Daughters and Debts

I stare at my daughter's tiny sleeping body as the morning light is slowly waltzing through the window across her face. She is beautiful at the tender age of eight with piano fingers that lay cupped below her cherub like cheeks. As she grows, I hope her beauty will not be erased like mine, by the scars blemishes leave behind. She is a loveable and fierce force that is still untamed and at times difficult, but through her father's eyes I see adoration and I have learned to love me.

I wish to make a paper plane that is more beautiful and glides faster on the breeze than the one molded by my mother.

I am overwhelmed at times by the love I feel for my daughter and with a full heart I will her to be more than the mother that bore her.

Hip To Be Square?

Pearls and perfect posture are things I don't possess.
"No apron in the kitchen and heels only for the bedroom" I want to scream out in jest.
When I am in a crowded room and feel all alone, lucidity is like a clever imaginery friend, that hums in my ear..." square peg, round hole, square peg, round hole", signaling my social distress.

For me, fitting in to conform is like a dress that's unworn, and no matter its beauty, it's just not my duty.

And so, I am happy to say, I have founded a misfits paradise named Oblongs Anonymous.
Membership is free, you just can't be... completely square.

Tags: misfit, Silly, squar

Pillow Samba

He's just landed in Perth, while she's stateside, visiting home... they are tethered to one another by pillows and telephones. He has just disembarked another plane, and along with his crew of passenger air transport soldiers, he marches off to his temporary home. He reconnects with his love, now that he is grounded, through signals sent across the night sky. She is once again in his ear, as her laughter brings him ease of mind...and their ritual can begin. He switches to a language that is unrecognizable by his crew, it is French this time, and the telling of her favorite lullaby ensues. She smiles, as her lids say goodbye to day, with the tone of his voice dropping kisses tenderly in her ear, phonetic fairies dance the samba on her pillow as love enters her empty space and the sadness disappears.

Trepidation and Her Sisters

The oldest daughter, Trepidation, often found herself lingering on the landing between two floors — success was on the ground floor, an attainable and well lived-in space, while failure could be found on the floor above, bearing a lack-luster appearance that was unappealing and without grace. Trepidation's curiosity led her often to the attic, a dark place, which was home to forgotten promises and childhood clutter; kept hidden from judgmental eyes for the daughters' sake. In the corner of that neglected room, sat a trunk filled with memories and potential magic, known only to the girls as their hope chest. Their mother, Discerning, would quietly creep up the stairs to add to the chest when she knew her daughters were done playing with life's moments, and once they had been tucked away, the girls would heal from the wounds those moments had left behind. While Trepidation continued to waffle over ascending the stairs, her sisters, Bold and Daring, mocked their baby sister, Complacency, who seemed to be content to gaze from the picture window on failure's second floor. Curious about her stagnant behavior, all the girls joined Complacency at the window and soon became engulfed in nature's offering with a view that was amazing, and on this, all the young women could agree... but the chest would beckon them to open it soon, and the rest may very well be, written history.

Pearl Necklace

He drove away from his picturesque Nantucket dream and smiled with distinct pleasure as he watched the moon dance across her nubile chest. Her arm was draped across his lap, intimately positioned to signal a hunger that he was prepared to quell, like a geared up captain who had navigated rough seas to his advantage and won the regatta.

As a business owner he answered to no one, and played often, well away from the perimeter of his picket fence.

She was nothing like his wife — who was beautiful but with expectations that had grown stale — instead she had a devoid nature that pleased him, as she wore no ring of despair.

He quickly pulled over and stopped on the deserted beach road when she proclaimed geographic perfection for their midnight romp in the surf.

He was careful to lock the glove compartment that contained the recently purchased pearl necklace and earrings before he got out... after all, it would be his 12th anniversary tomorrow and pearls were the perfect modern gift for what he perceived as the perfectly modern relationship.

Up To No Good in 1984

Barreling down the highway in a black Trans Am, we were hell bent on a frolicking good time tubing down the Bogue Chitto River. My 78 Firebird was sporting a lack luster frown but with the roof panels removed all the girls were ready to ride. Successive live oak and cypress trees flashed across our speedy landscape as the breeze blew their hair those teen dreams all felt like prom queens. Summer days seemed endless when you were floating downstream housed in a rubber cocoon sipping on Natural Light. The scenery was second to none as I was surrounded by bronzed beauties with smooth skin, unblemished by the curse of time; glistening in the sun due to a coating of Tropicana oil that left a coconut scent wafting through the air. Rebel was along for the ride too, barking bubbles... courtesy of Hubba Bubba.

Easter and Pasties

He was dripping doo-wop style complete with a finely placed fedora on this evening of yet another matrimonial occasion with which he could twirl me on his finger and teach me to box step. I was his brown eyed girl with dark tendrils cascading down my shoulders and together we gingerly shimmied through time until the pace quickened and I chose to trade in my petticoats for prom dresses. Years after, self-sufficiency saw me as the black sheep of the family...only not to the man who was now older and wiser, but still with eyes of grey and a heart of gold. We sat soaking in the sun of a lovely spring afternoon among all the plastic and paper carnage that Easter chocolate brings as he in his casual best says. “ So, are you still a Go Go dancer?” With a mouthful full of gumbo I hesitated to reply, and he said, “I thought so, you always had a little bit of wild in you”