Saturday, June 1, 2013

People can  be cruel

A mournful silence envelopes our front yard this morning. My daughter is heartbroken and I'm filled with a fury reserved only for those who see heartbreak and can do nothing to prevent it.
Let's go back and start at the beginning.
A few weeks ago, we came home from work and school to discover that a robin had built her nest on our downspout directly under our roof. To our delight, we realized she had built her nest directly behind our security camera. My daughters we so excited. My husband even turned the camera around so we could watch Mrs. Robin on our TV. It was an exciting time in our house.
Every morning, oldest daughter would wake and the first thing she would do would turn on the TV to check on Mrs. Robin. The littlest daughter would look at the screen and say, "Bird! Bird!" Our "bird" channel would stay on until we left for school in the morning. One of my daughters would turn it on as soon as we got home. It would stay on until after the girls went to bed. We'd keep it on until mom and dad went to bed. We had our very own nature channel and it was so sweet and simple.
One day we set up a ladder in the yard, a distance away, and climbed it to see into the nest. Mrs. Robin had four eggs! Four! That seemed like an incredible amount to us! Usually in pictures you see two or three eggs in a nest, but never four. I'm sure we were as excited as Mrs. Robin. Maybe more so.
We wanted to help Mrs. Robin, so we went to Lowe's for bird food. None of the bags said they were for robins. We called my parents, who are avid gardeners and bird lovers. "What do robins eat?" we asked them.
"Robins? Why robins?"
Apparently, no one ever sets out to deliberately feed robins. I guess we are just rebels that way. We bought a bird feeder and some dehydrated meal worms, because the internet said that robins liked worms. We set up the feeder close to Mrs. Robin's nest, so she could have plenty of food for herself and her babies. Yes, somehow, the robins had become our pets.
And one day . . . they hatched! We came home from work and school to hear tiny cheeping from our nest. We got out the ladder again and saw them! All four eggs had hatched. The babies were so ugly, they were cute. They had no feathers and did not have their eyes opened yet. All of us took turns climbing the ladder and looking at them. It was awesome!
Our nature channel from then on showed Mrs. Robin coming and going and feeding her young. It was so cool and educational. We would watch the babies pop their heads up while Mrs. Robin was out getting food or some alone time. They slowly began to get covered with feathers. Then, they started popping up while Mrs. Robin was in the nest. They were adorable. My oldest daughter was in love. She genuinely cared for Mrs. Robin and her brood.
We had a horrible storm one night, as anyone in the Midwest can attest to. There was thunder and lightning and high winds. We were worried that Mrs. Robin's family might not make it through the night. When we woke the next morning, oldest daughter nervously turned on the television. It seemed that Mrs. Robin had chosen the location well when she built her nest. It was still there, safely tucked under the eaves, and all of the babies were accounted for.
The next day, when we got home from school, a horrible sight met our eyes. The nest was completely gone! We scoured the ground and the yard, but it was nowhere to be found. Someone deliberately knocked it down, and we have no idea why.
It was probably some kid on the way home from school, but we don't know of a motive. What I do know is that oldest daughter cried and cried. Her heart had broken just a little bit. It wasn't just a bird's nest that had been taken or knocked down. Four innocent little lives were taken, too. Someone killed innocent animals that had become our pets because they were bored or showing off to their friends. Or maybe we have a future serial killer on our block.
Unfortunately, the security camera malfunctioned, and we didn't get to see who killed our friends. So we were left helpless and angry. Why? Why hurt those birds? And how did the person get up to it? Our ladder was locked in our garage. The nest was high enough that we couldn't reach it.
It was a sad, sad day.
It made me glare at every person who walks or rides a bike down my street-adult or child. It makes me hate my neighbors and want vengeance. And it makes me just want to know who did it. I am sad because I no longer hear the innocent cheeps in the morning. My daughter is heartbroken. She will never see her friends grow up. And for a while, Mrs. Robin would fly around our yard looking for her babies. And that was heartbreaking, too.
She will probably never build another nest in that spot, because we as human beings have failed her. We were unable to protect her. And we're sorry.

Friday, May 17, 2013

It's the little things

I always want to talk in an accent after I've been watching "Peppa Pig" for a while.
Other shows that make me want to practice my accent:
Pitch Perfect - Rumer Wilson is hilarious!
Harry Potter
Sometimes I think I may be odd, but I just don't care what others think any more.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Sexy men

Hollywood and the media have lists of
"The Sexiest Men"
in Hollywood,
in the US,
in the world.
And they make these lists
and promote the idea
that in order to be sexy,
one has to be famous
with chiseled looks
and washboard abs.
Now those are nice to look at,
don't get me wrong,
but I have a different definition
of sexy.
What is sexy?
Sexy is a man who will
cook me dinner
or take me out to eat
not because it's a special occasion,
but because I worked all day
am just too tired to think about cooking
or because it's Wednesday.
Sexy is a man who will
do a load of laundry
(and even fold them!).
Sexy is a man who will
clean the kitchen
without being asked
or nagged
or begged.
Sexy is a man who will
do minor repairs around the house,
bail me out of trouble,
help those in need.
Sexy is a man who will
let me have a girls' night out
without complaining
or trying to guilt me out of it.
Sexy is a man who will
watch the kids while I am
at work,
working late,
or out with my friends.
Sexy is a man who will
stay home
with a sick kid
so I can go to work
on a day I just can't miss.
Sexy is a man who will
encourage me,
believe in me,
and help me achieve my goals
or do my very best.
Sexy is a man who will
get my warped sense of humor,
hold my hand,
dry my tears,
hug me,
kiss me,
sex me up,
and love me always
even though
I am not perfect
or even nice all the time.
I want to see recognition that this man is sexier
than the Hollywood stereotype.
This man is the one who holds my heart,
and that makes him even sexier.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Lara's heartbreak

Lara was so excited to find out she was expecting.
A baby!
It was great news,
but Lara had problems.
And since it was her first pregnancy,
she didn't know what to look for.
And so her baby came two months early.
Two months too early.
And he was tiny.
Three pounds.
Three pounds of baby
is less than a
sack of flour,
a dumbell,
a heavy textbook,
a pair of steel-toed boots,
or what she really wanted-
a healthy baby.
And he was so, so teeny.
And he began to have problems.
Little man was in the hospital
for the first four months of his life.
For four months,
he stayed in the hospital.
For Lara,
it may as well have been
He couldn't put on weight.
He kept aspirating on bottles.
Problem after problem.
And then,
he finally got to go home!
For a little while.
He kept having to go back to the hospital
and stay for a week or two
at a time.
Lara missed so much work.
And her baby kept crying
and crying
and crying.
He was in pain
and so back to the hospital
they would go
to test him and find out what was wrong.
They still don't know.
He still goes back to the hospital.
And he has spent more time in the hospital
than out of it.And now, Lara's baby
is developmentally behind
other children his age.
He is legally blind
and cannot hold up his head
even though he is a year old.
He cannot crawl,
or sit up,
or walk,
or talk.
Lara is not sure if he ever will be able to do these things.
He is a miracle because he survived.
Lara loves him,
but spends every moment worrying about him.
He has aged her because
she worries,
And I worry
about Lara
and how's she's feeling,
handling the situation,
and if she's doing okay.
But Lara has closed herself
off from the world.
And all she says now is that
she's okay,
her baby's okay,
things are okay.
But okay is not great,
or even good.
And I worry about Lara
and her little one.
And I want to know-
what can I do to help?
And the answer is. . . .?

I Could Kick Your Ass*

I could kick your ass*
unless you actually have muscles
or strength
or some other such nonsense.
Basically, what I am saying is that
I could kick your ass
if you were an
Back when I was
then I probably could have kicked your ass.
Well, at least I think so.
I think.
I felt pretty confident when
I took kickboxing classes.
I was a lean, mean,
fighting machine.
And now,
now life has gotten in the way.
I've got
a second job because the first one doesn't pay enough,
and excuses.
Oh, I've got a ton of those.
I'm too tired.
I'm too busy.
I'm too broke.
What I really need,
is to get off my ass
and get it back into shape,
so I can work on

Sunday, March 10, 2013

It's fine

It's Fine

by The Castaway Poet

The other day,
I was in charge of a big event
encompassing a lot
of events,
and minions.
Things were going semi-smoothly,
as they do with all big events.
Human error always finds a way
to foul things up
Events featuring humans
will always have mistakes,
even tiny ones.
One of my minions
came up to me with (another!) problem.
And I said, "It's fine."
And that was my mantra
to get me through the day.
It's fine. It's fine.
Over and over,
again and again.
Until I sounded like
a skipping CD
or a virus eaten MP3.
My friend overheard
my mumbled chant.
And she laughed.
She said,
"If you have to say,
'It's fine,'
seventeen times in a row,
it's probably not fine."
And we laughed
because she was
My minion relaxed
as the tension fled the room
like a refugee from Cuba.
Later,  I confided in my friend
that things were actually not fine.
But if I said, "It's fine," to my minion,
that minion would think it was fine
and keep working
and maybe leave me alone
so I could
solve all the problems of the world,
you know, little stuff.
I have found
from years of experience
that my minions tend to self-destruct
or turn into sniveling bubbles of
spineless goo
or run away from me screaming
when I say, "I will stab you
in the face if you bring one more problem
to my attention today
instead of just handling it
by yourself."
And that is what I am thinking
when I am saying, "It's fine."

by The Castaway Poet

I just love cursing.
Cursing is my hobby,
my pass time,
my daily mode of relaxation.
I love it.
Cursing is my medium
and my muse.
It's how I express myself.
I love cursing.
Unfortunately, I can't curse all the time-
like at my job,
around my children,
around my mother.
I even like replacement curse words
which come in handy
if you have some serious cursing to do,
but it may be construed as inappropriate.
I can work in replacement words as easily
as I can with the genuine article.
Oh snap!
What the frick did you think I was going to say?
Shut the front door!
Oh sugar!
Aw, fudge!
These words can help ease stress,
they may just not be as impressive
as the real deal.
(Or as fun to say,
If you want to be truly honest
with yourself.)
And since they aren't as shocking
or impressive, sometimes you have
to just shout obscenities
so loud that your neighbors think
you're watching Maury
with the bleeps removed.
I love cursing.
Some would say that if you have to resort
to curse words,
you sound uneducated with nothing better
to say.
I say
sometimes it's easier to express myself
or get my point across
with an oh so handy curse word.
Usually, when you curse,
no one misunderstands
or misinterprets
what you are saying.
It's pretty hard to think someone
is having a good day
when they are muttering
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!"
as they walk
down the street.
You just get out of their way
and leave them be
because you can hear
that they have problems.
Some people frown when others
curse around them,
but I'm sure that they are cursing
deep down inside
where no one can hear them,
"Please, just shut  your damn mouth!
There are children present."
I love cursing.
I learned to curse at my grandfather's knee.
He was a wizened,
blue collar farmer.
He would cuss up a storm
at anyone
or anything
that screwed up
or crossed his path.
To me, he was a great guy,
and if the penalty for cursing
was a mouthful of soap,
that was a consequence I was willing to accept.
(Grandpa used lava-
now that was cuss-worthy experience!)
My mother would shudder in horror
whenever I repeated
any of my grandpa's choice phrases.
What mother wants to hear
her seven year old
call the family cat
a sonovabitch?
I love cursing.
In fact, studies now show that cursing
can be beneficial to your health.
Say what?
Cursing can be so good for you?
Take that all of you who are too
easily offended!
We cursers will take over!
But seriously,
If you are hurt
or get hurt
cursing helps
and abbreviate
the pain!
If you curse, you are able to
withstand more pain
than if you don't!
If you curse,
your pain goes away
So, what's the big fucking deal?
I love cursing.
I string curse words together
and it's a
fucking art.
Cursing to me is like
Leonardo Da Vinci to oil paints.
Someday, I will create my
Starry Night through a string of curse words
the world has never seen.
So get off my back when I am
stringing expletives together.
I may be sculpting my David,
my Mona Lisa,
my Venus De Milo,
my masterpiece
out of words.
I love cursing,
back the fuck off
and leave me the FUCK alone.