Wednesday, April 24, 2013

American Idol, the train has left

American Idol is like a good song destroyed by a bad singer this year. The voices are great, but… Now, they're saying wait for the surprise twist tomorrow night. Well, duh, I bet it's that they will use the save they were supposed to have used by # 5. Why? Because they need another week of eliminations. Makes this week basically useless. Too bad, these wonderful women singers are on this year when the powers that be are turning this show into
a slow motion train wreck. Oh, well. Idol, I've enjoyed the ride, but more than likely this year will be my last ride. 

My pick for who will get eliminated if I'm wrong about the save? Candace (or however you spell her name). Wonderful singer, but picked songs that didn't create a wow moment.
This is simply my opinion. I hope I have it totally wrong.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Boston, the Aftermath

The second suspect in Boston has been taken into custody and perhaps the puzzle of what makes some humans devalue the lives of their fellow men will be fitted with one more missing piece. It's a jigsaw of hatred, differing anger driven beliefs, and misguided vulnerable egos. May the pieces of madness be gathered, poured in a box and the lid sealed. May the people of Boston and all others around the world touched by senseless tragedy be wrapped in the love of others. May we, as we were meant to, have sweet dreams.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Boston, may hope overshadow the sadness

I look at what I wrote four hours ago about the beauty and peace of a spring day in the South, and I am sad. Dark clouds of hate have burst forth in Boston since then. They've taken the gift of light from the day we'd been given. 
Please world of my fellow humans, at least the few my words reach, let's begin a movement of emphasizing the beauty of being alive. Let us send hope of a world without violence. Let us stop shouting about our differences and start finding our similarities. Let us love one another, at least here, in our own country. Let us not destroy. Let us focus on the wonderfulness of our world, not on the evil thoughts of a few. Let us reach out and hold the hand of peace. Amen.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

Time to Leave?

Soggy. That's how my right side feels, above my butt, below my ribs, with a knife made for sharp stabs protruding from it. It's what I've gained from sitting, listening to the rain for too long, and typing gibberish about moments in time.

I cock my head at the airy tap-tap of tennis shoes headed down the stairs. His tread is lighter since the attack. Before, the steps were like rocks being dropped one at a time, huge breadcrumbs leading to destruction. I'd heard him, ignored the warning. Minutes wasted.

"Going running. Hi George. Leave that inside when you're finished." He says the words loud enough for our "good as it gets" neighbor to hear, happy enough to twist the knife in my back.

I try to get to my feet, but the planks of the floor smack my face. It hurts. It hurt when he was laying down new ones and hit me in the head with a 2x4 last year. I got up then. I can get up now.

My hands slip in the wet goo of my insides spilling on the hardwood. Eight quarts, two probably gone in the first couple of minutes. That leaves me about six to live.

"Linda?" George drops the rake he'd borrowed, envelopes me.

"No." I think I say the word, push at him, but he doesn't let go.

"Forgot my phone. What's happened? George, what the fuck have you done?" Boulders landing, unmistakable, right outside the evidence pool of red. "Hold on, Linda. I'm calling 9-1-1." He backs away. "Help. The neighbor attacked my wife."

"No." The word takes all my breath. It will take a minimum of ten minutes for EMS to get to our house.

Last time, he'd gotten in nine punches before then. Said I'd be dead, if he'd wanted me to be and he'd get away with it. Said keep your mouth shut. I'd told them all was okay. I figured they were too late to save me anyway.

He edges forward, smirks.

The scarlet pool spreads. I am ready to go. Not one quart at a time though.

"No." My focus shifts from the man outside the red zone to George the Good. I take his hand, press it to my wound. I hold on tight to the moment. It isn't quite right for leaving. This time, it's not too late.