Sayonara y Adios

I’m leaving for Cancun tomorrow morning (Oct. 21) at 6 a.m.–before the prompt will be posted.  Since I’m not taking my computer, I probably won’t be posting for 5 days and no doubt will be suffering from withdrawal..first days since April 1 that I will not have posted.  Please don’t forget me.  Perhaps you could look back on past posts you haven’t read yet.  If you have a recommendation for readers about what posts to read, please make suggestions in the comments below.  Thanks for coming to see me so faithfully.  I’ll miss y’all.  Judy

P.S. There is an off-chance that a mystery writer will be filling-in posts on my blog while I’m gone.  If so, don’t miss his posts as he is smart, clever and a bit crazy.  Best type of posts!!!DSC09636

I’ll Have to Go

The Prompt: Finite Ceatures—At what age did you realize you were not immortal? How did you react to that discovery?

I’ll Have to Go

This journey of our lifetime is a one-way ride.
I realized the truth of this the day my father died.
But in the living of it, I forgot again—
concentrating on the present and where I had been
instead of thinking of the future and mortality.
There’s something in a busy life that sets the spirit free,
convincing us that we’re immortal. That we’ll always be.

The many times that I was made to see I might have died:
the time I was abducted and taken for a ride,
the time he held the gun up to my head and pulled the trigger,
as I fell to the street, somehow my life seemed to get bigger;
and I saw all of it at once, spread out there below me,
and somehow though I wasn’t dead, I felt that I was free,
and for awhile, I found it was enough to simply be.

There have been other times when death has had me in its clench:
the time not long ago when that limb missed me by an inch,
the time I nearly drowned when I knew I was gone for sure,
yet somehow, death rejected me—released me from its lure.
It’s just at night when I’m alone that all comes tumbling back
and I begin to calculate all that my life might lack,
and life becomes a tempting peddler opening his pack.

The places never visited, the loves I let pass by,
and all the other things I thought to do before I die
all tumble out to tempt me and I think perhaps I still
have some things to do before I climb that final hill.
I think, perhaps, there’s one more love. One journey yet or two.
So many things that I have left I always thought I’d do.
So I am getting ready—only waiting for my cue.

That’s why at night I lie awake, sometimes remembering.
At other times just wondering what this next year will bring.
If I am lucky, I have thirty years or more till death
takes away these memories and stills my final breath.
Until then, I’ll live life fully and go where I must go.
I’ll follow my own pathway and ignore the status quo.
Instead of drifting lazily, I’ll row and row and row!

Sundaystills Photo Challenge: The Letter “C”

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Match the “C” with the picture:  Casks for Pisco, Clouds, Candelabra Island Nazca Lines, Christmas lights, Cricket, “Cristal” Truck, El Catador Pisco Distillery
To see other Sunday Photo Challenges, go to: http://sundaystills.wordpress.com/2014/10/19/sunday-stills-the-next-challenge-the-letter-c/

You’ve Got Mail

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The Prompt: Fourth Wall—You get to spend a day inside your favorite movie. Tell us which one it is — and what happens to you while you’re there.


You’ve Got Mail

That bouquet of sharpened pencils? They had me from the start.
Who knew that Mr. Hanks had that effect upon my heart?
I know it was the writers. I’m a writer. I’m not dim!
And it was just a role he played—it really wasn’t him!
Nor was it his main character that penned those words so fine.
It was his alter ego that he only used on-line!

Suspending disbelief is what we writers count upon.
In another lingo, we might call it a fine con.
We take our readers from themselves into a new dimension,
where we create a world that’s purely of our own invention;
and there we spin a fantasy that catches them within it—
offering a prize so rare that readers want to win it.

And films use music, too, to try to capture our emotions,
wiping out our common sense and filling us with notions.
The track to “You’ve Got Mail” was as romantic as could be!
If little birds fly oe’r the rainbow, why, indeed, can’t we?
We all identified and put ourselves into the tale,
and when it ended happily, we all read, “You’ve Got Male!”

The Way of the Plumed Serpent

The Prompt: Circuitous Paths—A stranger knocks on your door, asking for directions from your home to the closest gas station (or café, or library. Your pick!). Instead of the fastest and shortest route, give him/her the one involving the most fun detours.
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The Way of the Plumed Serpent

I know you’re in a hurry ‘cause you really need to gas up,
but there’s a special place near here you really shouldn’t pass up.
It’s a pool with thermal water where you could swim and play.
I’ll even give you passes so you won’t have to pay!
Just go to my corner and turn right and drive until
you come to the clubhouse. It’s just one block down the hill.
Turn into the entrance and park in the parking lot.
You’ll see the pool down below with water steaming hot.
I’ve got suits in every size and color here for you to borrow.
Just take them home to dry and you can bring them back tomorrow.
And after you have had a soak or done your final lap,
perhaps you would enjoy a little massage and a nap.

There’s a really gorgeous spa that’s just a half mile from our pool.
A mile-square Aztec temple, it is really, really cool.
A family of stone carvers have worked there for thirty years.
Masters all, their artistry is simply without peers.
First two huge plumed serpents frame a staircase up the mountain;
and when you’ve reached the top of it, a hot volcanic fountain
spills into a chamber beneath house-sized Olmec head,
where you can float away your worries in this watery bed.
Then a few short steps away, kind hands await you there
to massage away your worries and remove every care.
This time isn’t free, but it will be worth every cent.
Believe me, you will never have a regret that you went.

An hour later, you’ll feel liquid flowing down that stair.
Every tension gone from you—removed from toe to hair.
And at the bottom of the stairs, near one more thermal fountain,
a string of temazcals are carved into the living mountain.
Little individual caves with natural heat and steam
coming from volcanic water passing in a stream.
The view is of the lake below and also your own mind.
The introspection fostered there is one that’s hard to find.
Afterwards, you’ll wander a short distance farther down
to a huge palapa restaurant with a menu of renown.
The view from it, amazing: mountains, lake, volcano,
village, palms and flowering trees, spread out far below.
Have a drink and have a meal before you must depart.
And on your way, take time to view their pre-Columbian art.
The carved stone steps, the vine-swathed pillars—artistry abounds.
Everywhere you look in these enchanting magic grounds.

Chac Lan, or Monte Coxala is what they call this place.
The Lake is Lake Chapala that lies spread out at its base.
And further up the hill, just a mere few blocks away,
is another place you’re welcome if you want to stay—
the place I always come back to, no matter where I roam.
The name is “Casa Florencia,” but I just call it home!
The thermal waters are here, too, the artistry and flowers.
Beneath the towering palms and vines and bougainvillea bowers,
Quetzalcoatl winds his sinewy self above my door.
and carved in stone, holds wide his mouth so waters from it pour
into my pool, steaming hot, to mix with water cooler.
The measurement of pleasure here is not done with a ruler,
but by gauging mentally how cares might pass away
on this hill called home where the plumed serpent holds his sway.
Afterwards, drive down the hill a few blocks, perhaps eight.
The guard will bid you good-bye as he opens up the gate.
Turn right at the Carretéra and a mile or so away
is where you may gas up and then be on your busy way!

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These pictures are all of my house.  If you’d like to see Monte Coxala, use this link.

Mommy Think

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The Prompt: Reverse Shot—What’s your earliest memory involving another person? Recreate the scene — from the other person’s perspective.

My earliest memory is waking up in my crib and making a noise to let my mom know I was awake and then watching her walk in with a big grin.  I remember very clearly thinking how delighted she was to see me and how anxious she must have been for me to wake up!  Ha!

Mommy Think

I can hear the baby stirring, but she’s quiet for now.  I guess I’ll try to finish the Daily Crossword before going in to see if she’s really ready to get up from her nap.  If she’s wet or restless, she always lets me know—the same gurgle as usual, but a bit louder, to make sure I notice.

The divan I’m lying on is so close to the open door to her room that there’s no chance I won’t hear her if she really needs me.  Hmmmmm. A Hawaiian goose.  I’ve seen that a dozen times.  Nene, I think.

Oh, Oh.  There’s that little singing purr.  She’s ready.  So much for the puzzle for a little while, until I get her changed, liquified and busy with her toys in her playpen.

There she is.  So adorable, peeking out from between the bars of her crib.  I can see her eyes dilate when she sees me, one chubby little arm reaching through the bars,  hand out, fingers spread.  Waving hello like her sisters taught her.  Face open in the biggest grin to see her mom.  It’s like looking in a mirror.  I can feel that same grin stretching my own cheeks.  I can’t believe I’ve created this sweet girl.  Me, the laziest woman on earth—I made this!

She’s gotten heavier and OUCH! those little fingernails need trimming.  She wraps her chubby legs around me like a vise.  Fat little toes for gobbling as I change her diaper.  That strange arrow birthmark pointing straight down and filling the vee between her legs like a direction signal. So strange.  My first child to have marks of any kind–the small port wine stain on her neck, and this larger brown birthmark in such an odd place. So glad this big one will never really show that much so long as she has any clothes on at all.

She’s perfect, so far as anyone else knows.   I’ll put her with a cookie and orange juice in her bottle into her playpen and finish my puzzle.  No need to change her clothes.  Her dad will be home soon for his afternoon break and he’ll have her filthy from his field clothes within seconds of entering the house.  They’ll both be asleep within minutes–him in his rocking chair with his feet up on the footstool and the glass of iced tea I’ve brought him sweating on his chair-side table, her stretched out on her tummy on his chest, little cheek pressed against his neck, wheat chaff and field dust on her sleeper and making light depressions on her cheek. I’ve never seen a man who loves babies more.  When we don’t have one of our own, he borrows them from tourists in the restaurant where he meets his friends for coffee in the afternoon.  “Want me to hold your baby for you while you eat?” he says, and they always say yes.  The novelty of the big farmer in the J.C. Penny’s khaki work clothes and the straw hat holding their little city baby?  They just wish they’d brought their camera in.

Hmmm. A South American Country.  Peru? No, that’s just four letters. Chile? There’s Ben’s truck.  Guess I’ll get the baby out of the playpen and have her waiting at the door for him when he comes in!

The Prompt: Reverse Shot—What’s your earliest memory involving another person? Recreate the scene — from the other person’s perspective.

(P.S.This is a pretty unremarkable post for my 300th posting, but I have an eye appointment in an hour so must hurry.  Perhaps I’ll do another post later in the day…It was fun trying to write from my mother’s perspective.  Sorry it had to be so hurried.)

(P.P.S. The eye doctor never showed up, although I waited an hour.  I was sure it said I had an appointment in my calendar.  I must need my eyes examined!)