See I had this sappy lamentation about my inner muse and banshee throwing blows in twilight - bouncing off the smooth parts of my brain unwrinkled by original thought but in the soft light of morning with the day stretched out in front of me like a banquet of raw squid and dirty diapers - who the hell cares how I felt last night. Some of us don't make enough money to throw bald headed umbrella brandishing tantrums. We must protect the secret insanity of our souls and at least pretend we are cogs, drones, and cublicloids until we chew our feet off and release ourselves into that cosmic excasty of a Taco Bell I'm Full moment.

So I'm back. Owl blogs don't suit me. I am definitely more that stinking mourning dove outside your window - or maybe the three am barking dog - but I am no night creature. Unless you like drool...perhaps then I can oblige you with a quaint stuck to my pillow vignette.

For the few of you yesterday who asked me if I ever wrote 'dark' - let me address you carefully - gentle creature of the morning I am LIKE YEAH! DAILY! Seriously - I am often a better dark poet than a child of light. Something I keep in check. If you're really interested - I can shoot you an email link - check in October....there's some dark stuff there - but its spattered all over this public blog wasteland I call my own.

Another comment was made "crying out for music" again - when you know me better - this is probably intentional. I am a frustrated lyricist. God only gave me words....no melodies and specific instructions also: "you need a partner" - I've never found one. So - lyric poetry also happens. Thank you. It was validation.

Finally - the second poem....it does ryhme - someone actually mentioned he/she liked it better because it didn't "YES!" If the ryhme was that subtle - thank you. La dee Da poems ad nauseum are the mark of a brain in a terminal saccharine loop (tatish - thank you for the saccharine reminder...a cool spark)

So I return to my morning blog - angst filled and random as it may be its certainly better than the dirge I produced last night. It will be summarily deleted.

I'm still struggling with the whole friends thing. I let Scooter go because I thought he was closed for good only to find him back - friends only and me missing his moments of mad muppet insanity. I really abhore the limitations - but I suppose its a programming issue and well beyond my understanding. So if you are newer and suddenly removed from the circle, don't get it twisted. My blog is still public. You can still comment. And when the dust settles and the interesting people change - and the stamp collectors eliminate themselves - hit me again. I'm not silly enough to think 300 people will love me forever when my own two kids can't stand me most days. And rest assured, if you comment - I will get around to visiting you. We don't have to be 'connected' to connect. Please remember - I'm a BLOGGER. I'm a WRITER. I'm MARRIED WITH SPAWN. And I'm well over 18. i'm also very very mundane. So think before you waste a space on YOUR page attempting to 'add' a boneheaded woman like me.
PEACE! - no cutsey pic today....I got money and there's a gas station nearby with green chile cheeseburger burritos. A girl's gotta prioritize...

BE BLESSED -

Do you see the picture above so easily lifted from the internet? Yes, it is a box of Wheaties. Kindly refrain from urinating in the box as they are mine, my breakfast of champions and I prefer them unsullied by the filtered waste of the world. In the vulgate: "Don't pee in my Wheaties" Thank you very much.

Coupla things here for those of you who know my promise to minimize cererbral meltdown and virtual excrement flinging upon my page - today is my personal day of asylum. Yes I am a temporary refugee from the sane, secure, and stringently restricted. Its on. I'm off and if you love me - laugh with me or look away.

First. I have decided to max out the friends list. I figure if I tap the top of the 300 cieling - the rest of the invites will stop gumming up my email - and I can actually circulate amongst my friends with no guilt about ignoring the person politely knocking on my virtual door - right?

Second. Mail is now for friends only - and please, no spam, no glitter graphics - no cute stuff. Yeah I like it - but there will soon be 300 of you on the page and I want to visit YOU. I want to read YOU. I want to know YOU. If I can't get to your page because I'm sifting through your myspace kitsch....well...we both lose. If you post a blog tho' or you need a prayer, or you just want to say howdy - why have you stood me up again when I baked cookies and bought Hornitos....please, send an email. I'm cool with that.

The blog? Still public so comment away.

Let me make myself CLEAR. No couching, no subtle words, no pretty metaphors. I am flipping sick and tired of being sick and tired. Got it? I'm done. I am a novelist, dammit. Ok, I'm not a paid novelist or a published novelist or even a novelist worth the read, but the BOOK IS MINE! I wrote the damn thing. I am taking it as far as it will go. I'm plastering it all over every editors door I can find. I may be sad at times. I may be almost paralysed - but as long as one nerve ending responds to stimuli - I AIN'T DONE! (caveat...the book was actually an answered prayer and I am seriously stunned that it was 'given' to me. I don't discount the blessing. Ever.)

So that being said. I will also be circulating amongst my buds here on 360. People like the poets and alums of SP. Wraith, Spirit, Moon - the poets of Songspace, my JesusFreak friends - my awesome men and women who speak truth - Ann - Astra - Jaki - my lights - Alfa, my newer friends, Chrissy, Catherine, Seanymph, Gaby, my Filippino connections - my cyberspawn - its time for me to go back to what I used to do and that's spend more time blessing you than bringing you down. I can be your cover, your protection, but I can't be a wet blanket anymore.

Peace...(taps on glass....whispers....I'm baaaaaakkk - dances off page clicking her ruby slippers together...)

Perhaps it was the flood of chemicals heralding inevitable change. “You’re almost 42. The clock is ticking….” Perhaps it was the residual remembrance of unrelenting pain doled out from my mom like brown lunch bags before the rush to the bus stop. “You’ll never be better than me.” Perhaps it was the fury of a child bent on destruction unleashed on me “that piece of sh*t on the couch over there. I hate her. I wish she were dead.” Perhaps it was the male dominated society in which I live refracting off my soul. “Shut up. Don’t engage him.” “You lack confidence…” “You are not…” What ever my temporary malfunction – it was cumulative. As always its not the meteor crashing through my roof that does the greatest harm but the steady barrage of small stones aimed at my heart that causes the greatest pain. Yet still I breathe. I stand. I shake off the sludge and move again. This is also who am. Focused. Consistent. Responsible. Loyal. Dependable. Yes….I do have a few bright moments.

I tell myself so often that I am beyond my past. I am no longer victimized and fettered. Until my younger child launches an all out assault on my psyche. Yeah. He called me a piece of shit. He wanted me dead. All over an incomplete homework assignment. Happy Valentine’s Day, Tam. Are ya’ feelin’ the love? Yes. He was disciplined. Yes, he bit a bar of Irish Spring in half. Yes, the next day he told me he loved me, but lets add corporate gunfire to the mix shall we? And a husband who sees only black and white. I simply had to purge. No excuses and no apologies. I just had to get the angst out.

Yes. I am a relatively normal productive member of society with few ‘neuroses.’ I don’t smoke, I don’t drink nearly as much as I want to, I don’t spend half my pay on shoes. I have always been employed gainfully. I’m not chemically dependent. I rarely even take an aspirin. But I do feel pain intensely. And my writing is my release. The page is where I can be honest. Brutal. Selfish. All the baser emotions I must quell as wife, mother, cublicliod (I LOVE that word. Thank you!) I can trash my novel when it pees me off. I can bang my head against the keyboard. I can release.

Yes. Writers write and so do I. It is my gift. It is my prescription for balance and sanity. And yes, what goes in the box today will definitely be pulled out and dusted off today.

I appreciate the accidental blessing of friends. Of souls blessed by my candy apple words and prickly pear moments. It is never my intent to harm. And I hope my virtual ‘nekkedness’ will empower you to unmask a little.

For you fliers, thank you for the fly over yesterday. It was beautiful, profound and sobering. And for those of you with feet and beaks firmly planted in the trees….let go….you won’t fall….we were built to ascend….dream it into action. Dream it into fruition….but above all….dream….

I've done this so often before....hinged a poetic moment on an image. Let the visual spark a specific written response. But its never been the catalyst for an entire blog. Until now. With all the cotton candy and angst clogging the virtual highway this morning I was looking for something different. Already out of synch knowing I have been granted a temporary reprieve from calf grappling and road rage....schools are closed and the snow falls gently. I consider calling in but the boss? Yeah. Big red truck and bigger personality warrants more than 'I can't drive in this crap I'm New Mexican' if I plan to take an unscheduled day....

Love truly is blind at times...I could let the picture speak or share my thoughts and of course I choose the latter instinctively as I tell you I am a writer. So blind we often are slowly drawn to those who simply cannot benefit....Yes. Like a snail to scotch tape. Relationships are often that one sided....

But sometimes that myopic focus is saving grace when time stretches months to years, transient beauty fades and bright dreams tarnish in the steady drenching flow of tears over brittle broken hearts. Sometimes that flowers and chocolate frenzy fizzles and we realize after a choking day of stress that the warm arms of a mate who calms a crying child, digs a car out of the snow, or just hands the bag of cheetos over without teasing is an emissary of real love. Blind to your faults as you are to his or hers. The heady scent of romance is wonderful but at times the wafting aroma of that favorite cotton tshirt and jeans is the best balm.

Of course I am a fatal romantic. It is why I purge regarding love...certainly you can read between the lines. But I also am deeply grateful for the steady beat of a partner's heart. There will be no flowers, or candy. No card. No romantic dinner. He may not even tell me I'm beautiful. But at the end of the day when he's snoring in his chair with a cat and a kid on his lap I will know that this man is blind. Blind to his own dreams he works faithfully in the cold of a warehouse because he is a provider. Blind to the pull of his own 'down time' because the boy needs help with school work. And blind to my railing against almost everything that disappoints me...yes. He is mine. And because he is blind, he does not see the monster - only the pure light of my love for him. I just pray I never morph into a giant roll of scotch tape.

peace. I thank you for your kind comments this week. It amazes me that I am read and appreciated. I hope I bless you. I hope I make you smile.

Rumor has it Tam’s a snake kissin’ Pentacostal Freak of epic proportions. Well, in my own defense it’s simply not true. While I’ve locked lips with many a toad in my day, I have never swapped serpentine spit. And I really prefer that people not address my seeming increase in girth as ‘epic proportions.’ I am a bit sensitive about this layer of seal fat around my middle.

As with every rumor there is that seed of possible truth, and this is no exception. Suffice it to say, I am a bit freakish on multiple levels. I love the smell of gasoline on a hot summer day. I have a ‘thing’ for redheads. I can actually resist chocolate but not steak. And there is that whole way in which I pray that might suggest Pentacostal overtones. Yeah. I’m about to get on it. The Tam Soapbox of Faith Discourse. For those of you experiencing gastric discomfort unrelated to the Sonic Coney and Sweetheart shake you inhaled for lunch – please refrain from belching on my blog. You may leave the room if you feel so inclined at this time.

I’m not sure why the “F” word as in Faith meets with more shock and awe than the ‘other’ “F” word when used in one’s blog but often it’s the most incendiary subject on the virtual planet. We can discuss sexuality, deviant behavior and fetishes ad nauseum but the blogometer flips to red the moment the subject of one’s Creator crosses the page. One’s favorite position is fodder for poetic endeavor but one’s walk with God? Oooh. That’s personal. Sorry guys, guess I’d rather you see me prayin’ in tongues than tonguing my (censored for your protection)

I would hope by my mannerisms and my actions one would be able to determine that I am in fact a Christian woman who is walking the walk. If I am following the path my Father set for me, I shouldn’t have to explain my position. The very fact that I feel the need to identify myself in writing is a strong indicator that I am not completely in line with my Maker. And this is the point I wanted to share. There is a void it seems of solid Christians on Y360 who are not only unafraid to stand firm in their beliefs but are also so shaky that they cloak themselves when out in the virtual village because they don’t want to be ‘labeled’ or ‘libeled’ or ‘lambasted’ by the masses. Guess what? I ain’t that kinda Jeesus Freek. I am more than happy to discuss my faith with anyone who asks. And I am also not ashamed to come to you as a member of the human species. Faulted. Ignorant. And sometimes offensive although not ever by choice.

So if when visiting your page I say something like “I’m praying for complete health and victory for you and your family….” Rest assured my hands are on the screen and there is prayer being volleyed in your general direction. If you aren’t a Christian and I ask you a dumb question, please forgive me. Sometimes the learning curve is more jagged edge than gentle slope and I really don’t want to offend. And please don’t ever assume that because I am Christian and I work to adhere to my value system that I am out to convert, coerce or otherwise convict you. Love is gentle. Love is kind. Love holds no record of wrongdoing. Again. Not my job. Not my place. But prayer? Yup. Anytime you ask. You got it because that is my job as a Christian – to uplift, to uphold, to pray…to be truly there in the middle of the crap that this life throws in mass quantities. And I’m happy to do it. Doesn’t matter if you’re Buddhist or Wiccan or you worship cotton candy and Ginger Rogers, if you need prayer….don’t hesitate to ask. I really consider it a privilege and an honor. You don’t even have to tell me why…just ask me….my hands are already folded and it’s the least I can do….

Peace.

picture lifted from www.deviantart.com prayer for pain.....

and in my pursuit of proving my humanness...I will probably blog tomorrow. I said I wouldn't on Tuesdays and Wednesdays....but I have to face the horrific truth...Tam's addicted....peace

Thinking of my friend, Buffi...and those of you who are 'going through it....'

Song is by Superchick.... read the lyrics if you can't get the video. peace.

The sun set citrine and jasper, languid in the western sky as the honeysuckled breeze teased us with the promise of crisp evening air. Mimosa fronds swayed gently welcoming the dusk as we slurped sodas with straws. Damp twilight descended while we listened to train songs *a few decibels below the croaking toads in the back yard streetlight glow.

“Don’t get married before we’re back together unless Andy Gibb asks you.” She whispered teen aged dreams in my stars-truck heart as she penned a promise in my yearbook. Young words easily broken in the crashing of years and tears – on clock faces and swept away by the blur of the second hand, the second chance, the second normal of our lives. Her world spun out far from mine. I left her in Jacksonville in ’79.

Once again my heart shifts, spinning in retrograde across the starless firmament of my fractured soul. Jagged years of a troubled life become smoothed by greater future sorrow until moments sparkle brilliant in my rear view mirror. Trapped in perpetual forward motion I desire only the reversal of my days.

Buffi turned 42 yesterday. That treasured soul who inspired me to write, to dream, to believe when my own parents considered me slightly off center she was my corner stone. She was and is the only one on this hurtling rock who ever even tried to help me shed my scales and sprout wings. So often I am simply broken without her daily appearance in my life. I pray for her, for her family, her daughters and her grandbabies. I long for the constant flood of disappointments and tragedies she faces to be broken like the clouds disbursing after a desert rain. I ask God to return to me the other half of my beating heart but the manifestation of all my dreams into which she is inextricably woven never appears. I dream with one eye open, waiting for the inevitable eaters of vision and they do not fail to bring destruction. But they have never taken my desire to rescue her….and they never will…

So permit me the fantasy of taking a virtual trip back to the 70’s when my life was stretched out like a purple ribbon across the dance floor – to a time when music was infectious and no one said ‘damn’ in a sitcom…no cell phones….no school shootings…just big hair, big platform shoes, big sounds and big dreams. I need a moment to remember when my dear friend and I exchanged hope instead of tears.

Peace.

*excerpted from Solo – TL Hughes – Boehm © 1985

*excerpted from Selfless Portrait TL Hughes Boehm 1988

random note to self - what the hayall is wrong with my avatar? She must be prickly because I haven't used her skinny cartoon cheeks since I was interesting. Now she will not comply with her little disco ball background.Perhaps even she is in retrograde....turkey and all...sigh.

There are those redemptive moments when the daily vortex slows to a gentle eddy allowing one to drag oneself up onto a quiet beach and contemplate the beauty of the rushing river before being sucked back down the rapids - pummeled by the rocks of reality as we know it.

Eric chose a fete at a local Archery shop - allowing us the freedom provided to the clan of Chuck E Cheese refugees. A gold star moment in itself even more magnified by the simple fact that four boys accepted the invitation for this evening. And Eric - ever the wallflower even shot the velociraptor in the eye; bursting the green balloon brain and saving his friend from possible status as 'dino dessert'. Even the boy who's eye Eric blackened with his head recently was in attendance. Yes, there is a God and He smiled on the fam this evening.

I sit here steeped in 'schedulers remorse'. As with many random ideas emanating from my dimly lit cortex I assumed changing my blogging time would benefit me and my darling bipedal males but suffice it to say Tamster is even more angst filled and twitchy. Sure the pot of beans I prepared while comatose were tasty - but the book remains unread, the exercise tape still lies entombed in a coating of desert dust and my brain quivers with interrupted thoughts and tender ideas parched in the heat of a day in the life. I really do my best work in the morning before I am repeatedly slapped by the mundane, the profane, and the terminally insane. (all of which reside between my ears I suppose) And of course there are the clamoring suckers of my life force to consider - those heathens I birthed and that dreaded question....'can I go on line?' *sighs* I already caught them in their huddle earlier -planning the moments of my day like a microwaved meal...tough. Rubbery. Unpalatable. But perhaps mercifully quick....

I had another thought but the time flies and my lids droop along with my chin and my uh....navel....I'll save it for tomorrow; but before I go I promised a shout out to a fellow blogger from whom I inadvertantly lifted the phrase 'brain droppings' yesterday. It did seem familiar when I used it....I thought it might be the title of a book....well I was close. Alex :P is quite the blogger. Go shout out to him. And be nice....Peace.

According to the small spitting cretan wrenched from my loins 11 years ago this very day I am one of the above in the picture because I 'yelled' at him...Some things never change. I'm considering lacing his cake with atomic warheads and vomit jelly beans....ungrateful spawn.

So its not the cool of the morning – having determined this week that precious time would be better suited to the more important life building things: time with my Creator, time gently coaxing my flaccid aging body to some semblance of human instead of hippo – even though my inner child is throwing the biggest tantrum she has ever thrown. She screams and cries and tells me she is best in the morning before the cares of the day squeeze the poet to piffle…I hear the lamentation behind my eyes as I gaze out my window watching the desert dusk descend.

I’ve seen it before – that odd disease of the so called 360 elite as the longing for attention incites the less stable ego’s within to dance naked upon ones page – reveling in the gratuities until the tenuous line of virtual versus reality snaps and hearts are caught in the coiling wires. Bright lights extinguish themselves as the well intentioned and the weird well up in the comments, the email…the invites list. But for all my desires stoked by multiple kudos of strangers and friends; I stand a line called ‘exception’ because I know the truth. I kept the notice from Y360. I studied it. “Due to the activity on your page….” Yes. Activity is not a measure of intelligence, of wit, of character or any other thing that may make one TRULY interesting. It makes me active. That’s all. Like a lab rat. A guppy. While I am flattered by the temporary attention I will scratch my head forever regarding the whole ‘interesting’ thing. Yes, I appreciate the compliments. And I am foaming at the mouth to return them in large quantities – but a Tam’s gotta keep it real. I write because its an integral part of my personality. In Tam’s vault of brain droppings – there is simply no such thing as ‘block.’ I simply do not suffer from cerebral constipation when presented with a blank screen. Doesn’t mean I am profound. Just means I produce a lot of ‘fertilizer.’

Lemme splain it to you like you know I do. The Tamster is totally addicted to blogging. I am sitting here half naked swabbed with a bottle of calamine lotion due to the outbreak of hives produced by only one day of not blogging. I could change my mind. I am female. It is my right. I could return to the morning catharsis – but I tire of only having less than an hour to squeeze out profundities and circulate my virtual village. As it stands I have plenty of evening sans cable – and even I must change.

So – I’ll see you in the evenings Thursday’s through Mondays and I hope I will be able to visit more often. Some of you have been so patient. And others have been so diligent. And I owe you bigtime.

I think I’ve purged this topic so tomorrow evening – I have another….something light for the weekend.

I welcome Irene, gemii1 (snagged a lurker!) Sally, Renkins, Snowleopard and Internalaffairs. Peace....

Drawn deeper

From the shallows

The shore secluded

Treading the water of my thoughts

That sparkle skipping tips of waves

Glimpsing shadows of you

Luminous beneath the green

The aquamarine shifting lit

Obsidian eyes link for an instant

You call from the deeper water

Cool movement

Liquid

Infinite motion

This ocean soul

Rolls through my spirit

Surrender to the beckoning

A superficial sacrifice

Drowning in shallows

Yet you turn around

You gave

Cresting waves of pleasure

Yielded your treasure

Cast up on shifting sands

Held in my trembling hands

This gift of love

You save

TL Boehm 07/07/06 



This is my "love for poet" poem...don't get the wrong idea but deep calls to deep and also to those of us who are shallow and can only wish we were deep.

The picture is of the Lake Superior shoreline...not my pic - I googled it.

So the above poem was posted on my other page http://360.yahoo.com/lyricotomy  - and waffly me - I was going to delete it but I'm keeping it because yes I am anal and weird.

Santulan said something yesterday that snapped my internal pathos back to a moment of clarity....

• Santu…
  
• Offline IM

interesting is the fact that you it seems don't want to rise from this. re member that here it is not the people you are worrying about but yourself. learn to forgive yourself first. I dunno if this camre out right but MHO

Saturday September 2, 2006

Do I really not want to rise from the sludge that is my internal and external life? Could it be that I enjoy the steady diet of crap and angst? Do we really settle for displeasure, futility...regret? Because maybe its easier, more familiar than the desires we claim to have? You got me San...For all my yelling and screaming and bad poetry....do I really try to fly? Most days, suffice it to say - no. I just stare out the window and wish someone else would lift me up. (That is why San is my cyberchild.)

So - this weekend - I plan to do a couple of things - it doesn't matter what they are - yet. But you know...I really do want to rise above. Yes. I want better. And I do have two choices....put up or shut up....LOL

I'm off to find garbage bags, lava soap - and a sharp pencil....

Peace!

So often I feel like my battery is corroded. It is so much easier to operate from a place of darkness. Of primal instinct and fear - casting shadows and doubts like flinging seeds for chickens. My words not even pearls but a bitter spray of caustic vapor emanating from that rotten place that was my soul.  A broken girl unable to fill up anyone else - I can barely lift my head up past that place, that barren ground to meet the gaze of a passerby. And I was never created to be this way...

Why is it that the bearers of light tire so quickly? Allowing themselves to be sucked into the vortex of the mundane...the profane...the vulgar? I can piss off an erotic nasty bit of flotsam and pass it as poetic - but to describe the blue of my childs eyes...the dance of leaves across a sunlit sky...the love inside...I am dry. Not that I consider myself a torch or even a sputtering slab of whale blubber - but darkness gets so much more attention than light.

Today the primal force that rises in me desires the pure light of restoration. To cast off the sludge of mediocrity. To be bold in my love. To set fire to your soul and mine. To inspire you...uplift you....to facilitate change.

In its simplest terms...I truly believe life will dole out enough pain. Katrina, Iraq, disease, broken relationships, shattered dreams... I don't need to feed it the manure of my bad poetic muse. So I'm working on some changes. I recommit to penning light...penning laughter...penning life. 

Its not so much here but I am becoming a bit of a nasssy girl at my summer home and truthfully - I'm about as erotic as a tax return. Why waste my time trying to titillate when I could be really touching your soul?

Joon this is all your fault anyway with that song lyric exercise...I was reminded of my own voice...and my limited amount of time on the planet.  And its time to shed some things that are too heavy to carry.

Don't panic - there will be lots of angst and bad poetry cuz that's how I roll. But maybe there will be some good stuff in the mix....yes?

Peace - I hope you have a wonderful weekend. I considered ranting about my boss who does not understand what a holiday is - but I stuffed the banshee back under the bed.

I welcome Angel to the page - and Dawna Rae who is a 'redo' of her page - I hope you smile when you come here. 

Its a new day, a new month - go do your thing! (picture lifted from a yahoo search for sunrises - Tuscany sunrise)

Cast away in a placid scene

shed sandy shores for the burning green

Of my hideaway underneath the leaves

Missing you and my spirit grieves

Our moments shared on summer days

Remembering the tide that plays

Casting lines of dreams along the shore

Such a shame you cast your dreams no more

On shallow moments left behind

Memories fade until I'm blind

Deeper water she called to you

My verdant world turns cooler blue.



TLB 083106

Its not that the poem is particularly "good" or "deep" but it is an extension of yesterday's Song Challenge. The two just fit. So Read this and read the post before...tell me what you think...(yeah I'm weird...)

Peace

Despite the crisp predawn air, the coffee tinted water felt tepid as I dug my toes into soft sand. I swung quietly into the old metal boat and aimed the prow for the center of the pristine lake. Eddies swirled and danced in the wake of the oars. Our summer refuge seemed smaller through my adult eyes. Surveying the placid scenery, I pulled in the oars and let the boat drift.  The gentle current rocked me back to that time when you and I sat in that boat in the hot summer sun. How we froze when dragonflies strafed the tips of our fishing poles because you said if a shadow crossed the water, the bluegills would never bite. So many mornings and afternoons cruising the pond with our two horse mercury and the only thing that ever bit was the deerflies and hordes of mutant mosquitoes.  I shifted in my seat, kicking an aged plastic yellow and red bobber loose from its tangle of dry rotted nylon. Maybe you left it last time you were here. How long had it been? That was the beauty of our summer hideaway. The timeless birch trees waved lithe white branches as pines stood sentinel over tiny cottages dotting the rim of the lake. Nothing changes here. Except you.

My promise brought me back to the present. Taking a small envelope from my shirt pocket, I poured its precious contents into my hands as the sunlight slipped gently across the tree tops. You never let me stand up in the boat but maybe this time you’d forgive me as I rose and closed my eyes. Taking a breath, I flung your ashes skyward watching them cascade in a sunlit shower of dust settling on the surface of the lake you loved. You said we’d share another sunrise and like a true friend, you kept your word.

"And if I had the choice

I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life"

Joon's Writing Challenge

Hit Joonuper up at the link above for your own song lyrics writing challenge…If I can I know you can….

Put your hands up if you remember Bill Cosby's Noah schtick. Well I do. My parents had it on vinyl.

The above picture is from Webshots.com - a search on Alamogordo flooding simply because I can't find anything on Albuquerque...mainly because there air no boats here and no one knows how to swim, lol.  Don't get it all twisted about the desert blooming - because all that's really happening here is people b*tching about mud and mosquitos - but we are getting rain every day - in large amounts. My car in fact will go through running water up over the hood without stalling....(boo yah)

My question is this. For thousands of years, if you have ever been to the desert or an arid place and notice the topography..., water will follow a natural course. Sure - it may be an old dried out canoncito - but if it looks like it had water in it EVER - rest assured that if it rains enough - you will see water in it again. SO. DONT BUILD A HOUSE IN IT! Damn. We got all these people in Rio Rancho who have built on sand and dirt - next to arroyos (ditches) and now they are pissed because their dirt roads in front of their 750,000.00 home is washed away. Gimme a break. I have flood insurance - come wash my damn house away. (I'm up on blocks people. It aint never gonna happen.) Now I can see if you've been watching the news - Alamogordo needs help and FEMA is being a butthead - but Rio Rancho? Please. All those Sandia Lab and INtel lab rats in bunny suits - didn't you get enough common sense bestowed upon you NOT to built in a ditch?

I saw a woman who's caddy got stuck in a mudslide this morning at four am. On Eubank - which is pretty close to the Sandia mountains and has already flooded out a couple of times. So la la la shes out at four in the morning during a flash flood and wonders why a three foot wall of water pushed her caddy off the road.....DANG!

Sorry. I'm sitting here with my weeds up to my a** and cloudy skies - concerned for my friends - hatin' on my job - mad at the fam....ooh that's another story. The spawn took a walk last night - across friggin' town but I am not supposed to worry when it dons a stupid hoody and stomps off in a nit....noOOOOOO. Anyway. I sign on to search for cool pictures of stupid people driving through standing water and I get caddy woman scratchin' her head..."it was quiet and then I heard a roar..." Yes it was the sound of AIR going through your BIG OLE ears you idiot driving around during a flash flood....Here I am - wash me away, please.

How long can you tread water...ha ha ha....I got two kids, two dogs, two parrots...I'm off to find some lumber now and a good working definition of a cubit.

Peace

I could rant about my lousy day yesterday - still the same old same old. I got coworkers who won't, don't or can't listen - who have no sense of urgency - and DCon - well - DCon (codespeak for boss) doesn't take "no" for an answer which means -eventually I get asked the question everyone else already answered - normally on a subject of which I am ignorant because I was never hired to have that knowledge. And I'm tired of it. I just want to call in today and work on my novel. (codespeak for blog all day)

But I got more pressing issues. I have a dear friend who just got some life changing news. Terry and I have this history. She was part of that thing. That band thing. She's a damn good singer/songwriter - but she outgrew it too. Anyway, I've known her since I was 14 - and we still talk...Imagine THAT. I'm asking - if you pray. Pray for her and her husband. They recieved a "positive" diagnosis this week of prostate cancer. Here's my spin. Its not a death sentence. Its never a death sentence till they close the box and throw the shovel of dirt on you. But it is scary. It is real life - and it is her soulmate.  I'll put the link at the end of this blog - I'm not sure if she is friends only but if she is, shoot her an email. Send her love and happiness and light.

http://360.yahoo.com/profile-uG87Dg8heqzOexma.Gqxw1FB4AUH

I have a random poem - thinking of Tigress this morning - again - but wrote this yesterday before I knew what was up with TerBer....peace.  Don't get it twisted. I'm talking about the band, not the chicas.  Terry....we won't say goodbye. ever.

It was just a dream

Fireflies and indigo skies

Spotlights and limousines

A bit of black lace round your face

And a back beat that would not die

Tap an SOS to the heart of you

As across the years I cry

Not my nature to say Goodbye

When rhythm was a rush

The hush of a backlit stage

Turn the empty page to song

I gave my life but I was wrong

Sing a broken chord to the memory

Three strands broken but Im not free

Cuz I cannot say Goodbye

I still hear you sing in sunburst skies

When the rain whispers a lyrical beat

On my window pane

I still go a little insane for the moment

A song is born immortal but yet dreams die

Now I know death is the same as goodbye.  

TL Boehm

08/23/06  SP exercise - I Love you - but (saying good bye)