Pool Party

I wanna go to a pool party.

I can’t go as myself. I’m not a pool party kinda gal.

I’ll adopt a persona.

This is my pool party me: Rich. Independently wealthy. I don’t have to work 10 hours a day at a soul killing job, and people don’t tell me, “you look tired.” ‘Cause this new pool party me of mine- she’ll be well rested.

I’ll have shopped for a very flattering bathing suit. I’ll go to a special shop that offers more than the paltry selection of suits for tall ladies that most mundane stores do (if they have tall sizes at all). It might be 2 piece or one, but my fabulous 50year old body really rocks it. I look stunning.

I’m not sure if my pool party self has a disfiguring scar on her leg. I think she does. She doesn’t like to pretend that things that have happened didn’t happen.

My pool party self is a better conversationalist than my real self. She doesn’t stand quiet in the corner. She doesn’t talk much either. She knows exactly how to seek other party goes out and get them to talk about themselves. People love to talk about themselves. She’s a good listener. People like that.

My pool party self is not allergic to pool chemicals, like I am. Or maybe my Pool Owner friend is rich and sophisticated enough to have one of those salted pools that don’t need chemicals. It’s sultry hot on pool party night, and I want to swim. The sky is changing from electric blue to black blue as I backfloat….the magic pool party fades to night.


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“The wind blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” -Jn 3:4-8

Spirit now; now that we
Are born of you
May we travel with you?

Like the wind, Spirit.
We’re learning to spread our wings…

When our eyes were fixed on the ground
We did not know where you came from
Or sense where you were going.

But we’ve learned to lift our eyes
Lift our hearts up to the skies

That’s what we were born for.

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Eat the Weeds

The irony of all my toil,
An early start with potting soil,
In April sun on windowsill-
You’d think the special treatment will
Give pampered plants starting jump…
I dreamt of red tomatoes plump…

But somehow they look second rate;
I mourn their limp, bedraggled state.
I set them out a week ago
When gone was risk of frost and snow
With fervent hope that they would grow
Faster than the weeds….

The thing that’s most incredible
About these weeds, you know-
They’re tender, young and edible,
As if intent to show
My ’hothouse’ efforts are in vain
And I’d do better to refrain
From forcing plants on windowsills
And bending nature to my will…
Relax, let nature sow the seeds-
Then smell the flowers and eat the weeds.

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Seasoned with Salt

Today I told myself I could do whatever I wanted.
Hard work yesterday, obligations tomorrow, but today….
Be free, be happy.

The thing that I wanted
Most in the world
Was to hula hoop by the ocean.
So I did.
All morning, until lunchtime
Caught me un-hungry.
As I hula hoop danced
In my happy place
I realized that (for me)
Hunger is boredom, frustration and anger
That I take out on innocent food.
I’m on a Happy Hula Diet
Seasoned with Salt

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There We Were

Nervous greeting
Tentative words
Hopeful strangers
There we were…

Ever intended
Each for the other
Like a gift
Tagged and hidden.

We unwrapped
Joyful kisses
Pleasing smiles
Urgent touches
Long awaited.

Dare we name this gift so soon
Found in just an afternoon?

Timeless sense
Knowing hearts
Enfold the gift
Of love.

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Little Happy

Begs to be

Give me Elation Lite
It’s a little bite
Weightless thing,

Without strings.


(This poem was inspired by a prompt initiated by Paul Sunstone in his remarkable Cafe Philos blog here .  Admittedly it is not what he’s looking for, but it is nonetheless what his post inspired me to write).



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The first ones were made in the USA. They weren’t bad…. The next ones were made in Egypt. They were abysmal…. (That’s when I started doing alterations)…. The third batch came from Mexico. They were the best. Yay Mexico.

Lab coats, that is. As you may know by now, I am a pharmacist working in a retail pharmacy, and we are provided lab coats with the company logo. They need to be replaced every year or so (’cause they get grungy after a while), and each time they come from a different manufacturer (presumably whoever presents with the lowest bid).

The lowest bidder this time was from somewhere in China. The Chinese, evidently, wouldn’t know lab coat style/quality if it hit them in the head, ‘cause they come in dead last in the parade of lab coat quality. A few days ago I excitedly opened the new package (OK, so it doesn’t take much to get me excited) looking forward to a crisp, clean lab coat. Puzzled, I examined the white garment from different angles. “This isn’t a lab coat…” I murmured to myself, “It’s some sort of tent! TO THE SEWING MACHINE!”

Today (the first chance I have had to sit and sew) I developed a plan of action. “Darts front and back, definitely…” I said to myself, “…elastic through casing between the darts in back- gonna give this thing a waist if it kills me…” *looking at front* “…that means I’ll have to remove and re-attach the pockets… Don’t they have interfacing in China? *rolls eyes* “…these lapels are gonna need a serious makeover…”

Later that day (it took me about as long to alter the stupid lab coat as it would have taken me to make one myself) I looked with satisfaction upon my re-styled lab coat. Seamstress AND pharmacist all in one. An unbeatable combination!

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