Yes (wo)Man: Living in the Poop-Free Zone

As my adopted Chinese-Crested lies at my feet, and my epileptic highly-allergic blind in one eye bought her in a grocery store parking lot purebred Cocker Spaniel wanders the house probably trying to decide if she should pee inside or outside, I want to whisper some truth to you about my dogs. I am whispering you see, because if I say it loudly enough, I might begin to realize that I am really telling you some very private and otherwise unknown information about


myself


So shhh!


 Now here it is: I realized this morning, as I was dressed in my super-hero cape, and proudly performing my duties as the Yes Woman, that my dogs were happy to follow me around the yard as I cleaned up their stink and didn't even mind taking a sniff or two of it's delicate aroma. Not only did they act as if they had no idea that it was di-sgust-ing, but they seemed to think that the spots I had just cleaned were designed for taking a perfectly public squat in AGAIN. There they were, butt poised for action, ignoring the prominence of my cape, and for that matter my presence, sullying up my poop-free zone. I mean no shame, none, Nada, No Sirree! 


Anyway, I want you to know, I am good for my word, and I cleaned up that doody, and even managed not to step in it. That is until my husband called mid-way through my treadmill extravaganza to ask me if I could do a kindness for TheOneWhoDoesNotLikeME. Yes Woman had stowed her cape so as to not get it caught in the gears of the incline, and Ms.Reticent-to-do-anything-kind started to publicly, well you know...


A wrestling match ensued between Ms. Reticent and our ever amazing Pooper Scooper, and eventually, after some flatulence, a little time change, and an inner scream, the super-hero won out.


Ah, the Italian just called and said his key broke and now he can not start the car. The burly tow man or the Yes Woman? We shall see.


Hope I don't step in it.

Yes (wo)Man: I Could Have had a Pony Ride and Other Lessons in Listening

It is interesting the mystical change that takes place inside of the human mind, when genuinely you think that you have learned at least in some small way to listen, to love, to let someone else lead, or even to allow them to have an opinion, and then all at once you realize that you have just been writing the script in your own thoughts and missing the greater portion of what those you love are trying to communicate. 


And this leads me to the adventure of Day One as the amazing and often hard-of-hearing Yes Woman.


I missed my first two opportunities to say Yes entirely. The words passed through my ear lobes and technically my ear drums worked perfectly, but then mysteriously his words ricocheted off the grey matter numbing it in the process. It was done, over, finis before I even realized I had rebuffed the man once again! And I could have had a pony ride, I mean literally, he wanted me to go for a ride in his classic 66 red mustang convertible. I know, I hear you! Nave. Rube. Call me what you will, but just don't call me quitter.


 I am excited to tell you that another opportunity came my way, and being that my husband must meet with associates from the great state of Kentucky in the early morn, I had the proud and joyful honor of saying YES, YES, YES! 


Yes, I will pick up the dog pooh tomorrow morning.


Now to just remember to follow through, and perhaps sign up for a course in the fine art of listening!

Yes (wo)Man!

I got my husband an electric razor for Father's Day. Completely devoid of any semblance of romance, creativity, or mystery, I know, but way back when, even before I was born, a wise one said that the gift should be something the receiver actually wants. And so, I bought my husband an electric razor for Father's Day.


This is not usually the type of subject I write about, I usually prefer inspiration, encouragement, or on my angsty reflective days I go for, well, angst. But this post is not without purpose, as I have chosen my miniscule, yet mighty group of followers to keep me accountable as I give my husband an additional and perhaps more creative gift. For the next thirty days, I am going to make it my goal to "just say yes," barring of course the illegal and immoral (I mean what is He doing asking for either of those anyway?). 


I have only been married to the Italian for two years, but in my "hey, I'm a big girl, and my half a century of wisdom means I am smarter than you" bad attitude, I find myself saying things like, "No, I don't feel like walking around the park with you," and "What? We have to use those stupid free tickets to sit in prime seats at the local pro-teams game?" 


I am feeling like an old-lady, and soon I may have to go buy, well, granny-panties. So in honor of Jim Carrey in Yes Man, or perhaps as a my own little Love Dare, the stubborn-head Irish girl is going to learn how to say Yes! 


If you care, thrown in between angst and inspiration, I'll keep you posted on how it goes. If you don't care, just don't read, or don't comment, oh wait, I mean just keep doing what you already do...or just say Yes Woman!!! and then I might even smile, and feel so good about myself.




P.S. My husband is one of my followers...but since he is a going to the gym, gotta watch the news at all hours of the day kinda guy, there is little chance my plans will be foiled...(insert evil laugh). We shall see.

Thread Count 400

Wearing my heartbreak

on

my

collar

buttoned

too

tight

stiff-starched

head held

appear

             direct

heart hidden

beaneath  pima cotton and

mother of pearl

no care

             reflected

stitched shamelessly

piercing

               provoke

intrude and escape

hold me together.

Notes on Writing:  The first line of “Thread Count 400” started as “wearing my heartbreak on my collar buttoned too tight sometimes,” jotted quickly on my notepad at home one day. The rest of the writing came several weeks later, rewritten several times—with intermittent consultations from my thesaurus and my fifteen year old daughter. I truly worked this poem on paper, as opposed to letting in run through my brain until it was worthy of the page (at least in my mind). This papyrus editing process is new for me in the poetry realm and was previously used only for greater (read more words) works.

At the time I was working on this reflection, my son was six and suggested that I write a poem on dishes, and so I did. In conclusion, I would like to share it with you for your reading pleasure:

I wishes I didn’t

have to do dishes.

No Remorse

Life in a shambles on the  ground

                                    bittersweet

                                      at my feet

Memories  in   color   all   a  heap

                              blue and green

                                        acts unseen
Threads lying limply questioning

                                what the cost

                                          battle lost

         Worn well and emptied

                                        no remorse

                                 worthy course

Life in a shambles on the  ground

And so

i did the laundry

Writer's Remorse

I sat down

and dug from my soul

and laughed

and cried

tore up the papers

the pieces

of my mind

bared

to myself

more than I wanted to



remember.






Notes on Writing: Writer’s Remorse was originally birthed as a doodle in a Creative Writing class. It was nestled among notes that read “Inspiration” and “Writing-a sensual activity-Paper and Parchment.” It flowed from my expensive Montblanc pen (a gift) onto my cheap, but serviceable yellow tablet (my own purchase) in one lump sum. I tried to name it "Remember” but later realized that it was truth incarnate of what I was to face if I chose to write again- and so “Writer’s Remorse.”