My Obit?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”

The only reason that I went along with this daily prompt is that I already had this written and because it is very important to me that it gets carried out this way.

Depressing? yes, but so is seeing the wishes of people not being carried out correctly because family never wants to talk about it. Talk about it and make plans once and then you never have to wonder or regret.

Love and hugs to you all. This was a tough one.

In Loving Memory of a woman who tried her best to make a difference.

She is survived by her the two reasons for every breath that she took in this lifetime, her sons.

She had always requested that no services be held and that the following instructions be carried out.

Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby’s face or love in the eyes of a woman.

Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain.

Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play.

Give my kidneys to the one who depends on a machine to exist from week to week.

Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.

Explore every corner of my brain.

Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.

Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow.

If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weakness and all prejudice against my fellow-man.

Give my sins to the devil.

Give my soul to God.

If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you. If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.  Robert N. Test

Her final request is that a tree be planted in her memory.

Preferably an Elm

The Elm tree signifies inner strength and the realm of intuition

 a perfect description of this woman.


Four people, my dog and Wi-fi

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Circle of Five.”

My circle would not be hard to choose. I choose these people every day. They are the only ones that I care spending time with.

My 2 sons, my husband and maybe my best friend, Sherry, if she was in a good mood… And my dog… In fact, my dog would come before Sherry, because he is always in a good mood.

There are billions of people in the world and I kind of like only 4. That is sad, but I have been “put out” with my family (and people in general) for so long that I often think of leaving and not telling anyone (except these 4) where I was. I work for the public, so people, in general, really irritate me.

Being the introvert that I am, I think I could live isolated and be very happy with my small clan. As long as I had wi-fi. Got to have wi-fi!

I Hate Nosey Questions

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

The question that I am always tempted to plead the fifth on? All of them!!!. I have went down so many different paths in my life and I ain’t dead yet, so I will probably go down many more. There have been a lot of twist and turns that make my life interesting, to say the least. So I guess when boring people try to figure everything out based on their “perfect ways”, it pisses me off how they can be so rude and blunt with their questions about my personal life.

Q.Why did you quit your job at so and so?

A. Unless you are giving me an interview,  THAT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!!

Q. Do you draw a pension?

A Unless you are the IRS,  STILL NUNYA BUSINESS

Q. What happened between you and J.?


And my best overall favorite that I always have a quick and loud answer for….( DRUM ROLL)

Q. Why would a man (meaning my first husband) leave you?? You are such a pretty girl.


This is one of the biggest drawbacks of living in the south. People are friendly, yeah, but lots of times they just want something to gossip about.

“I’m from Mississippi Darlin’. I will “Bless your Heart”,  slap the crap out of you…and then go bake you a casserole”—UNKNOWN—

Saturday Mornings

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Me Time.

What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not?

I never seem to do my ideal Saturday mornings anymore. Which would be, hop out of bed, have a delicious cup of coffee in a sun room, (I don’t have a sun room, but I want one),  read the paper, then jump in the shower and get all the things done that need to get done. and do it with a smile. Did I do that today? No, I did not.

This morning started out with me sleeping in, or rather going back to sleep, which is never as good as it sounds, due to the fact that I seem to have my craziest “daymares” at that time. It is a time when dreams seem so real that sometimes I wake up and I am disappointed that they were just a dream. Other times, I wake up and I am relieved that they were only a dream. This morning, in particular, I was dreaming that my cat was talking to me. I know, silly, but everything was so peaceful that all I had to worry about was “how in the heck did that cat learn to talk?”

Then reality struck as soon as I opened my eyes again. The dreaded fear set in. The fear for my children’s well-being. The fear of what the day may bring. The fear of how much I had to fear. Unfounded fear. Just plain fear for no reason.

I have to make myself count my blessings that I have a warm bed and house to wake up in.

It’s just one of those days that although the sun is finally shining after a couple of weeks of bad weather, I am down. Depressed because now I have no excuse to sit around the house and mope. I have to get up, get dressed and meet the world, as in shopping for groceries.

Just one more day of wallowing in my unfounded fear? Please?

Then I will perk up and welcome the sun….hopefully.

That is at least what I hope my Saturdays will be like, someday. Like they were in my younger days when I greeted them with anticipation. When, the earlier, the better, because I loved getting out and driving or taking a walk before anyone else was up. When spending all day doing nothing was considered a waste of precious time.

I will get it back someday, just not today.

Writing 201 Fog

I apologize in advance. The writing prompt was FOG and that, to me, means brain fog. It was 3:30am when I wrote this and to say the fog was dense is an understatement. I found it quite comical once I became awaken and saw what I had written. I am good at laughing at myself. 🙂

We are taught to be independent

to take complete control

we pride ourselves in knowing

all we need to know

Then as we age so inevitably

we are considered wise

we fake our way through it all

in the test called life

Something just doesn’t quite click

as it did before

we read it over once again

and one time more

They call it mental clarity

it is not to be found

my mind is all so foggy

I can not see the ground

They say that it is temporary

it will go away

it’s scary to think it will not

and I will stay this way

Too many bumps on the head

or maybe menopause

maybe I need extensive therapy

to find the root cause

Until this fuzzy fog has lifted

from inside this dome

I cannot even try to think

how to write this poem

Writing 201: TRUST

An innocent mistake
Brought on by greed
Came about in a way
Doomed by want not need

Even a simple lie
First not even heard
Gone but wouldn’t die
His heart was what hurt

It was only for a while
Just a few more days
Killing trust and time
Luck finally went away

Much more than a friend
Not saying just what
Over with no end
Proud, she was not

Quality of new trust
Rose without fail
Slowly at first
Then it did prevail

Unravelled no more
Very happy again
While opening new doors
Xeroxed life begins
Years ahead as before
Zealous to the end

1992 A Bittersweet Year

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Buffalo Nickel.”

Today’s prompt= Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

1992 Wow! What a year! Me and my old man had been married only a year. He was 38, I was 36 and we were having a baby! Something that I had not done in 17 yrs. That’s right, I had one playing high school football and getting ready to graduate and another one in the oven. There was a lot of mixed emotions that year. It had always been me and my oldest son until I got remarried. So it marked the end of our times of just being us, we had made a good mother-son team for a long time. The change was not greeted happily. He was not happy about being a big brother or about having to move into the basement of the house to make room for the nursery. Continue reading