Monthly Archives: February 2016

its the whispering hour


restless in sleep, I clamber out of bed and plod to the back porch
its the whispering hour
winter’s breath jolts me sober as I pull the porch door
even with a clear celestial ceiling, light can’t penetrate the interlaced canopy of trees bordering the comatose creek just beyond the porch

plopping myself down into the chase lounge, I surrender a depressed breath
It’s been months of insomnia,
months since the explosions
months of being a civilian

most days hyper-vigilance takes control of me
at night war demons visit behind my closed eyes
and bring agitated sleep if sleep occurs at all

Every day, anger engulfs me like an unpredictable explosion
Medications aid, but their barriers are easily broken,
I don’t always remember to take the handful of pills

I cut the cap off my Stradavarius,
toast the foot,
it’s one of my many new vices as of late
it helps stave off the nightmares for now


kissing asphalt

kissing asphalt

I’m a klutz. Just call me Mary Mishap! The queen of grace! Walls jut out and attack me, bumping into my shoulders and arms, producing expletives to spew from my mouth. Desk corners and kitchen countertops definitely target my pelvis and thighs. Andd there must be a scheme with the invisible “bumps” that mysteriously bob up inside the floor and cause me to totter, inevitably, in front of folks! Does anyone else have these issues? It’s not unusual for me to regularly sport contusions or scrapes on my body. In addition to my inherited gracefulness, I’m always tinkerin’ with crafts, household duties, or out gardening. I’ve learned to accept these markings as a part of life, like a ladybug has spots.

Well, one recent stumble left more than visible wounds. It went down (literally) like this. I took both our Beagle and Doberman outside together, of which I’ve done numerous times before, so that they could hike their legs and relieve themselves. One said pooch tends to do his business on all my lovely garden plants, which really annoys me, but I won’t mention his name. Unfortunately, living in a townhome we don’t have a fenced in backyard, and so, both k9’s must be tethered to a human. Which, for me, at times feels as if I’m a buoy roped to

A secure yard would be ideal, particularly on those chilly-ass mornings when I opt to go outside bundled in my pink and white poka-doted bath robe. Surely, I’ve scarred the neighbors. At any rate, the last time I escorted the dogs out, I did not return to our abode looking, nor feeling, the same. Normally, as the pooch posse and I are strolling along, I’m often scanning the grounds for what makes them turn into berserk machines. –Felines. Well, apparently my reconnaissance was shit, or even if I wasn’t, it would not have mattered. I lost control like a bird smacking into a plane’s windshield. I was kissing asphalt and their happy asses were off like fired cannons.

I didn’t fully realize the extent of my injuries until a week after my face plant. I had facial wounds on my right side of my head, but, they were scabbing over fine. Two of my fingers were severely sprained, but they were now bendable and I could resume use of giving the middle salute. My two front teeth were chipped in the accident and felt I could now fit the part in a Beverly Hillbillies episode. But, the one injury I couldn’t see were headaches. Headaches like I never experienced before; headaches like “who the flyin’ fuck unleashed these bitches onto my gray matter?!” They hurt. Although my world didn’t turn black when I collided with the ground, I incurred an invisible injury, a concussion.Walkig-the-dog-level-expert

I rarely get headaches, so being that they were visiting me at the same time every day, I knew something was up. Also, I noticed simple words, sentences, and thoughts weren’t quite poppin’ outta my mouth with ease as they used to. More often than not, my footing felt off or and I’d easily get dizzy. My hubby suffers from post-concussion headaches (exploding IED’s next to the cranium don’t make for a good outcome). He was pretty certain that I was suffering from post-concussion headaches; a visit to a neurologist confirmed his suspicion.

Every week since kissing asphalt, which by the way I had to get a tetanus shot for, which by the way, will make your arm hurt for a few days, it’s been a different type of brain pain. The first set of headaches that I experienced, I dubbed as “umbrella” headaches. The weighted aches would begin at the very crown of my head and agonizingly slide down the circumference of my cranium as if unfolding over an open umbrella. With the umbrella aches was a lot of pressure as if some annoying circus monkey was doing tricks atop my head.

After the umbrella’s unleashed their wrath and folded up and left, very centralized headaches, over my left eye, took the baton. What the fuck. I’ve never been stabbed by a knife before, but this set of headaches felt like a serrated blade assaulting me in the same spot repeatedly. The stabbing serial killer throbs began daily at 10am on the dot and lasted way, way too long into the evening. Next were the forehead aches. It was like that wild circus monkey I mentioned earlier invited his elephant friends over to the party. He apparently instructed them to lay on my forehead… like 50 elephants. 50 elephants on my head. Yeap, that’s what it felt like.

Although it’s been about two months since my accident, I still endure daily headaches. It’s a joyful combo now between serial killer and rolling elephant aches. My neurologist has assured me that eventually they will dissipate completely. I’ve learned how fragile, yet how well sheltered our brains are. I’ve also learned to never walk both dogs together again. Ever. Again.

dog 2

empty bottles

empty bottles

Tryin’ new wines and figurin’ out somethin’ handy to do with the corks and bottles is my current pastime (it’ll change next week, not the drinking wine part). I did learn that by using pure acetone, twine, and matches, you’re able to effortlessly burn the tops off (numerous empty wine bottles in my case) and upcycle ‘em into decorative plant holders. I ain’t much figured for the corks yet.

Recently, my sweet, sweet husband stocked our (er, uh, my) wine cabinet and dazzled me with a couple new selections that I never would’ve bought for myself (I only get what’s in the circular, he don’t care about sales). Included in his loot were some Merlots (I like to say meer-lott just because it’s the wrong pronunciation) and Chiantis (I pronounce this one correctly, kee-ahn-tee).

Meer-lott has always been my choice delight.  Although, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking back to a strawberry wine that I loved. What the hell was it!? That’s right, how could I forget…Boone’s Farm wine! I thought that was the shit back when I was younger and could be found getting stuck in mud holes with my friend’s trucks. It made me feel so polished with a glass of Boone’s in my hand! Oh who am I joking, it was all I could afford! My taste for wine has refined itself since the high school days, but I’ll never forget my first love…Boone’s Farm.

When exploring most meer-lott brands, I’m not persnickety, yet, I must mention a new brand I sipped recently and it flat-out sucked. It was like soured moo juice mixed with bitter tart. The innocence of the wine’s name got me. (I tend to buy wines based on their label names or designs). So, yeap, I succumbed to the Cupcake Merlot label (or it must it been on sale). All I can say is Cupcake’s contents went down da drain (I do plan on repurposing the bottle and cork into a birdfeeder)! I don’t research wines. I simply snatch what appeals to me, like aforementioned Cupcake, give it a quick once over, place it in the buggy, and bound forth to unexplored wine isles.

I do love Chianti, but don’t sip it as much as I do mer-lott. Maybe I like Chianti as its Hannibal Lecter’s preferred drink with liver (I believe it was).  

There was a point I was gettin’ to here when I began writin’ this. Ummmm, oh…that’s right, my sweet hubby bringin’ home new vinos for momma! One of those meer-lott’s was so good, I wanted nuthin’ else! It was STERLING – VINTER’S COLLECTION Merlot 2013. And, damn! It was marvelous darlin’s! Invite your girlfriends over and have a Vinter’s collection wine tastin’ and see what wine 2y’all think (the guys will like it on account the ladies aren’t out shoppin’, they’ll all be with you drinkin’)! What I liked most about Sterling was its smooth, woodsy, organic raw flavor (that’s as about as good as I can get with a wine description). Reminded me of sittin’ ‘round a campfire on a cool night, breeze washin’ over me or swayin’ on hammock in the backyard (no, no, it was the campfire…can’t drink meer-lot swayin’ in a hammock)! Sterling has now trumped my Bogle brand meer-lot on my growing list of wine bottles I love to empty.

Until next time, cheerio darlin’s!