Valentine Spy

Born on the day of love with a Valentine birthday, has its perks, but its one of my favorite days for an entirely different reason and that’s because I am a Valentine spy.

I lurk around the floral sections of  local supermarkets and wait for men.  I watch them as they awkwardly drift among the displays with the unachievable mission: to find a bouquet of flowers that represents appreciation for decades of devoted companionship, teamwork, and being his overall superwoman.  Every man in that flower shop has only one thing on his mind…


and that is, his woman and the hopes that she will know how much he loves her.

I’m not really a stalker, but I really do like the floral department on Valentine’s day.


The de-roar

Did you know a motorcycle is mentioned in the bible?  Well, it isn’t.

Someone on the internet said, “The roar of David’s Triumph was heard across the land,” was in the bible.  I thought it was cute so I posted it, but did a search to learn that it’s  fake news.  The lesson I learned, is it’s better to read the bible than read what someone says about the bible.

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My friend of 20 yrs is dying. We talked about it, we joked about it and together we faced the reality of it, but now its happening.

As the morning sky beams through my window, my mind wonders.  I think, today could be her last day, and my mind wonders some more.

I feel as if I am standing on the shore watching a ship slowly sail away.



As I walked to my car yesterday I was cheered by a beautiful language I recognized but did not understand. On a tiny island in a sea of asphalt was a tree hosting a very persistent black bird.

I set my bag down, pausing to enjoy at least 25 different phrases in all variations calling out in a fast-paced spectrum of emotions. We had a little dialogue as he would answer back my attempts at mimicking his sounds.

Does he sing to you like that all day?  I asked the man working under the shade of the tree.  “What?” he said as he pulled his headset from his ears.



Holiday Survivor, the Mourning After

the thanksgiving dinner that never happened

turkey-1299176_1280“Everything’s taken care of.”  I told my daughter.  The turkey was in the roaster and the frig bulged with fixings. Since my boys were home, they could help me finish the home stretch. 

This time, however, thanksgiving dinner never happened.  How foolish of me to depend on them. Couch comforts and the spell of the electronic device proved too intoxicating, so the vision of a traditional holiday remains a fantasy.  When will I learn that any need of mine is no match for autism indifference?

Saturated in the doom of matriarchal failure I apologized to my daughter and guest. “I don’t like turkey anyway,” consoled Brittany.  “How about next year we just do pies?”