Moon Shine

I see the man in the moon, but he don’t see me
He's got bright light in his eyes to the nth degree,
So it ain't his fault. His backside's always colder
And he always peers behind his shoulder
Cuz that mister sun is always comin'
Sure as the noise 'fore the train comes hummin';
‘Xcept, the sun’s quieter than a baby’s blink
And seems even nicer, so why be scared, ya’d think.
But the man’s always lookin kinda pale
Like he's seen a ghost in awful detail.
He even pulls his covers to his chin
Some nights, cuz he starts getting mighty thin
Till he’s clean gone like a scaredy cat
Who gets spooked away with jus' a tip of yer hat.
Then I watch him peek over again
Lettin down them starry sheets till when
One day he waits to meet that sun
And I’m glad when, that son of a gun,
Fin’lly decides he’ll face that sun to ‘is face
And holds his ground and don’t move from ‘is place.
The sun yields behind the moon at last
And for a second the man’s face is cast
In blinding blackness and I can’t see
Him but I feel that he can fin’lly see me.
But the sun is a strong guy and I understand
How if you wanna be seen you gotta stand
In his rays. And stuck livin in that sky
That man in the moon can only sigh.
I bet he wishes he could do something new
But, like I says, he’s kinda a wimp, that moon,
So he just does as he’s told, plum to prune.
What the sun says today, the moon will say tonight
And it doesn’t seem to phase him. It don’t seem right,
But I understand; when Pa tells me “Listen here, son”
Boy I listen quick. And I do till the doin’s done.
So tonight the moon sneaks by my window frame
(I’ve snuck down the hall that way just the same)
And I watch his eyes peek back behind him
To search the horizon till the stars get dim.
I say, “just relax, let’s close our eyes and sleep.”
And we yawn, him and me, as big as space is deep.
I look at him; he’s like a glowing marquee.
I see the man in the moon, but he don’t see me.

Pancake Journey

Today I wanted pancakes. I wanted wheat ones. I searched and searched but I didn't find any wheat pancake mix

(Krusteaz has this amazing honey wheat mix. mmm)

Who can blame me when the pantry looks like this?
(But I did find some delicious Cheez-Its to snack on!)

I was kind of disappointed; I really wanted that wheat and honey kind. So I sat down to think. Then I remembered the Snickers bar that I'd bought. I wanted that, too. But I'd already eaten like a dozen little sweeTTarts earlier, and thought, 'oy, what chubby thoughts" but then, thought I, what if I mix Snickers and Pancakes!?


I thought and thought....and my tummy whined and whined...and then I turned the Snickers bar over.


Bar Hunger. Get that hunger outta my face. So, I set myself to work. But wait, is that a banana I see?

Suddenly I remembered my first job, at Granny's Drive Inn, a great shake and burger place. One of my favorite shakes to make was banana snickers (yes, really) and I decided that had to go into the pancakes, too.


I had the pan preheating, the spatula standing by, the whisk anxiously waiting, the mix and the bowl.

(....wait, does that Snickers already have a bite out of it?)


(I couldn't wait....)

I measured out two cups of mix and the called-for water. I made the batter thick, thinking, "I don't want thin cakes with lumpy humps--because when I flip the pancakes that will prevent both sides from cooking" and it's a good thing I thought it, because I would have been right.

But...I may have made it a bit too thick. Just a smidgen, though. Thems were some fatty panny cakes. I mean...

I added Snickers pieces


I added banana chunks


I even added chocolate chips because I just didn't think the Snickers would go far enough.
They were just so darn good looking, those chocolate morsels. And good tasting, too!

So, in they went. In they ALL went.

I added bananas to just half, the ones on the top there; the bottom two had just Snickers and chocolate chips. (I wanted to taste the difference it made without bananas. It wasn't extreme, but I could definitely tell. I think I liked it better with the bananas.)

So, the cakes took to the heated pan perfectly and it was soon time to flip. Just try to do it a little better than I did...


And seriously, they were thick. I worried that the inside wouldn't cook.
This lid helped. Made a mini oven for my mega cakes.


Which awesome mega cakes cooked all the way through.

And to top these babies, I didn't want syrup. No, I went for the fluffier sugar: whipped cream. I even whipped it from scratch myself (preburning calories...)

It helps to have a sweet mixing bowl with a donut lid like this, so the whipped splatters are fewer. Beat the cream on high speed until it gets a bit thicker, add a couple tablespoons of powdered sugar if you want, keep beating on high until....

It forms soft peaks.

Then, be civilized, get a plate.


You know the rest!


They were good. But next time I'd make less mix or get more Snickers. Maybe I'd even skip the whipped cream, cuz those suckers sure used up the sugar %DV on their own. Or, try the shake. Banana Snickers and vanilla ice cream. This is a great world.

cavern

In a corner of the Arctic
A mound of snow in bending trail
Accumulated naturally.
Packed tight by time's patient hands
It will never melt,
Sheltered by frozen air.

I found it, nearly solid ice,
Began carving, caring
For just the outside;
The visceral center
Would remain intact,
Frozen in ignorance.

But an external blast
Rocked the frosted ridge
Cracking the front base.
A rift exposed the interior.
I felt it and began carving,
Uncaring, with frozen tears

Melting faster than tools
To the hardened crux
Until the mound,
Hollow and echoing,
Became a remnant crust
Arching over frozen ground.

Depending the weather,
I might seek passage into
The frostbitten basin
Turned upside down.
An unguarded entry gapes,
Summons my frozen reluctance.

It is duty to preserve
The bond created to protect
Secrets, errors, confidence;
A solid core dissolved by tears
Can rare reform the trust.
Perhaps time will thaw a frozen faith.

(feedback much appreciated)

Yes!

March has itself a brand new ACTUALLY short, short story! (4204 words) This one's for the romantics. I was feeling romantic I guess. Cheers~

Randomblings: on love

Well, the time has come to clarify. I recently posted some words attempting to reflect some of-the-moment feelings about men. It definitely came across as man-hating and woman-worshipping, some wordy stuff that I don’t even believe in myself. At the time I had been hurt, so I lashed out. I think we’re all entitled. And you are also entitled to think and say and comment whatever you want.

Here’s something else: I love men. I absolutely love men. The idea of men, manly things, muscles, voices, smells, mannerisms, etc. I love my grandpa, I love my dad, I love my guy friends, I even appreciate ex-boyfriends. I truly believe woman is not complete without the man as the man is incomplete without the woman.

But let me just say here that both are genuinely priceless individually. And I believe that always, no matter my mood.

Then we all know that each gender has its quirks. Then each person has a personality and character. All these things are, in my opinion, pieces of the mosaic that make up this tectonic world. The world is beautiful and active and progressive because of individuals and their tendencies and their choices. We all need each other, we each have our needs, we express our feelings, we long to share those feelings with others sometimes.

There’s plenty I could say about women. The day after I wrote that Randomblings about men not deserving women, I made a whole list of why women are trouble and how they need men just as much, if not more, as men need women.

I won’t give examples, because those too will come off as generalized and not applicable to everyone underneath a blanket statement.

Here’s what I think. Humans have desires to trust and to love. Those develop through relationships, which develop through experiences, which traverse countless paths of connecting lives.

A lot of learning can happen with every experience. Sometimes we learn the biggest lessons from our hardest choices, our deepest pits, our indescribable feelings, our thickest fears. Sometimes it’s from the tiniest glance or the lightest touch or the faintest sound that we feel or learn the most.

It’s personal. Until it’s personal, it’s someone else’s. We want personal. We want to learn, we long to experience, we desire, we crave, we plunge into experience.

Sometimes we desire that personal part of ourselves to include another. Like the gears of a clock, any move we make, they move too. And, on for a while, one experience moves two people, two people move one life. The tick and tock of two hearts, defying time and reason: love is an ultimate experience.

Love is a timeless experience.

That is why, when it’s gone, sometimes it feels like you’ve never moved, even if you’ve crossed the whole world a thousand times, even if you’ve left it entirely and come back.

That is why, when you’re in it, you can’t wait.

That is why, when you’re living in it, you can experience, grow old, and die and it still holds you as though you were just born.

The time it takes to learn what love is, is the time experience travels from the head to the heart. No one can tell you what you’re feeling, you will learn that as time goes on. Like me, you’ll make plenty of mistakes and maybe regret a few choices. But that’s the way I needed to learn, and I am glad it took some time to learn the right way for me to learn love. And I suspect I’ll have yet more to learn. All the time.

There is no rewinding love, there is no return to love. At every moment, love is present or absent. The more often it is present, the more one can build on love, making relationships, understanding, forgiving, loving anew.

I say anew, because, well…For example, I loved a boy and I really liked the way I loved him. But that ended, or at least, it was suspended for quite some time. I realize, now that the love for him is gone, absent, that if I were to love him again, it would have to be a new love. That’s what I mean when I say there is no return to love. (Not that if you feel without love that it's beyond relocating, no, not ever.) Love fits in hearts, not in time. People fit into both…

Am I wrong? Maybe I’m wrong again. I do not mean to say that love is lost at every new moment. No, love builds, love wanes, love is very active. It’s just that it is not bound by time in any way. It is as gravity, a law immovable, but with a flexible understanding. Airplanes thrust into the air and gravity is not changed. There are ways into love, out of love, around love…but love will always be.

That is how it is timeless, that is how I believe it waits. It waits for us to gain experience and to learn what it feels like within us. Then it can propel us in any direction, out of any depth, through any fear, into another’s arms.

In case anyone reads this, know that I believe in love. I believe it takes work and that that labor refines the worker. The final product of a life well experienced with love is that heart of gold we all seek. In ourselves and in any other.

Life is about timing. Love is the experience of a lifetime.

I Love Thai

This evening I walked about 2 miles to eat dinner at a place called The Thai House. Boy was it worth-it good!

I went by myself because I don't really have a friend here, or anyone's phone number....but whatever, I just wanted to eat. I walked through Oriental town pretty much, every sign was first in some asian language and sometimes not even in English after that. Let it be known that the entire two miles showed no place selling ice cream. I kinda want some ice cream that is not McDonalds, because, let it be believed!, McDonalds is gross. Anyway, I felt safe, as I walked the 6 PM streets to The Thai House because I figured, not many inhabitants of this area would have many animalistic desires triggered by seeing a six-foot white girl.

I made it to the google address intersection and followed the directions to the right, which took me around the entire block and led almost back to that intersection before I got to the restaurant. Yay google. Anyway, I was greeted by a very large Thai smile and put at a table by myself. I looked at the menu and was excited to get me some Thai. I came across the Satay item and was surprised to see two options: 4 chicken skewers or 4 Osrtrich skewers! I asked to get two skewers of each and the waitress said yes. Sweet.

Ostrich was awesome! Well, at least the way they skewered it. As advertised, it tasted very "free range" and it was tender. It was like...a lamb and a rabbit got married, had a kid and then later, a cow married that hybrid kid and together they had a kid = Ostrich meat. Kinda ducky, too. Like a birdy beef. Yeah. I liked it. The chicken as well was super succulent and divine, and the peanut sauce they served it with was classically delish. They also served it with a sweet, clear sauce (I tried in vain to guess any of its ingredients) loaded with cucumbers, carrots and sweet, red onion. That was tasty.

Then came the yellow chicken curry. Big chunks of perfect carrots and potatoes, strips of tender chicken, and a creamy, spicy sauce that is just too good to be true. Those Asians really know their spices. Whew. Added to that, a side of rice. It was amazing, cuz they either cooked it in or soaked it in coconut milk so it had added flavor and pizzaz for the love of coconut. I love coconut.

After having eaten such amazing food, I was sad to have gone alone. I love when someone can share good food with me! And I love that feeling when, having eaten food so good, of really wanting to tip, to really give money to the restaurant because they earned it, bordering on sponsoring the restaurant in a community event. Too bad I don't fit into the community and might do more harm than good promoting it. ;) So, instead I'm blogging about it. Best next thing. (Their website has a few recipes on it, take a look!)

So, if you're ever in the Vancouver area, give it a try. Keep your eye out for the Ostrich!

On Holiday

Sometimes it is ever so nice to be on Holiday and get paid for it. Well, technically I did work today, if you call driving a city bus filled with the Swiss sludge curling paralympic team members wherever they need to go, work, then yes I worked. But in the down time as they practiced I was able to catch up in my journal and write a letter to my missionary brother. I drove around with my co-driver, Yvonne. She's probably late sixties and has sparkly silver hair that she covers with a rain bonnet on rainy days especially like today. I love old lady bus drivers.

I love Olympic cheer.

I love the smiling faces at the front desk as I walk through the sliding glass doors at ground floor.

I love the slish of the Holiday Inn hotel key card to let me in my room.

I love the fresh towel refill and cleaned bathroom.

I love how they fold the tail of the toilet paper twice to make a tip.

I love the new linens, even if I have to untuck three sides of the bed just to get in.

I love how much room I have and that I'm not paying for it.

It is a tad lonely, but I'm super content. In a state of peaceful happiness. My life sure is looking up, right at the stars. I'm out of debt, I'm going to Alaska for the summer, I will get a new car and will soon finish school. I like being single but I'm ready whenever God is to get me a husband. :) But life is sunny, my eyes are bright, my heart is free, I'm skipping down a yellow brick road with bare feet and whatever happens, I'm ready. And for now I'm great.

something. anything

"..so quiet I hear the Willows weepin," -Chic Gamine, Sunny Sunday


I have to put something on here. Not for you, for me. Just need to.

But I've got nothing on my mind. So, I've opened up this blogger post box and we're about to see what comes out. It's 9:30 AM

Somewhere, I've lost a friend.
Well, I know where she is
But contact has come to an end.

At first it was only his
Life I had to take myself out
Of; I wasn't expecting this.

I don't seek pity or mean to pout
I'm just somewhat confused.
She knew me before his route

Crossed over ours and fused
A relationship with her, then me.
In time, he and I were bruised.

But I figured what had been would be
Still, with her, a solid friendship
And here pierces the mystery.

Maybe I let a wrong word slip,
Or someone said something misleading
About me, which caused a rip

In her judgement and reading
Of my otherwise sincere and
Honest heart, now bleeding.

Because it hurts more to be banned
Without even knowing why
Than be released from the hand

That held my heart and my
Everything. Because lovers come,
Move everything around, pass by

And go, but friends offer some
Stability, some orientation,
A sort of pathway home

When the journey's expiration
Is far from a familiar place;
Likewise giving explanation

From a familiar face
When something isn't right.
Friends don't just erase

Years of memories in one night.
It must have been something bad
That I don't know I did, in her sight,

And it makes me really sad.


And now it's 10:30 AM. I talked on the phone with a fellow bus driver, David, for 16:26, so this poem, if you will call it that, took no longer than it did to lose a friend...

What else can I say? Whatever it is will best be in haiku form, I'm sure.


The bus company
Working the Olympic games:
Gold medal failure


It has been two weeks
Breathing through a mucous straw
Not enjoyable


Sun, unearth desire
Winter stills the bravery
Evaporation


Haiku is harder
Than I was hoping right now
Too bright out to sleep


Well, maybe this is better than nothing. It's 11:13 AM.

Randomblings: from the heart

I wrote this Saturday Feb 27. I had a rough sort of day and the following streamed from my fingers. I started a short story for February, but have not finished it. Busy month. And a shorter month. Maybe I'll finish it pretty soon. But for now, this:


I feel. I am a woman and I have feelings. I use them honestly. When I don’t feel something, I don’t portray it; when I feel something I’ll let you know. Only excepting when I just can’t, because some feelings just can’t be told. Sometimes even letters can’t be formed from the debris of words certain explosive feelings leave behind. Then is when you just sweep it all up and make a deposit in the dumpster.

But right now, I’ll say a few words. Men are idiots. Women should forever be exalted for letting men into their lives. Men don’t deserve a good woman but oh how they need one. And just one. Once she has agreed to be his, he should remember—always remember—how useless he is without her and cherish and respect and adore and honor and pamper and waste away his life trying to make something of his own through hers. A man whose life is not given to one good woman will waste all the good he’s got and be good for nothing. Okay, not nothing, but close.

Guys generally like sports. They like to run into each other charging at full speed. They like to hit and throw and toss and kick assorted athletic balls. They like to win and get whatever they want, get a prize.

Women are not prizes, but are to be prized. They aren’t trophies to display, but treasures to bury deep in the heart. What man wasn’t born with and what he won’t ever find elsewhere in the world is contained in one word: woman. She is the goal. She will cheer for his success as long as she’s the goal.

What’s in it for him? Did you really ask that? You did if you’re a man.

Why does any athlete train, sweat, tear his muscles to make them stronger, push, bleed, break and fight for the sport? He has a goal, he wants to win. I thought that was clear enough already, but I’ll say it differently.

She is the goal, she is the success, having her = to win; she makes the effort worth it, she makes his life have full worth. Anything else he aims for, he may achieve; but until he wrestles the bitter game of love, he will not know the sweetness of losing his life to win a woman.

It just makes me so sad when he loses sight that there’s nothing grander than one good woman; when he submits to the steroidal impulse to get a quick woman, any woman; women, women. It makes me sad, too, the quick women that submit.

I’m tired and I just don’t want to write a short story that I haven’t thought up yet. I’m deflated because the world doesn’t value the ultimate team of a good man and a good woman; the Olympic possibilities of golden years, with silver hair and bronzed skin, together to the end.

Men, go for the heart of gold, the one you’ll earn only through losing yourself to win that woman.

My Nose

I'm drinking warm water that soaked some peppermint leaves in it for about ten minutes (I would have just said peppermint tea, but then y'all might think whatever it is you think, so I specified) pondering my luck of going one and a half months without getting sick, when whamo, the sniffles. Don't you agree that it's the worst thing to wake up in the night to escapee snot tickling down your nostril, the one you haven't been able to breathe out of since you turned your head onto that side? In my frantic ear-plugged, half-sleep, eye-closed reach for the roll of toilet paper, I knocked the tissues under the bed. I rummaged and found them again, unrolled, tore and twisted a wad into my nostril and flopped my listless head back onto the pillow. Leaving the tissue as was prevented any further worrying and snot dripping. So, turns out, I slept well. All eight hours. Except, my roommate did wake up three hours before me and that woke me up ever so slightly -- enough to actually feel self-conscious about the paper plug in my nostril so I snuck it from my nose when hopefully she wasn't looking. Not sure what I did with it after that...

I love breathing from both nostrils. It feels more correct, filling both lungs evenly. Normally when I sleep, I nostril breathe, I don't snore, basically you'd sometimes wonder if I was actually breathing I sleep so quietly. When I'm sick my nose habitually nose breathes still, until that becomes too laborious and I switch to mouth. I hate it. I am convinced it makes me more sick since it dries out my throat and allows all sorts of airborne hitchhikers to get right where they need to go, and bust. Yes, I hate it when I have to breathe through my mouth when I sleep. Mouths should stay closed except for eating, laughing, cleaning and saying intelligent or witty things. Oh, and kissing. Kissing is definitely on the list.

When I get that nice clogged feeling at the back of my nose, my brain always suggests and encourages that I move it from there, into my mouth and then onto the ground, into the sink, wherever is appropriate for the time. My brain is kind for the constant motivation, but when it comes down to it.,..I just can't obey. I can't voluntarily hock a loogie. Which is to say, in a word I'm sure how to spell, spit. Yeah, I just can't get it from point A to point B, only point C: swallowing. Only sometimes my body decides to bypass the informing part and just takes care of the A to B reflex for me. I appreciate when that happens. I know it's gross. But, you read the title of this post. You could have stopped then.

What else about my nose? I rather like it. It's pretty average and fits nicely on my face, below my eyes and above my lips. When I smile it spreads out a bit. Some times more than other times it seems. At times it looks like it grew overnight and those days are always self-conscious ones. But anyway, I was really only writing until this tea was gone, so that I wouldn't have to drink it cold.

Current conditions: both nostrils are clear, north and south bound. But, I don't think it's going to last very long. Forecast shows there will be a nap and the build up of mucous will probably start shifting from side to side. But for now, the mouth is pepperminty fresh, and we really do need that nap so the immune system can do some clean up while the body's at rest. This report brought to you by the cranberry and pomegranate Emergen-C packet consumed earlier. Emergen-C, when you can't get from A to B, try C.

:)