Author: Sally

Life

Just A Trip to Walmart

Sally2 Comments

This post was originally written August 5, 2017 and has languished in my draft folder since then.

The father bellowing at the little boy in the Walmart parking lot was a bad start.

“JOHNNY,” he roared, “GIT YER A$$ OVER HERE.”

The open tailgate made me think that the father had been putting his purchases into the car. The boy skulking back from the cart corral looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. He was scowling. I would scowl, too, if someone spoke to me like that.

Walmart. I felt a snobbish “ugh” rising inside me.

Inside, the store was a disorderly mess.

“You can always tell when the students start coming back,” commented a woman looking at the same merchandise as me. “They trash the place.”

“It is a mess in here,” I agreed.

“I shop here every week,” she said. “Today is the worst I’ve seen it.”

I gathered my items and found the shortest line to check out.

The shortest line was not short.  When the elderly couple ahead of me finally got up to the register and the cashier was nearly finished scanning, their package of chicken needed a price-check.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, turning to me. I could barely see his eyes under the brim of Carhartt cap.

“No worries,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Me and my wife got a carful of groceries already,” he said, nodding toward a hunched-over woman with blue-gray hair. “Frozen stuff prolly meltin’ in the car… but she forgot a few things so we come back in.”

A few things meant a cartful.

“I hope you aren’t far from home,” I said.

“Blenheim,” he said.

I knew that was about an hour away. In the middle of nowhere. Near Breakabeen.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

The Walmart supervisor came to check on the chicken. She called on the radio to the meat department. “Anyone there gimme a price on some chicken?” she asked. I couldn’t hear the response because of her earpiece, but I didn’t need to — she announced it. “I gotta walk this over to the chicken department to get a price,” and off she walked.

I turned to the man behind me. “I’m sorry,” I said, even though I knew I had nothing to be sorry for.

“No problem,” he said. “I just moved here from Long Island. You should see the lines in their stores.”

So we waited.

“You could move over to a different line,” said the Carhartt man.

I looked at the line next to ours. It was moving faster, but I’m not one to jump ship. A burly man helped unload an elderly woman’s cart on the belt, but when he left with his bag, I realized they weren’t together. It was just a nice move.

The chicken department was on the far side of the store. I kept watching that direction to see if I saw the supervisor heading back.

The blue-haired wife mouthed “I’m sorry” to me. I smiled at her.

I made eye contact again with the man behind me. “I was in Europe this summer,” I told him. “Time doesn’t seem to matter as much there.”

“I know,” he said. “We could learn a lesson or two from them.”

The chicken was still MIA.

In the line next to me, a man holding a plant — his only purchase — was let ahead of a customer with a full cart. “Thank you SO much,” he said, enthusiastically. The woman who had let him pass just smiled.

I smiled, too.

There were nice people all around me.

In Walmart.

Finally chicken lady returned.

I told Long Island man, “Here she comes!”

“Hooray!” he said.

I felt like we should clap or something.

By the time I got to the parking lot, I had nearly forgot the unpleasant father-son interaction because I had seen and talked to so many nice people in the store that day.

 I could guess why I never posted this — too wordy. It’s a problem I have.

But the message to look for the nice people? Yes, I needed that today.

Be not conformed to the impatience and nastiness of the world, but be transformed by the goodness that’s right in front of you if you look for it. (a bastardization of Romans 12:2, but nonetheless true.)

poetry

The Creativity Cure

Sally12 Comments

Whatever became of Sir Swellimpedeedoo?
Though his fingers were swollen, he needed something to do —
So he crocheted a chicken
And his thumbs ceased to thicken
Soon the rest of his hands slimmed down too

He didn’t change his diet
Nor did he sit quiet
This much is true!
Idle hands lead to riots
While creativity is so good for you

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge.

POW, Matt Snyder, challenged us to write a nonsense poem with a specific structure:

The poem must have two stanzas of five lines each.

​Stanza 1 (Limerick)
Whatever became of Sir Swellimpedeedoo? (A)
____________________________ (A)
__________________ (B)
__________________ (B)
____________________________ (A)

Stanza 2
He didn’t ______________________
Nor did he _____________________
This much is true! (C)
____________________________
____________________________ (C)

The italicized words must appear exactly as they are written. The picture is to serve as inspiration.

Life · poetry

Tumbleweed

Sally2 Comments

Roll that dry weed across an empty road
Underscore my dry and empty feeling
So this, this is Wyoming, new abode
So far from home made this place appealing
I couldn’t speak about my need for healing
Although unbidden tears oft spoke for me
No one could understand my need to flee

Turning, turning, and running far away
How do I put this awful thing behind
I set my mind to one thing: learn to pray
So as to focus my intents and mind
To hold the world at arm’s length, yet be kind
Laudably said, “Wrong number!” when he called
Even as I hung up, shaking, I bawled

Tumbleweed, today’s RDP prompt, brings up one very specific memory — 1983 crossing the state border between Nebraska and Wyoming as my (then) husband and I moved there to start a new life.

This poem is a Rhyme Royal, which uses the scheme ababbcc, the lines having 10 syllables each i.e. (usually) iambic pentameter. Rhyme Royal is also sometimes known as the Troilus stanza.

The poem is also an acrostic for RUSSIAN THISTLE. Russian thistle (Salsola tragus or Salsola kali): The classic plant seen rolling in Western movies.

Alzheimer · Alzheimer's · dementia · elderly · family · Leaning In · Life · Writing

The Feeder’s Table

Sally2 Comments

This is a draft written February 6, 2015, pulled from the draft folder because of the RDP prompt word: tame

From across the room, I heard the man bellow, “NO!”

I had no clue what this was in reference to — he was across the room, after all, and I was attending to my mother in the midst of her ritual folding and unfolding of her mealtime protector (aka – bib) while waiting for the food to arrive.

A woman at his table shouted out, “SNOW!” It was snowing out.

She laughed at her rhyme, a dry cackle-y laugh, not because she was a witch, although it did make me think of one, but because she was very old and shriveled, and even her laugh bore witness to that.

“He said, ‘NO,’ and I said, ‘SNOW,'” she said gleefully, and it reminded me of the little “jokes” that first- or second-graders make, when the littlest thing sends them into gales of laughter.

However, the jokesters were across the room, while my mother sat at the feeder’s table, a table set aside for residents who need assistance with eating. She dines with five other ladies with dementia.

To my mother’s left is a dear lady that reminds me of a sparrow. Her voice is quiet and sing-songy. Sometimes she makes sense and sometimes she doesn’t, but I always have to listen very closely when she speaks. (Professor Trelawny)

Next to Sparrow is a woman with a chiseled angular face. (Professor McGonigle) She never speaks. She sits erect and stern, like a statue of a school matron staring across her desk at a wayward student.  However, I had met her many years before, when she was an OB nurse. She had come into my room after I had given birth to somebody because she wanted to tell me about my father.

“I remember your father’s first day at the hospital,” she said. “He came in toting a little black doctor’s bag. A little black bag!” She laughed when she told me the story, and her eyes twinkled with the delight of that memory. My father still has that black bag with its stethoscope, reflex hammer, otoscope, and other doctorly treasures.

To her left sits a white-haired lady whose dementia has a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde effect on her.  (Quirinius Quirrell) One minute she is sweet and the next she is spewing venom.

Next to Mrs. Hyde sits the newest diner at the feeder’s table. I’ll come back to her.

To Newby’s left is Mrs. Tiggywinkle, so designated because of her hedgehog hairdo.  Teens pay a lot of money and use a lot of product to get hair like hers, sticking straight up all over her head. My father has to repeatedly request that my mother’s hair get combed. Some of us are just stuck with wayward hair that no amount of combing can tame, and I suspect that’s the case with Mrs. Tiggywinkle.

The draft ended and I never finished it. I don’t remember who the person I called Newby is, so I can’t come back to her now. I don’t even remember the point of this story.

My mother died 9 months later.

Reading drafts and posts from that time in my life are interesting to me. I’m glad that I chronicled the journey.

Advice to anyone going through a stressful time: Write down what you see and hear and feel. It’s a gift to your future self.

Music

Coulter’s Candy

Sally6 Comments

Today’s Sunday Song Lyrics prompt is to find a song that mentions candy, honey, sugar or sweet.

I settled on a Scottish children’s song called Coulter’s Candy, mostly because I have wonderful memories of my granddaughter “dancing” to it when she was not quite two years old. Dancing involved running around and around the couch, occasionally stopping to pull other people into the “dance”.

Poor kid, I inundated her with Scottish songs. I played The Broon Coo, Katie Beardie, Rattlin’ Bog, and Three Craws. But she really loved Coulter’s Candy.

Coulter’s Candy is an awful song if you think about the lyrics. One verse is about a little girl being a “rickle of bones covered over with skin,” but, feed her some Coulter’s Candy and she’s getting “a wee double chin.”

How unnutritious of the song. Still, it’s a fun one to dance to.

Main Chorus:
Ally bally, ally bally bee,
Sittin’ on yer mammy’s knee,
Greetin’ for a wee bawbee, (crying) (a halfpenny)
Tae buy some Coulter’s candy. (to)

Poor wee Jeanie’s gettin’ awfy thin, (awfully)
A rickle o’ banes covered ower wi’ skin, (bones) (over)
Noo she’s gettin’ a wee double chin, (now)
Wi’ sookin’ Coulter’s Candy. (sucking)

Mammy gie’s ma thrifty doon, (give) (money box) (down)
Here’s auld Coulter comin’ roon’, (old) (around)
Wi’ a basket on his croon, (with) (crown/head)
Selling Coulter’s Candy.

When you grow old, a man to be,
you’ll work hard and you’ll sail the seas,
an’ bring hame pennies for your faither and me,
Tae buy mair Coulter’s Candy. (more)

Coulter he’s a affa funny man, (very)
He maks his candy in a pan, (makes)
Awa an greet to yer ma, (away) (cry) (your)
Tae buy some Coulter’s candy. (to)

Little Annie’s greetin’ tae,
Sae whit can puir wee Mammy dae, (so) (what) (poor) (do)
But gie them a penny atween them twae, (between) (two)
Tae buy mair Coulter’s Candy.

poetry

Sunscreen

Sally9 Comments

Fair and freckled skin have I
Is sunscreen really necessary?
Just one more cream that I must buy
Fair and freckled skin have I
Forgot the sun block; cloudless sky
I look like maraschino cherry
Fair and freckled skin had I
Sunscreen really is necessary

This week’s W3 challenge is to write a Triolet.

In a triolet, the rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB. The first line repeats as lines four and seven, and the second line returns as the final line. We were further challenged to choose a summer moment or a summer theme.

My first question was “Does triolet rhyme with violet or chalet?” I tried to look it up. Three out of four you-tube pronunciation experts opted for the -et ending instead of -ay. There was one tree-oh-lay. Then then options were tree-oh-let vs. try-oh-let vs. trial-et. Go figure.


gratitude · Life

20 Things I Love

Sally1 Comment

The RDP prompt was “cardinal” which led me to a post I had written in 2015: “Quick — 20 things you love.” That was over 11 years ago. Without studying the old list (although I posted it down below), I thought I would post the first 20 things that came to mind today.

  1. Flowers in the asteracea family — you know, the ones with petals, like daisies. My Shasta daisies are blooming in abundance. The purple coneflower is starting to bloom
  2. Stories — personal stories. Oral histories. I love when someone sits in my office and shares a sliver of their life.
  3. Melty vanilla ice cream
  4. Cold crisp Chardonnay
  5. Calls for no reason other than to say hi
  6. Books that make me think
  7. Travel to other countries where English is not the first language
  8. New sneakers — especially from Xero shoes whose zero-drop shoes gave me a new lease on walking
  9. Homemade cinnamon rolls
  10. Kneading bread dough
  11. Dinner out
  12. Photos of my grandkids — especially those that are spontaneously sent to me on my phone. They brighten my day.
  13. Blue skies — you need a few smoke-obscured skies to appreciate the blue ones.
  14. Getting rid of boxes of stuff — so satisfying
  15. Birdsong at dawn
  16. Coyotes howling in the middle of the night
  17. The smell of vanilla
  18. Simon & Garfunkel
  19. Jumping in the lake
  20. Going for a long walk

 Quick – 20 Things You Love

A friend posted this challenge: “Quick. Twenty things you love. (Not family, friends, or Jesus. We know that.)”

1. Going for a walk
2. My mother’s smile
3. Biscotti
4. A Military Tattoo — the kind with bagpipes, not ink on skin
5. Old stained glass windows
6. The smell of chlorine from a swimming pool
7. Days when I have nowhere to go
8. Bare trees of winter
9. Bare trees of winter with cardinals adding color
10. A good poem
11. A handmade quilt
12. Sunrise
13. Losing weight
14. A full tank of gas
15. Sleeping in my own bed when I’ve been away
16. Lilacs
17. Getting real mail
18. Warm feet
19. A free hour to spend in a used bookstore
20. A new song that catches my heart so I listen to it six times in a row.

Life

Song Lyric Sunday: Empowerment

Sally10 Comments

This is my second stab at the blogging challenge called Song Lyric Sunday. This week the theme is to find a song that carries a message of empowerment.

The first song that came to mind was Simon and Garfunkel’s The Boxer. I won’t post all the lyrics but would encourage you to listen to the song. It’s the story of young man leaving and essentially being beat up by the world, squandering what little he had, longing to go home. The final verse is this picture of hope:

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains

The fighter still remains.

Perseverance. Grit. Sticktoittiveness. Tenacity. Call it what you want. It’s an empowering picture.

Honestly, I’m not a fan of boxing. It seems a poor way to settle anything. I found this photo of my father the other day, though, boxing with his brother at a summer camp where they worked. I’m throwing it in just because.

nonsense · Writing

Sometimes

Sally1 Comment

Sometimes I am lazy
And use imprecise words
Instead of wrens or robins
I just refer to them as birds

Sometimes I can catch myself —
I know what I should do!
But sometimes I say “sometimes”
Instead of “yesterday at two”

This is my stream-of-consciousness ditty brought to you by the prompt “sometimes.”

family · poetry

Gravy

Sally10 Comments

I learned from my mother
Who learned from her mother
Who presumably learned from her mother
How to make gravy
The finishing touch to a homemade family dinner

On the Starship Enterprise
The crew got their food from a replicator
They could order anything they wanted
It came out piping hot or cold, cooked to perfection
3-D printed nourishment

But
Replicated gravy
Made without love
Won’t taste
Right

Star Trek replicator

This is my response to W3 Challenge. Here are the rule which I sort of bent.

Write one three-line stanza poem that brings together a cultural tradition and modern technology.

Your poem can be playful, thoughtful, imaginative, or personal. Each line stanza may contain any number of syllables, so feel free to follow your own natural rhythm.

Structure

  • Line Stanza 1: Mention something traditional from your culture, such as a craft, art form, festival, song, food, or dance.
  • Line Stanza 2: Connect that tradition with technology, such as AI, an app, a digital tool, a virtual space, or a smart device.
  • Line Stanza 3: Show how the tradition and technology can work together, inspire one another, or create something new.

Most importantly, enjoy exploring how the past and the future can meet in just three lines stanzas.