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I just witnessed a simple gesture of love (or maybe just plain lust) by a Tom Wild Turkey for not only one but two Tina Wild Turkeys. Yep, right here in my neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of the road. Before I besmirch any turkey’s good name, let me be clear that the simple gesture of love did not entail Wild Turkeys Doing It. The show did, however, involve Mister Tom Wild Turkey putting a mighty colorful and might I say, awe inspiring display. He spread his tail feathers, wide, optimally displaying bright gorgeous hues of reds, oranges, and browns while simultaneously puffing his chest up and out so big that his chest actually drug on the pavement, making a scuffing sound. And, Mister Tom Wild Turkey did the tail feather spreading and the puffing two times over in the course of two minutes max. Talk about Mister Turkey Lover!
Not that either one of his love interests saw, much less appreciated, this proclamation of wanton abandon as they were Turkey walking pretty darn fast ahead of Mister Amorous Tom Wild Turkey. But I have a suspicion, that both Tina Wild Turkeys knew they were being woo’ed.
In the midst of current local and world crisis, my faith in life, at least the lives of other species, has definitely been renewed.
green light
all set to go
and then
what do I spy?
only a big grey mottled
spider.
traveling at a half-run
pace
across my sand colored Berber
covered hall floor.
Interruption.
to my day.
Big Time.
@junemoon 2009
So time does, indeed, march on. It always has and I guess it always will. But always is an awful long time moniker, don’t you think? and the image of time marching, well it sort of conjures up a military style image don’t you think? I can see time now, in its camouflage fatigues and shiny army boots high stepping forward, the epitome of the march of time. I suppose that is what times does, it marches forward regardless of those humans who fall along its path. I mean seasons come and go while vegetation pushes up from the soil, unfurls, blooms, produces its fruit, withers, rots and returns to the soil, all the while aided by the march of time. Babies of all sorts and species are conceived, gestated, born, cherished or not cherished, move through childhood, early adulthood, middle and late life stages, contribute (or not) to the lives around them, die, and return to the soil. All the while time continues its forward march and for as much as I can tell, it does not slow its beat, mourn the comings and goings of mere mortals or beloved dog companions. Is time heartless? Most likely. and really given its forward motion, would we want it to pause at each passing, each season. Would we want time to be influenced by human frivolity, our outrageous acts, our puny efforts to exercise control over its automated self?
On a day like today, all sun with a little haze to the otherwise blue blue sky, it seems incongruent to be such a head case. I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself a nut job. Today at least. Maybe total nut job would have been an accurate descriptor for a day or two sprinkled into the past week or two or maybe three. And maybe nut job would have been a fitting label for a minute or two or three throughout my life. Head case, however, is more befitting on this spring day.
Hard to get out of my head and into my heart or just plain out of my head space. Circles. Circular thought processes keep leading me right back to Square One of the Circle. Not helpful. And right beyond the container of my body and my brain is the bright and warm spring day. Today though I view the day through maple colored wooden blinds and a double window pane. At least the blinds are open. Maybe tomorrow I will go hog wild and open my front door and take a step into the brightness. That is if the skies are blue and I am sunnier.
Head case.
surprised again when I least expect goodness.
a surprise indeed
to turn around
to find you
standing there a little to the right of me.
holding out your hand
in friendship.
@junemoon 2009
Some things seem to put me right back into childhood. High school to be exact. Fortunately for me, a return to my high school memories happens once in a blue moon. I say fortunately, as school was not a highlight of my life and I am glad that many years have transpired since those unhappy and unpopular days of my youth. And then along comes Facebook. Well actually, along came Facebook, like a long time ago. But in line with my usual hurry and catch up self (half the sitcoms that I’ve become a fan of occurred once the sitcom was in re-runs, I bought a turn table right before cassettes took off, etc. etc.), I became a member of the Facebook legions just last week.
And wow. Talk about a Flashback to high school. Who’s popular. who isn’t. who’s in and who’s out. who responds to a ‘will you be my friend’ request and who does not. and why. oh why? and why again, do I care?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying FB for the most part. Once I take away the Flashback to high school trauma drama terror and angst that sweeps and seeps into every pore of my being. No really. FB has it’s fun-ner (I know I know, it’s not a word) elements like catching up with folks from yester year. Folks who I haven’t heard from in years. Getting to re-connect is interesting.
What is the most interesting part is seeing how different segments of my life intersect. Also, discovering that there are more folks than I realized who have come and gone from my life who I actually give a tinker’s dam (or is that damn) about. And finally, I am fascinated with the aging process and have been all my life ~ both the aging and fascination parts ~ so it is interesting to visually see folks who I still pictured in their 20’s or 30’s who are now in their 40’s-60’s.
My oh my the years have flown by. as in raced. gone over the speed limit I am sure.
My three cheese and spinach lasagna is, indeed, a work of art. I am hoping that it tastes as wonderful as it looks and if its rich aroma is any indication, I think we’re in for a treat. Yum.
I broiled it so that the mozzarella and grated fresh parmesan turned a rich and dark golden and light brown. A work of art, I tell you.
Let the healing continue ~
A burbling bubbly three cheese and spinach lasagna is perking away in my gas oven even as I type.
With each meal that I cook, a healing takes place. Healing and restoration of my spirit, body, mind, and psyche envelops me with the steady motion of chopping, dicing, mincing, stirring, and folding of earthy ingredients. Rich aromas conjure up happier times. A full tummy beckons me to lie down, to be still, to take a much longed for nap.
Today I am a woman wearing my green and white striped apron while I putter about in my light filled kitchen. Yes. I am cooking with gas today.
Trundling along. Putting one foot in front of the other. Standing on my own two feet with the help of the solid Earth beneath my shoes and the Universal powers that be. Big long confident strides brought me here to this spot and will take me further along my path. But for now, I trundle. And for now, that is enough. Good. Enough.
That’s what I am right now, a work in progress ~ making progress. hopefully, that is. What it feels like is one step forward, one step back. That is on good days. I’m not even blue. Well, maybe. But more accurately, I’m marinating. Percolating. Popcorning around. Sorting through.
Do you know what I mean? Have you been here too?
Don’t worry though. I always land on my feet. I figure things out. eventually.
