Bumpin' Uglies....

...alrighty, then.

In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, let's take a survey...

What words or phrases do you use, or have heard, when you are talking about
....um, you know... doing "it". Having sex. The title of this post is going to be my only contribution. The rest of you need to leave your entries... ha, a pun... in the comment box, or send them to me in an e-mail. I will post everything you submit in a few days. Everything.

OK,... let the fun begin!

It is what it is...

That pretty much explains my blog and me too.

I've had conversations with many of you who read my blog, including some who do not comment here. There seems to be some concern because what I write is perceived to be nothing but depressing.

I prefer to think of it as... R & R... reflective and reminiscent. Not to mention that a few things are totally fictional.

Yes, I do fight depression. This year, however, has been the best... as far as mood is concerned...
for me, in a very long time. I think this blog has helped enormously. And, I love it when anyone leaves a comment. I'm wondering now, if some do not leave comments because something here has made them uncomfortable. I don't expect all comments to be nothing but praise. If you have a criticism or question... feel free to leave your thoughts in the comment box. Or e-mail me.
I can handle it.

I love to laugh, and I do... a lot. That has been a surprise for some. I have a great sense of humor. People laugh a lot when they communicate with me. Sometimes, for hours.

I wish I could write on demand. But, my brain doesn't seem to work that way. What shows up here is mostly unplanned. Most of it requires a lot of tweaking before I post it. Some things just write themselves as I sit here at the keyboard. More of that would be nice.

This was never meant to be a journal of my daily life. It is meant to be a creative outlet. It is, without apology, often hit or miss. I have no schedule... no deadlines... no assignments. Being, what I see as, that rigid with myself would be counterproductive for me. Yes, I have some rebelliousness towards demands and strict schedules. One of many issues for me. I don't want to make myself feel obligated to perform a specific quantity or content. I want to like what I leave here. When I do post here, it is because something has risen to the surface and practically kicks me in the head... or heart.

My words here do not necessarily reflect my mood at the moment. Not always. Sometimes, yes.
Pondering is what I do. Note my blog title. Pondering is good.

I guess I should get back to the point: I am not trying to be depressing here. But, what is here is part of me. It's what I have to offer right now.
It could change. Or not.

I hope this helps some of you relax and enjoy. And, leave comments.
Me, I am what I am.
My blog, it is what it is.

Sing, Minstrel....

Play my heart strings.
Strum the words
from my soul.
Cry with me.
Make me brave.
Dance with me
along the shore.
Your music is such comfort
as another's arms would be.
No other knows what I know,
save for thee.

Don't read this....

I saw a look on your face, as we were saying good-night, that made me stop and wonder. Or, was I hoping?

I could feel you looking at me before I turned to you.
I felt your eyes pulling me towards you.

Your face was soft, gentle, caring... and questioning.
You seemed to be focusing so very intently... on me.
You didn't move. And, neither did I.

I hesitated, then smiled at you.
Your gaze continued to absorb me.
I felt warm. I wanted to move closer. I didn't.

I wanted... but, I was gripped by fear.
Afraid of misunderstanding that look on your face.
Afraid of being rejected.
Looking foolish. Being embarrassed.

It had been a long day. Perhaps you were simply tired.

I said, "Goodnight.", turned and walked away.

Will I ever know what I really saw?

A Quick Thank You...

to all my readers who participated in the Baby Bane Birthday celebration.

I received a very touching e-mail thank you from the young Marine. He said, in part:

"wow Thanks,
I got your package today, thank you very much, I really appreciate everything.
It's kind of funny, a lot of Marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen get packages from strangers everyday because there are massive support groups out there to take care of them. I have the Bane Brigade, a group of dedicated women, to take care of me. I am far more blessed than anyone else out here for it. I can't thank you all enough. It's funny, we have almost everything we need to live out here, but it's hard to live without that outreach from home. Anyway, you got me, I'm Bane's son. You are awesome. Thank you."

Ya see, folks? Nice does matter.
I don't want to forget to say my own thank you to Wendy, of Curses and Chrome, for letting all of us participate in making the young Marine smile. Wendy, you are awesome!

Still here, still breathin'...

I stand barefoot by the ocean's edge, my feet sinking slowly, being sucked beneath the surface of the cool, wet sand.
I am planted there.

Head tilted back... watching Mother Nature's lightshow, I see
enormous mounds of gray cotton batting clouds, only momentarily visible as they are back-lit by silent, random flashbulbs.

The low breeze around me is suddenly cooler.
The sand wrapping my feet is now warmer than the air.

I stretch my arms out as far as they will reach just as the first drum rolls of thunder pound my ears.
Slightly swaying with the breeze, I can feel the deep vibration moving through me... around me... and away.

Being the tallest object on the beach in a thunderstorm and living to write about it... priceless!

Belong...

the triangular peg
in the oblong hole.

the third wheel
on a two-wheeled bike.

the dandelion
in a vase of roses.

a vulture
in a flock of peacocks.

a deaf-mute
in the Sunday choir.

the News at 4
I don't fit in.

The Church Picnic...

The summer after fifth grade, we moved from our house in Uniontown, Ohio to the farm in Portage County. It was shortly after that move that my mom found the church she wanted us to attend... St. Michael's Byzantine Catholic Church.
In Akron, twenty-five miles from the farm. No more than ten miles from Uniontown. Oh, well. Long drives to get where you needed/wanted to be were not uncommon for our family.

Mom was born in Czechoslovakia, when it was still known as Austria-Hungary.
In her eyes, the Roman Catholics just didn't do it right.
St. Michael's was the church where the four of us kids (the youngest having not yet been born) finally took our first communions. On the same day. After having completed catechism and learning to "go to confession".

St. Michael's had, among seemingly hundreds of other social events and celebrations, an annual church picnic. The church owned property at the edge of another town not far away. This piece of land was a hill, at the top of which was the church cemetary. At the bottom of the hill, in the back, was the pavillion for the picnics. The pavillion was a huge, roofed-over concrete slab with benches along the outer edges. I remember large trees surrounding the entire piece of property, so the pavillion was nicely shaded.

The first picnic we attended there, I remember sitting beside my dad on one of the benches, listening to a local polka band and watching people dance. Dad loved music, but his sense of rhythm... or more appropriately, his lack of... kept him off the dance floor most of the time. So, I kept him company while people whirled, twirled, glided and bounced past us.
Mom was one of the dancers.

I could see Dad following Mom with his eyes, watching her graceful movements as she and her dancing partner... an older woman from the church... circled 'round and 'round the dance floor. I could tell that he would have liked to have been her partner in the dance. His gaze never left her face.

After she passed us several times, smiling at us while she danced, I heard Dad let out a long sigh. I turned to look at him, and heard him say so very quietly, "Isn't she beautiful?"
That was the first time I saw love and passion reflected in a person's face.
In that moment, he saw only her. The love of his life.

Not long after that time, their marriage started to fall apart.
But they never divorced, and he took care of her as she was dying from cancer.
I like to think that he never stopped thinking she was beautiful.