thinks you can handle." There are days where His confidence in me is sorely misplaced. If I had to describe my video game avatar I would use these words: overwhelmed underpowered and grossly mid-tier. My fairy godmother would shake her head and go: "Girl, you need a vacation or at least a few martinis at a beach resort somewhere." If I had a few more hours in the day or a few more lives through the years I just might be able to get things done then again I might not.

Get yourself out there Be consistent Interact with others Make connections Speak, write, comment Find your tribe Hone your craft Practice the rules then break them in a way that makes it all seem brand new. But it takes effort It takes patience It takes time. Laying the groundwork for something long term can be difficult heartbreaking frustrating No one seems to notice it seems that you are out there in a vacuum. Why do you do this? Is it worth reaching out only to find silence? How long does it take? Why should I make the first step? The instinct to withdraw to insulate from hurt is understandable. But to turn wish into reality is not an easy thing: close your eyes and leap.

Twice a year spring to autumn and back again the changing of the guard. Shorts and warm weather dresses packed away sweaters and jeans and jackets back in style. A year in review months of memories clothes that no longer fit in the bags for donation. Soft woolen sweaters comfortable jeans worn dependable hoodies sturdy soled boots Favorite time of the year when the weather cools down wrapped up in blankets turn on the fireplace. Pumpkins and turkeys fallen leaves and dried potpourri holiday lights and cinnamon candles welcome the dusk of the year.

Straight from summer into autumn from eighty nine to forty five the thermometer is confused. Winds blow under a perfect blue sky I need to auto defrost the windows of my car first time this season. Cold comes late or early depending on what you're used to break out the sweaters put away the tropical shirts. Order hot coffee cider and tea a drink to warm up the old bones and take away the shivers. My joints protest but I've always loved this time of year when the leaves turn color and the campfires burn bright.

Can't see the show? Watch it in the comfort of your own house. By yourself or with a friend Turn the lights down low volume as loud as you want pause the performance skip the parts you don't like And if you don't care for it go back and find one that better suits your tastes! No pesky cell phones no annoying audience chatter. An experience where you set the rules and enjoy in comfort. Did you like this? Find others similar to it you might stumble over a gem you never knew existed. Or change the tone a drama instead of a musical a documentary or a horror flick maybe the latest installment maybe the hidden cult classic. In any case don't worry about being disappointed or raging over the discourtesy of others in a communal viewing this is a tailor-made bundle for you alone!

Handcrafted each stitch tells a story each color shows emotion Shuttles whisper in firelight gnarled hands tease out the knots fringes combed out smooth. Hardly a lost art just not seen as much not as vital as it used to be. Quiet chatter in circles gossip and relationship advice old passing stories to the young. Can there be a revival of those long forgotten days different fabrics sewn whole again?

Work around the needs of others plan every minute keep an eye on the time Shuffle appointments unexpected phone calls it needs to be addressed right now. Explain that being flexible doesn't mean being able to drop what I'm doing immediately for them. Too much sacrifice thoughts on the back burner praise for due diligence scorn for not enough. Stay up at night the only time I am able to breathe deeply and be myself for once.

Thirty degrees between dawn and dusk Mercury soars to sink back down again. Breaths not constant from minute to minute A piece of joyous news to a tragic accident. Heartbeat irregular up a flight of stairs seeing a long awaited friend sitting at rest. Moods swing no food since this morning traffic backed up for miles a riotous hilarious joke. Spark of life uneven walk the floors between the nursery of new life and the hospice of the old.

My muse with clipped wings swings her brush from between the bars of her cage. Canvases steeped in darkness never to be seen by anyone in the light. An expression of madness caused by too many voices suddenly made silent fair weather friends. A scarred heart only half healed hidden away in order to not be hurt again. Her precious children dripping with hope and courage no longer for auction no longer for promotion. Perhaps if you are sincere and don't arrive just to leave again you can see their colors.

The turkey vulture stares at me sitting in the middle of the road hovering over its roadkill malice in its eyes daring me to inch even closer tires to the road. Most times they fly awayPoem this one did not. Defiance written beak snapped shut in complete disapproval. Two others stand on the sidewalk as if silently cheering on this rather odd standoff. In the middle of this rather pristine neighborhood a battle of wits is taking place. This is no squirrel darting in the middle of the road in a moment of suicidal impulse. It is deliberate defiant threatening. I don't want your lunch but I won't wait for your approval. Until finally it saunters off secure in its kingdom a victor in its mind and all I feel is bemusement.

Scribbles on paper marks on a screen backlit by white letters in black Arranged by date title and draft art in jpegs gifs with hard "g" Moving items to and fro does it look better here? before positioning it back where it was the first time. Some poems on scraps of paper from years back others electronic muses presided by iPad angels First draft, second draft, third still not exactly perfect tweak things here and there until it all comes together. Until it all becomes one nights spent piecing together this that and the next for others to read and enjoy.

An air of anticipation resignation the feeling of uncertainty apathy awaiting the inevitable. What to read what to believe so easy to disregard the noise and just seek peace. Which is the truth and which is the lie? The conflicting tales muddy the waters and nothing is clear. Easy to judge in the comfort of safety the ones who are there experiencing every moment might disagree with that thinking. Will events spur you to action? Or will you stand there indecisive until it is far too late to make a difference?

Bone deep exhaustion One foot in front of the other Day to to day life scheduling the days blend together handwritten notes reminding me of obligations. The never ending pile of laundry the never ending ringing of the phone. Chatter of computer keys brightness of the screen Reading documents until my eyes cross One of these days I'll take that vacation lounge on that beach with a drink in hand and listen to the waves in silence.

Step through the gates into a different world. Knights in full armor charging on their noble steeds Pirates of all stripes eye patches and parrots hook hands and peg legs The pious monks in brown habits the ladies under delicate parasols trailing velvet dress trains in the dirt The occasional satyr and faun and the glittering fairy wings Hold a massive turkey leg in one hand and tankard of grog in the other. The fire eater takes the stage and the minstrels wander around with lutes and harps and violins in hand. Tarot readers and fortunetellers tea houses and coffee places or even champagne and mimosas. Crafters and their wares Haunted castles and plague doctors Lords and Ladies, knaves and rogues all are welcome from dawn till dusk.

A new transition from mother to elder but a young woman still lives within my breast. There's so still so much I want to see and do! Where did the time go? How much of it wasted? The young ones need me safety and stability in a world that is so uncertain. No one else knows the path I have trod but that road is not yet closed. Don't need to be bound by the old traditions Share the knowledge you have and accumulate more. No need to be resigned and wait for death when there is more to accomplish.

Tsundoku: acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up without reading them Life rushes past cairns piled all over the place haphazardly stacked about to fall over I could open my own bookstore with what I've acquired Shelves overflowing with tomes great and small fantasy tales languages history philosophy only some of them dogeared and some of them still new A few just appeared, I swear I don't remember buying them but they are here. Silent voices pleading for my hands to pick them up and for their voices to be heard. As days gone by they become silent testaments to a chaotic existence.

The Elixir of Life brings clarity focus productivity serenity It comes in many forms solid to cool the brow liquid to quench the thirst gas to unclog a stuffy head quite versatile. A natural part of the world Up in the clouds stretching from the horizon blanketing the ground in white. A force of nature not to be reckoned with sweeping all in its path fickle and unpredictable benevolent yet raging. Sailors respect it Gardeners welcome it Fish depend on it necessary for existence yet so underestimated.

Strive for calm early in the morning before anyone is awake. Salute the sun breathe deep of the air tinged with dew and cool winds. Nightingale goes to sleep owl settles in its nest as the bluebird and robin hunt for breakfast. Time for the first cup of coffee while the day's first light peeks over the horizon. The day's chaos has not started yet but this moment this minute is the epitome of peace.

Pulled apart between my heart and my mind what I need to do what I have to do the reality of real life doctor visits prescription refills kids' school woes relationship blues and my fantasy life of the written word and colorful paintings to uplift my soul. The rainbow of hope that shines despite the rain of living bringing comfort to a string of grey days.                                                              

Sun breaks through clouds dark and forbidding on the horizon. It's dark inside fallen trees on the road lights are all out. running on twenty percent on my phone. But we should respect the power and the anger of a lady named Helene.

Eight strings paired in two a wealth of tradition Don Giovanni romantic songs on warm Italian nights strings vibrate in tremolo single notes conveying deep love and devotion to ladies fair. bright happy sounds melodic voices chords doublestops on the mountain roads brought over from the Old World to the New. Traditions don't die they live on in song.

My name is too difficult for them to say: "I'll call you this instead." Reduced to syllables meant for a casual tongue. That is not my name. Nicknames said in jest laughing in private humor. I don't find it funny. Adopting a new identity to fit in with accepted rules. This isn't me at all. But I have to reinvent myself have a new mindset Erase the old one. Until in the long run I don't remember who I was. I am forgotten.

Grey outside yet warm and humid the last bits of summer stubbornly cling fast heedless of the calendar ignoring the Equinox. Bonfires and crackling leaves cozy sweaters and scarves pumpkin spice and apple pie all of those will still need to wait a while. Hurricane season lasts from June to November They're predicting six inches of rain or pop up thunderstorms even the weatherman's not sure. Dark at 7 AM and again at 5:30 PM as time marches on at least in some ways autumn has arrived.

When people tell me that I'm strong that I deal with things no other people normally would. I feel like a fraud. "God gives you only as much as you can handle." What if I can't handle it? "Bless your heart, dear" They smile and shake their heads and do not lift a finger to help at all. If I had a penny for every bit of "advice" they spouted at me I would be a billionaire. I did not choose who I was, where I was born my blood family but I can choose my reactions. Smile and nod my head be brusque and tell them to mind their own business they can't take my spirit.

Go outside into the sunlight Feel the breeze on your skin the warm sunlight dazzle your eyes Touch the grass with your palms and the dirt under your fingernails. There is a world outside your window away from the electronic screens. Keyboard warriors on the constant fight for their causes some noble and just others with a massive chip in their shoulder. Pixels are just that models and light that tell a story that touch the hearts and souls of all that experience them. Some might relate to the struggles and trials in their daily lives-- there's no harm in that. At the end of the day when the power is out and it is 'Game Over' the real world beckons What matters is your character not on the screen but within yourself. How you treat others what you do outside it reflects who you really are on the inside.

Walking alone on a dusty road eyes gritty desert wind swirls round You meet the denizen sitting in the chair at the abandoned gas station who warns you not to go to THAT place over the hill it's haunted in these parts. The empty diner with the indifferent waitress and the bum in the corner booth. The jukebox playing a sad song guitars twanging. The lone warrior wandering the world experiencing adventure gritty reality walking alone.

River flows in silence water drifts in the summer sun swirls around rocks and fallen logs with very little effort it goes to the lowest point drawn by some higher power that it does not understand but it does not care it is the law of nature and of harmony past mountains and through valleys over the edge of cliffs to plunge into the depths below before it divides into many branches all independent ignorant of the others and the source from where it comes. Floating farther and farther from its origin far far away The journey takes it to the crashing rapids until it disperses into the bigger void lake or ocean, it matters not for it joins the currents swept into the harmony.

How much of being fearless is staring Adversity in the face because it's the right thing to do and how much of it is because you cannot avoid it? Or because you just don't care anymore? Spite can be a great motivator. The tales of great courage show the hero unflinching in the fact of danger loss death but the ballads never say how much they trembled inside knowing they could lose all they hold dear. The hero does what needs to be done heedless of the cost to themselves. Stares into the abyss of their own doubts and true motivations. Whether it be justice or coin or the cold kiss of revenge.

My body is a temple in the middle of the Amazon jungle overgrown with weeds but teeming with secrets The walls are crumbling insides fragile with rot but potent spells adorn the walls just waiting to be unlocked Spells of will, power to keep going despite it all. Not all magic is pure some are of bitterness and spite Memories of times gone by when health was taken for granted. It looks solid and mysterious on the outside how can such a strong place be so fragile? It doesn't look so dire and dangerous in the pictures in the travel books. But the soul is not its container And somehow it finds a way to go on As the mists close in the temple keeps its valiant fight.

 It's been years And hindsight is 20/20 Rose colored glasses naivety with the glaze of youth It's easy to become jaded to become bitter and angry. The challenge becomes to see life with the experience of time. Not lose the spark or the thrill of living when it seems there is no point. Easy to blame the state of the world that other people are at fault. You hear how things are going to hell that everyone are out for themselves. Yes, there are darker parts of life but no man is an island. Like it or not, other people live here too. And even the most isolated hear about them. There are other lives, other hardships outside of your cranky little bubble. The trick is to acknowledge the good with the bad and look at things with a pragmatic eye Not toxic optimism or doomsday pessimism but how life is, and what it can be. Because if such change is not possible what is the point of our existence?

Dramatize apologize then wait until the furor dies down. Short memories long effects nothing ever changes the status quo is maintained. Until it comes around and cannot be denied any longer consequences can't be avoided. The blame game minimize the behaviour it wasn't that bad you were a part of it too The times have changed my friend what you got away with then the reckoning arrives now.

I. Untimely omen: there's a flock of black ravens as they say their vows. II. No one notices the warm sun beams happiness a curtain of love. III. The stars in their eyes rival any galaxy so so far away. IV. A cold wind blows through swirls through the assembled crowd kisses the bride's veil. V. The crowd cheers loudly shouts of congratulations pointed, staccato. VI. But all the fates know a confluence appearing a calamity. VI. An innocent joy one that is not meant to be enjoy this moment.

 I remember... 7th grade social studies I don't recall what the lesson plan even was. The school secretary came to my classroom and stood in the doorway and told me "Turn on your television. Right now. Something is going on." So I did.

Sometimes I stand out on the porch as the sun rises on the horizon coffee mug in hand and wonder how I got here what Deity granted me Its grace or its fury. They all say to stop and take stock of your blessings and your curses be grateful for all that has happened in your life. And that you're still breathing and still surviving despite all to the contrary. Sometimes I wonder just how and why I live for another day because for all intents and purposes I probably shouldn't have. Is it just a quirk of fate or is there some sort of cosmic game of which I am completely unaware?

You don't know sacrifice she says as memory flashes across my mind. As she runs after the paramour traps her in the restroom stall. Her screams of anger ringing through the air and all eyes averted the gossip floating for days Long days on the production line soldering circuits to the board hunched over burned fingers daughters at home led astray should have been there but could not be A life of regret a wellspring of broken dreams a wave of old expectation But life goes on passes her by her children strangers no one sacrifices to sit with her in her old age.

I went to the Halloween store as I do every year, I looked at the costumes all on display from the horrific to the absurd You could dress up like your ghost or vampire or a ghoul or a witch as a pirate or a pineapple. There were signs and flags cat ears and demon horns fake blood and trick knives. I'm a kid at heart on the one night of the year where you can dress up and forget who you usually are and act like who you are meant to be. And I wish you were there with me but you've never been one to see the purpose in it.

Two souls not quite joined at the hip share no blood but sisters nonetheless Share every secret keep every counsel talk every day. No matter how life gets busy or how fate twists and turns Take a break change it up but still meet at the end of the day as if time had never passed. A bottle of wine and two glasses a carafe of coffee and two mugs Through pain and sorrow life's little joys and tragedies to be fortunate to have such a one through the ups and downs of life.

Days pass according to schedule the same thing over and over every morning every afternoon every night Comfortable in routine know what is coming everyone reacts the same way a limited palette of color, of fabric, of sound An established niche from work to home and back to work again In control of the environment tailored to a certain mindset no misunderstandings nothing out of place There is peace no conflict no anxiety. It is wonderful. I am screaming. In silence.

My hands are wrinkled crooked and bent joints swollen misshapen yet they still dance across the piano keys and along the fretboard. I cannot do the delicate work on a freshly tumbled gem or solder silver wire in intricate patterns but I can string beads along a stretched out cord. They've changed the diapers of three babies now grown made them lunches sent them off to school. These fingers have tapped keys spun intricate worlds like fairy floss and funnel cakes at the world's biggest fair. They ache nowadays with the slightest change in the weather. I cannot do what I used to do as the years go by and cartilage wears away. But my desire to create will never cease to be.

A story doesn't have to be long in order to tell its tale. There's much to be said in a single page or just one paragraph. Epic ballads in two minutes of song. Words succinct unforgettable characters. Lives fleeting touching oh so briefly. No rambling speeches quick and to the point. The writer still holds the power of life and death. Whole worlds made in small strokes of the brush. But as short as life is they still make an impression.

One drop begins a storm. One spark gives birth to a forest fire. All it takes is one. Two hearts entwined in love Two pieces lock into place But it needs just two. Three lines make a triangle Three stones form a pyramid. For its base needs three. Too many cooks in the kitchen. Too many hands in the pot to ruin a good thing involves too many.

Pages fall like rain ripped out of their spines to be scattered like the wind far from the hands of those who wish to look upon their words. Voices are muffled ideas are stifled never to see the light of day. What beauty do letters have and what supreme power. Each character a building block a stepping stone to new horizons a brick in a sturdy building a piece of stout wood in a bridge. The match of a fire scorches the foundations black reduces the contents to ash swept under the carpet thrown into the sluggish river of mediocrity. Physical objects to hold in your hands but ideas cannot die They will last forever no matter how often you put them to the torch.

Waiting for autumn where the sun's rays do not scorch the earth they pull back a bit to warm, but not burn And the air becomes cool crisp like a red apple in season. Campfires crackle we wear sweaters curl up under cozy blankets hot chocolate and tart cider hayrides and pumpkins leaves crunch under your feet. The earth prepares to go to sleep the dark encroaches earlier and earlier cold winds blow to usher in the last dregs of the old year.

Head empty stuffed full of fog coffee hasn't kicked in to clear the cobwebs what do I write about? What words of wisdom or what wave of emotion do I have today? Unfortunately I'm not sure if I have any today. A very long week a very long morning my brain can't focus. And the hours pass from breakfast to lunch. Ignoring the stats tired of the algorithm how many people actually read my words? More than I think but when I can't be witty or find the expressions to express my heart and soul. So today I just let my fingers find the keyboard my muse spill her thoughts as it flashes across my eyes raw and unfettered no chains to bind what comes to mind as it translates into worlds.

All prompts from #vss365 on Twitter. Prompt words are marked with #.  I. Don't release the hounds. All of them are out for blood. #slaughter everyone. II. Meet in a tavern the barkeep's cellar has rats one #quest to start all. III. Mother's lullaby she sings the baby to sleep the world just listens. IV. A #misty morning campsite is peaceful, quiet Nature is at peace. V. The #little insults all pile up in a short while so I turn and leave. and you still can't understand just why I can't take a 'joke'. VI. When I was a child I watched an #orchestra play Wanted to be there and now I watch my daughter proudly from the audience. VII. Her very #dry humor might not be to your liking it's an acquired taste. VIII. They say #idle hands are sure to cause wicked souls so keep them busy so they do not have the time to even think of mischief. IX. Take me to #dinner good food and good company at home or just out I just want to be with you and for you to be pres...

What we do in the world no matter how major or how minor causes a ripple that extends outwards touching everyone even those we never meet. The overworked koan of the sound of one hand clapping or a butterfly flapping its wings is not as trite as it seems. The stone thrown into a lake is felt at the far shore. It might radiate slowly over days, months, years. You might never know the effects of your actions at all.

All assembled in the study Look around at the expectant faces. Wishing they were someplace else or wringing their hands in worry. Are they concerned or are they guilty? Or are they relieved that the killer will be unmasked? Angry for this waste of time? Every expression unique but timeless at the same time. What are your own thoughts? Are you innocent or are you guilty? Will you be surprised? Will you get away with the crime? the detective has all the clues he stands in front and outlines every bit of his thought process here it comes: the big reveal and it's not what you think.

What would happen if time flowed in reverse? Born old possessing all of life's knowledge then growing younger until you are innocent as a helpless babe? A brief window of opportunity to experience all that life has to offer at the peak of your existence when you have all that you desire and all that you expected. It already happens. One comes into the world with fate already written but many paths to get there. The tipping point is different for everyone. But the march begins the river of time flows ever onward. From the beginning to the flower either full or cut in its prime back to the beginning again.

Over the years I've had to hide my ambition my hopes my dreams. Walk a thin line between what is acceptable and what demons lurk in the depth of dark dreams The perfect person who never gets angry who always works towards the greater good. The one who wears everyone's badge of approval. But in the shadows I'm a raven who is longing to break free and bring havoc to the world.

I'm already a ghost No one sees me Invisible As if I'm not here They explain every detail to me although I was sitting right there when it happened. Very self absorbed to the point where I do what is necessary to keep the wolves away. They're so comfortable that I'm always there to fix things to bail them out to clean to talk to others on their behalf. I wonder what will happen if I just walk out that door and then they have to deal with people themselves.

Pick out the shells from eggs recently broken. They are rather fragile and quite elusive. The tiniest shard can turn up as a surprise. You have to be careful not to leave any behind. Or it will make your dish unpleasantly crunchy. You have to clean up the mess so you don't accidentally step on one and become paranoid literally walking on eggshells. You can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few but you can throw the refuse away to rot in a landfill or you can use them to grow new life in dark soil or make them into art to please the delicate eye.

Effigies in repose grand tombs in marble marking the resting places of powerful people but the most important one is the simple marker in the floor in the back of the cathedral. A respectful silence muted sounds sunlight streams through stained glass windows like beacons from Heaven throws shadows that move from tomb from tomb restless like the dust motes that float in the air. When the sun sets and the elaborate candelabra are lit just like they have been since time immemorial and the petitioners leave that is when the silence becomes loud with the echoes of those whose bones lay deep within the foundations.

I. Music, my refuge I lose myself in the notes Away from it all Just me and my instrument and no one is involved. II. Let melody flow harmony for heart alone and unspoken words. III. Until cymbals clash of real life and its demands crescendo so loud impossible to ignore heavenly time is over IV. Looking at the score: jump directly to the end and play the coda. .

Night descends on the camp site the fire throws shadows all around hiding the surrounding trees the darkness broken by cheerful fireflies. The silence interrupted by the nightingale singing a sad song the crickets chirping hello to each other the owl stirs from its slumber for its usual hunt. Wood crackles consumed by the light. Simple meals shared between friends stories and laughter echo from the heart. A world untouched by the hum of daily life a simple connection for you and me.

I. Each day I wake up the rain batters the windows while the summer sun peeks out from behind the clouds waiting for the storm to pass. II. The shower runs cold I know it will not get warm bites with icy teeth On one hand I do get clean but the chill sinks deep within. III. I know I should eat though I don't feel like I could. So I compromise: last night's pizza with a mug of my bitter black coffee. IV. My mind in a fog what day of the week is it? How much have I lost in this deep dark mire I'm in? and thunder still booms outside. V, My steps feel heavy one foot and then the other Go through the motions no one ever notices no one ever sees my pain. VI. How long can I live in perpetual darkness wading through blackness when my soul still yearns for light that seems so very very far?

Frog sitting serenely on a toadstool what a strange thing to see on our journey through the fae forest. Dressed in fine silks sitting cross-legged and smoking a pipe full of fragrant smoke. Big bulging eyes watching intently as if divining all your secrets. It smiles beckoning without saying a word. Does it have a quest for us? Is it an enemy? Why don't we find out.

Beware of thorns hidden in the white rose bushes Lurking in the shadows of twisted vines and dark loamy soil. Elegant and ethereal not bold like crimson but it stands apart in a sea of color. Transparent like moonlight condensed in the form of a beautiful flower. You try to pick beautiful blooms but your fingers must avoid being pricked so your blood doesn't flow red and stain the petals.

I'm used to frets. I know where to put my fingers to play the correct chords. Years of practice my mind automatically goes where it needs to flowing from one note to the other one piece to the other. All in the same key and in same tempo. But when I switch instruments I must train my body and my fingers again a different mindset a different time.  

She exists in a different direction from all the others. Anticlockwise instead of like the all the rest. they say she is contrary odd, strange and weird unorthodox thinks outside the box. Marches to a different drummer. She shows up to the opera in pastel pink and tennis shoes with bows in her hair She dances with little skill but no less enthusiasm. She isn't 'normal': she's gone widdershins a loony but she lives life on her terms and will stay that way. .

Born to ramble never staying in one place for very long. Wanderlust to see everything there is to see mountains that stretch on forever oceans that touch the horizon flat plains for miles azure skies with puffy white clouds grey light with the taste of storms to come bright honeybees darting from flower to flower in meadows of grass rolling carpets all over the hills the cold bite of snow the searing heat of the sun so many changes in a day's walk and songs and stories spill out in word and song a diary of a life well lived and in the end the fog that creeps over reveals new worlds.

Rain patters on the roof lulling me into dreams Steady, rhythmic a heavenly song punctuated by the drums of thunder and the cymbal crash of lightning. The groans and sighs of a dimly lit house frames of wood and stone resonate with the power of the storm. The howl of wind beat against the window thwarted in its goal to get inside. Single drops and long lines of water flowing down the drain to the street below. Pooling into puddles ankle deep in places nowhere to go. The whole world drenched in Nature's fury.

I. Hop on the Blue Line The streetcar through the city still a novelty powered on electric tracks go all over the city. II. Watch all the faces as passengers come and go work and home and back This streetcar is a godsend to get a gallon of milk. III. Watch out the window at the towering skyline over city's edge where the dingy walls all glow with street artists' creations. IV. See how it changes from factories and rubble run down apartments children playing in the streets hanging out on the corners. V. Invisible gate leading to a brand new world: shops and restaurants leading to the district where steel and glass towers rise. VI. Government buildings banks and expensive hotels the concierge waits for the drivers to give them the precious keys for the night. VII. It's amazing how two worlds can coexist bleed into the other gradually transition as the streetcar drives on by. VIII. From one end of town to the other and then back all day, every day Feast your eyes out the windo...

Pen paralyzed on the page The words will not come the images remain stubborn not wanting to be transferred onto paper. Imagination fails me The memory of your lips your smile your laughter dim behind an invisible wall even though I see your visage every day. The colors are muted my brush freezes with indecision Why am I blocked from the flow from which I hone my craft?

Jolly pumpkin in August They already have Halloween on the shelves Ghosts and ghouls are there year round They don't wait for October. The next aisle over are red holly berries in green leaves stockings and figurines Might as well set up your winter wonderlands while it is a hundred degrees outside. And turkeys go gobble gobble on placeholder napkins and gravy boats for Grandma's evening dinner complete with cranberry jelly. I wonder if they all get confused: Spooky ghosts haunt Santa's elves while being pursued by a clueless turkey.