Sickness got the best of me this Thanksgiving, but I still felt obligated put on the whole 'turkey and pie' show. After, my husband took the kids for a boat ride. They returned to find me stretched out in the living room on a pile of pillows. My middle son used acting skills acquired in drama club to put on his best angst ridden, quavering voice. He said, "Don't go, Mom, don't go."

I ignored him---to no avail. He continued, "Don't go towards the light!"

I cracked an eyelid open. The only light I could see from my no longer peaceful repose was the kitchen light over the sink.

"Why would I go towards the light?" I asked. "There's dishes in there."

Pirouette

We move the kitchen table
off to the side
and sweep the floor well.

She puts on a pink tutu
and ballet slippers
worn through at the toes.

My naked quilt rack,
requisitioned for her purpose,
serves as the barre.

Piano notes tinkle
in harmony
with the clink of dishes.

Her little girl pirouette
turns
my kitchen into . . .

A world of dance,
music,
dreams.

Odd October

My brothers and sisters, when you have many kinds of troubles, you should be full of joy, because you know that these troubles test your faith, and this will give you patience. James 1:2-3 NCV

There were a lot of storms in October. Leaks sprung in the walls, two windows of the house, and my car trunk. The backseat of the car had to be removed and a large, bright blue tarp covered my auto. It stayed that way for quite some time.

The phone was out all month. I don't know if that was weather related.

I lost a tax bill, but couldn't call about it or drive to the courthouse to resolve the issue.

My dryer died.

The month progressed this way.

Lightning struck the network cable and fried the computers. I think that was the 30th. On the last day of the month, the T.V. made a loud POP and an acrid, electrical burning smell filled the house. Normally this would upset me, but I simply got up and went to finish cleaning the kitchen.

Then I discovered that the deep freezer had been off for three days.

After that one of the boys told me about the leaky toilet, so we spent some time tearing up the new flooring and disposing of it since it was ruined.

A little after 11:00 p.m. all was quiet except for a drip, drip, dripping. It was not raining. The fridge had decided to start defrosting and produced incredible amounts of water. There was water under the kitchen cabinets. Water had seeped through the wall and puddled in the utility room behind the dryer.

At 11:45 or so we heard an animal getting into the trash. My son put on his shoes and got a flashlight. Remembering the skunk that lurked nearby in the woods I said, "Let's wait fifteen minutes--until October's over."

Rich

Rich is not having to use the teabag twice.

Having an egg for the batter,
and milk from a jug,
Not a box.

Early morning caffeine fixes for two,
and muted conversation.

A platter stacked high with pancakes,
Ham for everyone,
and a family sized bowl of grits.

Rich is no elbow room at the breakfast table.

Pen Names

I've been working on a novel. It's hard work. I was staring at the computer keyboard yesterday and decided what I really needed was a pen name. When I was a little bitty girl, I was known by my family as DonnaMe. I thought, "Hey, I'll shorten it to D'me." At the time it looked kind of foreign and elegant to me. I was suffering from severe sleep deprivation and a headache.

I asked my family what they thought of the name. I had to write it out before they got it. My middle son read out loud, "Duh me."

I suddenly realized that if you live in Texas, only a dummy would name themselves D'me.

Send the Rain

My herbs have been neglected. They are in large pots on the front porch, but it's so easy to walk by them everyday without really seeing. One day I noticed that my dill had all shriveled up. I pulled up the little plants and rubbed the dry stalks over the pot of soil. Then I stirred it up with a twig and gave it a bit of water. A green thumb is something I lack, but I thought maybe something would sprout.

I watered the pot for a few days, but nothing happened. Things are busy around here, and after about two weeks with no results I let myself forget all about it again.

It's been raining. Tender green blades are poking up.

My prayer today is that God would water the areas in my life I have so long neglected. There are places I have planted good seeds, then became distracted and weary of tending them. I pray for the Master Gardener to impart life, for resurrection in the dry places.

Send the rain.

Hands

She stood waiting for Him. When He came near she noticed how unflinching his gaze was.

"Let me see your hands," He said.

Her eyes widened.

"My hands?"

"Yes."

Slowly she held out her hands. He took hers in His and scrutinized them.

"Your hands look dirty," He said.

A blush crept up her neck.

"I cannot get the stains out. It's from working in the garden," she explained.

He nodded.

He continued to look closely her hands.

He indicated a partially healed mark.

"What happened here?"

" The burn?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I was cooking and touched a hot pan."

"And the scar?"

She thought it was such a tiny scar that no one would notice, but He did.

"I was washing windows and one broke."

"Why are your hands wet?" He asked.

"A little boy fell over there," she gestured, "just a moment ago. I was waiting for You and had nothing else to wipe his tears with, so I used my hands."

"The garden," He said, "Was it my garden you were working in?"

"Why, yes Lord, it was," she said.

"Were you cooking for My servant when you burnt your hand?"

"Yes Lord," she said, remembering that she had been.

"This scar," He held up her hand, "Were you washing windows in the house built for those who come to hear of Me?"

She nodded.

"And these tears here in your palm, are they the tears of one of My lambs?"

"Yes Lord," she whispered.

"Beloved," He said to her, "You have the most beautiful hands."

Holiday Weekend

A weekend at home,
surrounded by my children
large and small.

Couches are full,
T.V. turned on,
movie time.

The cupboard is empty of bowls.
They wait, in the sink,
to be washed . . .
again.

I made Mom's Chicken Soup,
jello (three kinds)
and
a jug of sweet tea.

We are almost out of tissues.
The little one asks,
"Can Daddy go get me some Puffs?"

I spoon in purple medicine
and pass out white tablets.

A cool cloth.

She scowls,
looks at her brother
and accuses,
"He germed up the cereal bars."
Coughs.
"I bet he licked them."

Sweet Muffins

I wanted to make muffins this morning. I cook like my Nana did. Most of the time I don't bother to measure or look in a cookbook, but sometimes you need a recipe. I dug through my recipe box. What were they called? Breakfast Muffins? Easy Muffins? I flipped through cards for Angie's Cake, Baked Beans, Chocolate Frosting, Hawaiian Pork Chops. I smiled, remembering the time my box seemed unusually disorganized. I was shuffling through the cards that day when my then eight year old son said, "You know how you always say you can't find the recipe?"

"Mmm hmmm," I said, intent on my search.

"I fixed that," he said.

I looked up.

"You did?"

"Yup," he said proudly. "I put them in alphabetical order."

Nana had three boys, too.

I found the card. They are called Sweet Muffins.