:)

In 1930, April 18 to be exact the BBC announced ‘There is no news today’ and played piano music instead.  Of course that left all the lonely and depressed people who are most likely to binge-watch television/radio twiddling their thumbs.

Remaining utterly ignorant of the significant mystery of the numbers ‘172’ which can be found on the back of the U.S. $5 dollar bill and in the bushes at the base of the Lincoln Memorial.   I, of course, have a theory involving a bottle of Jack Daniels a guy, a gal, and the inability to get the full phone number before passing out….

But maybe it was a police officer, diligently trying to get that teeny, weeny yellow bikini’s particulars because everyone knows in Rochester, NY it’s against the law to go swimming in public without having your bathing suit inspected by a police officer. (How did I get from Washington to NY?  I did mention a bottle of JD was involved, right?)

Sheesh even, I, knew that just like the very relevant fact that manatees possess vocal chords that give them the ability to speak like humans, but they can’t because they have no ears to hear the sound.  Relevant?  How you say…?

Bikini?  Manatee?

See I knew you’d get it.  Just like our final tidbit that it’s against the law to plow a cotton field with an elephant in North Carolina.

…..

The bottle of JD? Newp, I have no idea.  Not even gonna try.

Why am I telling you this?  Well it comes down to a recent study that concluded that people who put faith in the honesty of others were more accurate when determining if someone was lying to them.

My point?   Its totally obvious what the elephant in the room is!  We can draw a reasonable conclusion that the BBC has 172 reported cases were mermaids and manatees are two separate mammals.

Obvious?  Totally!  Jack Daniels anyone?

Listening to:  Highway Don’t Care, Tim McGraw &M Taylor Swift with Keith Urban playing a mean guitar.

Image: Jeremy Worst, Dancing with the Devil

Doing what must be done….

Inky: I truly dislike hospitals, which is ironic since it’s where I work. It’s not the medical professionals, or the people but the building itself and what it represents.  I have lost one too many folk in its halls, and spent too much time there myself. So why do I work, have spent all my day life in places like this one?

I don’t know really.

I can tell you it’s because I can help people, that is true.  The work rewarding, again true.  But even so I feel most enriched alone, outside, working the garden, or inside writing.    Don’t get me wrong regret did not give birth to this thought.  I have been part of too many stories to regret what I do.   I guess I am just questioning the duplicity of my emotions.

Image: Inky

Sometimes….

Sometimes lives intersect, no rhyme, no reason, except, perhaps, for a passing semi.

Source: Ellen Hopkins

Listening to:  the guy next door singing to the top of his lungs – This Kiss by Faith Hill <points up at the video>

Mood/Doing: Grinning, nodding my head…….

Inky:  he musta had a good time tonight…. <winks>

Its hard to stay up

Its been a long long day
And you’ve got the sandman at your door.
But hang on, leave the TV on and lets do it anyway.
Its ok.
You can always sleep through work tomorrow. Ok?
Hey, Hey, Tomorrow’s just your future yesterday.

Tell the clock on the wall, “Forget the wake up call.”
Cause the night’s not nearly through.
Wipe the sleep from your eyes. Give yourself a surprise.
Let your worries wait another day.
And if you stay too late at the bar,
At least you made it out this far.
So make up your mind and say, “Let’s do it anyway!”
Its Ok
You can always sleep through work tomorrow, ok?
Hey, Hey, Tomorrow’s just your future yesterday.

Life’s too short to worry about
the things that you can live without
And I regret to say,
the morning light is hours away.
The world can be such a fright,
But it belongs to us tonight.
What’s the point of going to bed?
You look so lovely when your eyes are red.
Tomorrow’s just your future yesterday.

Source: Craig Ferguson

Image: Goran @ digital-art-gallery.com

Inky: Man I could not sleep last night.  I kept going over work and problems and just could not find the turn off switch to my thoughts.  Unusual for me, normally my head hits the pillow and 15 minutes I’m out till morning.  Last night was totally abnormal.  To top it off, I had ‘The Dream’ again.   I have been having this same dream over and over for the last ten years.   It happens when I least expect it, and even if I wake up when I return to sleep it starts where it stopped.  It has to run it’s course…   I will dream it till it does.   Strange.

It’s not a nightmare, I’m not frightened by it.   I guess I’m bother by it’s frequency, and character…. and just what the heck it’s trying to say to me….

It’s one of two reoccurring dreams, that’s the second.  The first is a true nightmare, and I’ve been having it since I was 16.   It’s changes slightly each time I have it…   frightening so.   The Nightmare, as I call it occurs rarely but when it does, I wake crying, sweating and screaming….

And just like ‘The Dream’  It always starts where I wake and I must finish it….

The mind is a fascinating thing.  Mind is whacked I know it, still…  what. the. heck?

Listening to:  quiet….

Mood/Doing:  tired…   and of course, working.

A boy…

… is a magical creature – you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart.

Source: Allan Beck

Image: Lin Pattullo

Inky:  I just got off the phone with my eldest and my weekly lecture.  It wasn’t too long ago I was the one talking earnestly, intent upon he and his youngest brother’s attention.  Somewhere between then and now, roles switched and now I am the child, and they the parent.

Even though I remember the nails to the head, the fire truck to the eye, racing down the heavily wooded hillside on bikes, disappearing to go fishing, painting their grandfather’s car, the restaurant in my basement with the pantry’s offerings for the neighborhood and the unit in the local ER with our last name on the door.   My boys are my laughter, and my solace….

… and now they are my worrier’s.  With families of their own they still worry over their mother.  Which is why the weekly lectures make me smile, my heart squeeze, and my eyes light.  What a perfectly wonderful way of letting me know they love me….

… even though every conversation ends with, ‘I love you, Mom’.

Mood/Doing: Happy…   sitting in the dark feeling cherished.

Listening to:  a quiet home… a symphony of crickets…  and the wind through the trees.

A poor…

…old Widow in her weeds
Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;
Not too shallow, and not too deep,
And down came April — drip — drip — drip.
Up shone May, like gold, and soon
Green as an arbour grew leafy June.
And now all summer she sits and sews
Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,
Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet,
Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;
Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;
Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;
Like Oberon’s meadows her garden is
Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.
Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,
And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;
And all she has is all she needs —
A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

Source: Walter de la Mare, Peacock Pie
Image: Vallen Crawford, Peruvian Daffodil

Inky:  This weekend was for gardening and so I did.  The vegetable garden need a bit of lime this year, and so the ground is now brown and earthy, the sod broken and loamy awaiting it’s first seeds.   My flower garden needed weeding, and so it now sits pristine, roses climbing, Japanese holly, Salivia and Lavender budding, with fresh soil awaiting Peruvian Daffs, Shamrock roses, Blue Sea Hollys, Cornflowers, Columbine, Dutch Iris, Tiger flowers, Hollyhocks, climbing Red Roses and Hummingbird Mint.

The fence between his yard and mine, fresh stained awaiting Josee Lilacs, Everlasting Sweet Williams, and Rainbow Butterfly bushes.

Sunday I sat on my porch steps, face red from the weekend’s exertion fresh freckles across my nose, a glass of mint tea in my hand, body warmed by the sun at perfect peace with the world..

Listening to: Birds, the far off sound of a lawn mower, and far distant chug of a fishing boat.

Mood/Doing:  Happy ….  alas working inside.winds wide to the sun, and spring breeze.

“Do you know a cure for me?”

Why yes,” he said, “I know a cure for everything. Salt water.”

Salt water?” I asked him.

Yes,” he said, “in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.” 

Source: Karen Blixen, Seven Gothic Tales

Image:  Robert Dance

Inky:  When I am away from home, traveling, as I have been for the last year.  I tend to suffer in little ways, I eat allergy meds like candy because my sinuses act up, my heart is sluggish, and everything feels just slightly off kilter .

But as soon as I head over the bridge to home, my heart beat begins to regulate, my breathing grows easier, and no allergies.  I sleep deeply.  My lullaby, the soft sound of whippoorwills, the distant chug of a fishing boat, the gentle rush of waves, and the wind brushing through the tops of huge pine trees.

I’m convinced.  I need the sea.

Perhaps because I was a mermaid in a previous existence?  I choose to believe….

Listening to: Where do Broken Hearts Go, Whitney Houston  (One of my absolute favorites)

Mood/Doing: fanciful… I really want to go dancing, I really, really do…. my best friend and I use to dance the nights away….

Love can be expressed…

 …in a myriad of different methods, but the most timeless and most treasured will always remain the classic love letter.

Source: Auliq Ice

Image: found at pinterest

Inky: …tangible, when you are gone – physical proof there was a moment were you loved me, as I loved you.

Listening to: More Than Love – Los Lonely Boys

Mood/Doing: happy/nostalgic…. re-reading old love letters, listening to music, babying a Glenlivet.

For a long time,

 ….my subconscious rested in a dark place, ticking through memories like a jukebox selecting a record.

Source: Chelsie Shakespeare

Image:  HQ Screen

Inky: last few days have been hard.   Being busy, words eluding me then getting into a fit of writing.  This morning I woke feeling tranquil, it’s been that way all day.   You would think I was bipolar although clinically I’m not they tell me.  It’s the creative process, I’m thinking.  The high of getting something done and good, and the low of not being able to pull it all together.  Tonight, I’m giving myself a rest.  I’m turning off the laptop and going outside.  The stars are calling….

Listening to:  If I Knew – Bruno Mars

Mood/Doing: quiet…  sitting on the porch steps listening to music, coffee mug in hand, staring at the stars

The Ballad of Meg Dooley…

‘Oi,’ said the boys with a contemptuous spat

At the hag that they called Meg Dooley.

Slowly she turned, gnarled, twisted and stern

Mindful of the crew, unruly.

Behind raged the sea, churning and wild,

Wave tossed and green gleaming.

Before her the boys assured of their toy

Circled loud jeering and screaming.

“Be sure of what you do” said Meg out o’the blue

As the crew circled and laughed in spite.

“For once it is done, it can ne’er be undone

The sin you are intending this night.”

Laughter abound as Meg left the ground

Lifted high above their raucous heads.

Calmly she waited as the wind abated,

And the sea grew still as dead.

“Do it or not” said Meg from above

As the boys arms strained with the load

“Tis nothing to fear,” the leader did sneer

And laughing the boys did explode.

Meg took flight, and hovered mid stride

As the wind once again whipped and howled.

The sea took ahold and gently did fold

Meg’s body beneath its green shroud.

Alone on the shore the boys did ignore the

Waves lapping and gnashing at shoes

When Meg did not appear the boys in fear

Quaked, unsure of what they should do.

“Tis nothing” say one, “stay hushed” the other

As they all watched the waves in hope.

But watch though they may, Meg’s body

Did stay, below, and ne’er did float.

The years they went by, and never they cry

nor speak of that ill-fated day.

Still one by one, the sea revenge took upon

And relentlessly the note they did pay.

Until there he stood before a storm strongly brewed

While at his feet the waves splashed and gave.

He knew it was he that Meg Dooley did need

The last of the murderers to cave.

Head bent in prayer, on this very last day.

Repentant for sins long committed.

And up surged the swell, her voice clear as a bell

Then down and away he submitted.

And as he sunk down, the green gloom surround

All around him his crew did appear

Eternally bound for the sin they compounded

On Meg Dooley that last bitter year.

So list, grandson, to the tale I have spun

And remember the lesson it taught.

Think thrice, before the Meg Dooley’s of life

For what is done can never be unwrought.

Source:  Original by Inky.

Image: HD Wallpaper