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Alive.

Quiet like the dawn crashing upon the rocky shore of darkness.

Full of noise, full of life.  A roar of silence.

Too loud to speak.

Self-aware.

In all things I am.

I exist.  Sentient.

Feeling, knowing, being.  Thunderous.  Mute.

Heaving towards stillness, the permanent precipice, the denouement.

Beauty in knowing acceptance.  Birthing terminus.

The rocky shore of darkness as the light creeps quietly away.

Waiting to be reborn.

Me, spewing my bad poetry on an unsuspecting readership.  😉  It had to be done.  Sorry all.  Just one of those days/nights.

The night before school starts

The night before school starts,

and mom writes my name.

On notebooks, and pencils

helping me to lay claim.

Okay, yeah…

I’m not a poet,

that’s as far as it goes.

The rest of this blog post

is thankfully in prose.

 

My Sharpie is no longer sharp after writing “Lily-Ann” on 12 markers, 24 crayons, 24 pencil crayons, various notebooks, folders, and a scrapbook, as well as on shoes, pencil cases, glue sticks, erasers, a pencil sharpener, a bottle of white glue (with a no clog lid), and a backpack. Gotta love the night before the first day of school. Pre-k was easy all supplies are communal, but as kids enter the regular school system labeling everything quickly becomes the norm.

I remember my Mom scrawling our names on everything… And with so many of us it was no quick task. As our pencils and pencil crayons were wore down into little nubs, and all that remained was a letter or two, I’d still think of Mom writing our names every time I saw mine. It was a reassuring thing, though it didn’t register as such on a conscious level until many years later.

I hope, as Lily-Ann sits in her classroom this coming school year, that seeing her name spelled over and over again brings a sense of belonging and love. That she knows how treasured she is, not just by her Mom (who wrote her name so very many times) but by everyone who knows her. She really is such a special kid, and her joie de vie has left many with grins where previously there were none.

Girl is ready to be a “school kid” whether or not I am ready for the same. 😉

"Look Mommy!  PONY tails!"

“Look Mommy, PONY tails!”
I’m so glad I had my phone out and captured this moment. 🙂 And thanks so much to another My Little Pony Trading Post member for the lovely G1 sparkle pony in her left hand (she arrived in the mail today, and the girl is currently sleeping with her).

Two Women

Two women with the same first name,

who also shared a last initial,

phoned me up on the very same day.

Both left a message, and to both I replied,

again on the same, very same, day.

Sharing a name and an initial is nice,

sharing a time and a location? Think twice.

One booked a Monday, the other Today.

Same time, same place,

same name, same initial.

Both with families,

Quite individual.

I never claimed to be a poet, but every so often life demands more than prose.  😉

And seriously, everything, all along the board… just kept seeming more and more odd.  It was funny enough to receive two phone messages one after another from women with the same first name and last initial.  And they both sounded quite similar on the phone – so much so that I actually made sure to clarify that the second woman really was a different woman.  LOL  But then, for them to pick sessions one day after the other (booked way in advance), and for the same times?  It couldn’t end there though, in the end they both ended up choosing the exact same meet-up spot, and we shot in almost the exact same spots…  and it’s not like this is a usual spot for me – these were the first two sessions I’ve shot in this particular location since last year.  LMAO  And this was not of my doing, both families requested this spot without first asking me for suggestions.  I just thought it was WAY too funny.

My Compucapable Husband

Ode to DH

A poem by TD Smith.

My man? He’s hot.

4 gigs of ram, he bought.

“Install it myself?  I’ll take a shot.”

“It won’t be easy”, others thought.

My man?  He’s unshakable.

It’s unmistakable,

He’s impressively capable.

 

If, at this point you’ve realized nothing else, you should be keenly aware that a poet I am not.  But hey!  I’ve got a smart husband, who is totally compucapable…  and that’s pretty hot.  Intelligence is sexy.

And yes, he again performed an upgrade on one of our computers (this one’s a four and a half year old iMac).  He’s given it new life, new pep, new vigor.  It was still doing pretty well for it’s age, but now it’s like a brand new machine again.

Thanks Damon.  Mwah!

 

 

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