Haiku to My Anxiety (1)

During some parts of my life, my anxiety wants to be my constant companion. This is one of those times. I know where my anxiety comes from, I even know what probably strengthened it. (But, that story is for another time.) My anxiety was pretty much on vacation for a while, making an occasional stop to let me know it's thinking of me. About three months ago, I found it lurking around again, knocking on my brain's door.  I recognized it, and I tried to ignore it. There's no ignoring it. It's there.  It's ready to tell me some lies, make some rather irrational conclusions and predictions from the stimulus life sets before me. It's ready to help my amygdala hijack me, as one person  put it (I forget who). I have my weapons against it, my deep breathing, my sharing of it, my self-talk, and others, including, of course, my little pharmaceutical friend.

 

One of the bad things about my anxiety, other than the obvious, is that even with my great arsenal, it sometimes wins. This afternoon was one of those times. While crying and insisting on explaining how something horrible is going to return, I try to tell myself that I'm being silly being scared of something that may not even happen. But, I can't help thinking what I'm thinking, fearing what I'm fearing. This is what my anxiety does. It overtakes me. After about 15 minutes of off and on panic, I know what I have to do. Thank God, I know what I have to do. And I do it. And then I figure out where my defenses were weak today. I was tired--sleepy tired and I didn't have lunch. Tomorrow, will be better. 

Tonight, I write my haiku to my stalker, anxiety, which I use to be ashamed of, but now know that it is part of what has made me Me.

Got me good today,

Loaded me with foolish thoughts.

Damn your persistence.

Haiku to My Dad (1)

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 73. What can I say about my dad? I could write about some fun birthday celebrations we had for him. There weren't any; he didn't want the fuss, even a little tiny fuss. I could tell you he liked cruising the aisles of hardware stores. He always had some project he was working on, and he always invited us to accompany him to get supplies. I can write about his career as a teacher. His career started with teaching 2nd grade bilingual and ended teaching 8th grade Science, and he enjoyed it--most of that time, just not all that political stuff, and when things had to change too much. I can write about how at 18 he joined the military. He was eventually stationed in Panama, where he met my mom , and, well, as they say, the rest is history. I could talk about his great interest in science fiction. He and I went to the original Star War movies together, but his sci fi love was the original Star Trek series. I could tell you that he loved trees. We would take little rides in the car and he would point out a tree and say something like, "Look at the tree. Isn't that something? That's a great tree." And I'd look and see that it really was something. I can say that my dad was a very smart man. He built his own telescope, became a licensed pilot, and knew how to get your lawn the greenest possible with the use of dish detergent and a can of beer.

Oh, I could write a lot of things about my dad. There were a lot of neat things about him. And I miss him. 

Today's haiku was not written today. It was written last year around this time. I shared it with others and I want to share it today. Happy Birthday to my dad, who I often wish were in my present. 

How I miss your face

Looking at me, smile or scowl.

Photos just won't do.

Haiku to Bowling

   Today, I saw a friend's bowling score on facebook. He made a score of 299. Yes, 299! Wow, I never knew anyone with that high of a score.  I'm never going to compete with him--he's like a pro, with that score. Shoot, he beat my average score by his second frame. Impressive, my friend, impressive. Your score made my boy's eyes grow twice their size. 

But, I can improve, and continue to follow the words of a wise 15-year-old I bowled with today. "I compete with myself, and try to get a better score each time." We try to bowl on Tuesday afternoons--just some other homeschoolers and their moms and me and my middle one. Sometimes there are just four of us, other times there are three times as many. Today there were six of us bowlers. I enjoy it. It's a chance to get out and chat with other adults. And I get to bowl. I'm not good at it. In fact, I'm considerably worse than I use to be. Back in my more youthful times, I was happy to break 90, elated if I broke 100. Pathetic as that was, nowadays, I'm happy to break 50, elated if I break 70. Today I had a big smile because my score was a big 84! Don't laugh, I had fun. 

My haiku today is about bowling, a sport I poorly play, but enjoy very much. 

Darn that elusive strike!
Are the pins super glued? No?
I stink at bowling.

Haiku to the Grocery Store

 I avoid the food store like our boy avoids the deodorant stick. "I do not like grocery shopping" is putting it lightly. I'd rather. . . I don't know. . . scrub the bathroom, do ten loads of laundary, stick toothpicks in my eyes. I despise grocery shopping. I hate going up and down the aisles, knowing that I have to do it all over again in a week. I hate plunking down hundreds of dollars a month to a corporation, and in a week have nothing to show for it. I don't like all the people who decided to shop when I shop, the silent cashiers who have no idea how to make nice noise that makes the waiting in their lane a little less painful, the stock boys who are in the way of me getting that specific type of mayonnaise my beloved likes. I dislike the cart that always seems to find me, you know the one, the one whose wheel makes that repetitious noise that drives me bonkers, the riding horse that plays the theme to Bonanza, which I take home and irritatingly hum for the rest of the day.

 But, most of all, I hate the constant loading and unloading. It's loading up the cart with the food, then unloading the cart at the checkout. Then loading up the cart again with the food now in bags. Then, loading up the car with the food, then unloading the car at home. Then unloading the bags of food and loading up our cupboards and refrigerator. Because my family consists of living organisms, I must feed them. And because I must feed them, I arm myself with my list, and do this loathsome chore weekly.

Let me present my haiku inspired by today's trip to the grocery store, otherwise known as Hell. 

Automatic doors!

Hmmm, nice. But you can't fool me.

You want my money!

Haiku to Belén

Nana Bel is around 93 years old. She is my grandmother-in-law. Belén is her full first name. And I thought the name was beautiful when I first heard it. I still do. It means Bethlehem in Spanish. We tried to visit every other week or more when we lived in Texas. There she would be rocking on her chair, smiling at me, in a house dress, usually, and socks and sneakers, or her slippers. Many times she wore a hat. Sometimes, it was a broad rimmed sun hat. Other times, a knitted cap. A favorite of hers was a baseball cap that sported a Playboy bunny symbol. She was oblivious to what it stood for, I'm sure. But she liked it, so she wore it. We would greet Belén and Tavo, my husband's grandfather. We hugged and kissed. Then Belén and I would sit and watch as my husband and Tavo chatted and joked. After a while, she would remember to offer me a beverage, usually an RC Cola. I took it and thanked her and she would say something to me and I would nod and smile and she would nod and smile. She and I never have had more than just a few words together. She speaks Spanish and I understand Spanish. But, I cannot understand her. I think it's her voice, or maybe the dialect. It doesn't matter, try as I might, I only understand a word here or there. And that is fine. We like each other and like seeing each other and that is all that mattered.

Today I made some of Belén's cornbread. She gave me the recipe a long time ago. As I poured the mixture into the pan, I thought of Belén. We visit her when we travel to visit family in Texas. She's in a nursing home. She doesn't always remember me. But, she still holds my face in her hands and kisses me and mumbles her love to me. 


My haiku is to Belén, a sweet beautiful lady, who holds a very special place in my heart. 

Dear pretty lady

Nods, smiles, and our eyes connect

Who needed words? Not us.

Haiku about Michigan

When I moved out of state to Maryland, I soon learned just how much of a Michigan person I was. When I asked about a pop machine  the first day at a new job, I was looked at like I was speaking another language. "You know, Coke, Pepsi?" It's called soda, I learned. My students kept asking me to say the word milk, because I said it funny. There was a fellow teacher who didn't know what I meant when I used the word "teeter totter," instead of "seesaw." I had several adults laugh when I mentioned Kalamazoo, one even insisted it wasn't a real place. I corrected the pronunciation of Mackinac Island, and was asked, "why do you have a "c" at the end of it then?"  Vernors didn't exist there. I missed it. Fellow teachers were impressed with the HOMES mnemonic which I knew since elementary school, and was surprised they didn't know it.  My neighbors were impressed by my "heavy duty" snow brush. They wondered where they could get one. At the time there were no store resembling a Meijer . I missed the convenience of one-stop shopping. I tried using a Canadian dime and was told they don't accept foreign money. I stupidly said, "But, it's Canadian," and was told, "Yeah, well, Canadian is foreign." 

I'm back in Michigan, have been for a while. I'm glad to be back and I have no plans on leaving again. Today is Michigan's birthday. It's 176 years old. So, today I wrote a haiku about Michigan, which I call home, no matter where I live.

My home, Great Lake State,

The Mitten, Wolverine State,

The Third Coast, My home

Haiku to Fox Mulder

About twenty years ago, for about a decade, the tv show X-files made my Friday nights. It is on my list of best tv shows ever, along with Twin Peaks, Northern Exposure and Homicide: Life on the Streets. Yeah, it was Friday night, and once in a while I had a Friday out. And because of such situations, I bought this handy-dandy contraption called a VCR. And I was set, never missed an episode. I loved X-files for a few reasons. First, it was filled with the paranormal--which I enjoy immensely. It had aliens, mutants, monsters, and lots of conspiracy to hide that such things exist. Second, it was clever. The story-telling writing had me hooked every week, with smart dialogue and surprising twists, and super cliff-hangers. And third, it gave me a female lead that I truly liked. Dana Scully was smart, pretty, independent, feisty, and capable. She could stand on her own and was not the token female sidekick. I wanted to be her. 

Today, I was thinking of another show, that reminded me of X-files, which reminded me of this snippet of conversation during my book club meeting the other night. Which brings me to my last item on my list of what made X-files super. A tangent of our discussion lead to admissions to crushes on famous people. I admitted that I had a decade-long crush on Fox Mulder. My crush was not David Duchovny, the actor who portrays him. It was Fox Mulder, the fictional male lead. Besides being physically attractive, Fox Mulder is intelligent. He's funny, and he doesn't seem to know it, which makes him even more crush-worthy. Fox can be self-deprecating, yet he has confidence. He's driven, has a passion, a purpose. And of course, what always gets us, he was haunted by tragedy. He has a sadness around him. I really liked him. These days, my crush has dissipated. But, it's still fun to reminisce on an old crush, even though he was a figment of someone's imagination.

Today's haiku is to Fox Mulder,  who makes me wonder if I was weird having had a crush on a fictional character. Nah, I can't be alone. I bet almost everyone had one. And I imagine some still do. 

An hour a week

we shared, so I could escape 

from my boring life

Haiku to My Bad Mood

I don't get into bad moods too often, but I'm in one. I'm not sure of its origin. No one did anything to me. Today was rather quiet. I'm looking forward to a relatively quiet tomorrow. The kids are all behaving. No melt downs, no snide remarks, no refusals, nothing negative to report. I'm simply cranky, grouchy, irritable. I'm in a heightened state of pisstivity. And again, no reason. It snuck up on me, stealthy  like my son does when we play Halo. And, now here I am just a big ol' bottle of sunshine!

Just a few minutes ago, I looked up ways to alleviate the bad mood. But, instead I ran into a page that had the best bad mood quotes and quips. Here are a few of my favorites:

• I'm one of the bad things that happen to good people.
• How many times do I have to flush, for you to go away. 
• Sometimes you can't tell if you're in a bad mood, or if everyone is being annoying.
• I think I have mood poisoning, it must be something I hate. 
• Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around.
• My inner child needs a timeout.

No, I didn't have a cup of tea, do a little yoga, sniff some lavender, or soak in the tub. No, nothing as wholesome as that.  I just reveled with my fellow crabs in a sea of sarcasm and insults and bitterness. And guess what? I  feel better!

Here's a little haiku to my bad mood, that visited with me for a few hours and is now in the process of putting on its jacket to leave. 

For a while today

I enjoyed your company

Now, get the hell out.

Haiku for Daughter (2)

 We were on our drive to school when she asked about adopting. It started with her statement that she would like to adopt someone when she is old enough. "How do you do that? adopt someone?" was her first question. Then came the avalanche of more questions. "How did I end up having to be adopted?" "What did [biological dad] actually do to my brothers and me?" "What did [biological mom] have to do to get us back?" "Why couldn't she do it?" "What made her stop trying?" "No one could find her?" "So, they found her, where was she?" "Did someone force her to sign those papers?" "Did she divorce [biological dad]?" "Why didn't they take care of us?" "Why was I ever born to people like that?" Needless to say, I took her home. Scratch school off of today's list of things to do. Tears, talking, healing was on today's agenda. 

Today my haiku is to my daughter, who, after all these questions were answered to the best of my ability, said, crying, "It's  a sad story when you leave your biological parents.  I wish it didn't happen."

I wish you could be

wrapped in her arms feeling loved.

I hope I will do.

Haiku about a Last Visit

Cancer. Twenty years ago, I could pick up the phone and have a nice little chat with my dad. Today, because kidney cancer took him away, I'm missing him and wishing to exchange a few words with him. Twenty years ago, my husband helped his dad with repairing fences on their ranch. Today, my husband aches to hear his dad tell him a story about some cattle that wandered and was found, but he can't; colon cancer took that away from him. Twenty years ago or so, I heard a high school friend had given birth. Today, a 22-year-old is planning a wedding without her mom, who died in 2007 from cancer. Twenty years ago, my husband's cousin was working at a courthouse and enjoying  a fun life. Today, she worries, recently diagnosed with lymphoma, a blood cancer. Twenty years ago, my sister and brother-in-law were raising two children, looking forward to more. Today, they drove their six-year-old to receive chemo, hoping it will help him fight neuroblastoma, a cancer of the nerve cells. Twenty years ago, my mother enjoyed visits with a dear friend named Mercy. Today, my mom visits Mercy one last time at a hospice house, while her friend is within hours of dying of uterine cancer. Twenty years ago, it was a pretty abstract idea to me. Today, it is too concrete. Cancer.

Today's haiku I wrote  after witnessing my mother's one-sided conversation with her friend, as she tells Mercy good-bye, and that she loves her, and will always remember the laughter and fun talks they shared. That she will miss her. (Manita is a Spanish word of endearment meaning Little Sister).

Manita, I'm here.

Caresses, then a last kiss

Farewell, Amiga.

Haiku to One of My "Quiet Places" (1)

One of the things that our experts remind me to do is to take time out for myself. They say to make sure to give myself breaks from the constant physical and emotional care of our children. I must take some time, everyday, to rest from my mom duties. Give your husband the reins, I was told. It took a while, but I've learned to do so. Sometimes I take a  drive, I belong to a book club, I hide out in our bedroom. However, there are times when I just want to go away for a bit longer. It's difficult--financially, strategically, even emotionally--to do so. My beloved and I haven't had a get-away together in a long time (and no, kids, driving him to work and back home without you in the car doesn't count as a get-away--although we do enjoy the time together).

There is one place that epitomizes a great trip for my beloved and me--just for us. This morning I put us there in my mind's eye, after a less than stellar morning with a stubborn somebody.  Belize seems like a fun place to visit. In the past few years, I have virtually visited Belize several times, thanks to a few key strokes and clicks of the mouse . It relaxes me, placing myself on an inner tube floating down Caves Branch River, taking us through a great cave system, which the Mayans considered sacred. My husband and I are not beach people, per se, but I think enjoying the beach at a bar, with a beverage in hand and toes in the sand, watching the sunset sounds wonderful. I would love to explore an ancient Mayan pyramid, perhaps the one with the view from the top that will give us a glimpse of Guatemala--I forget its name. There's more to do--perhaps a day cruise, nature hiking, beach town window shopping, listening to a Caribbean band while enjoying our meal. I'm silly. I will probably never make it there. But, I do appreciate that Belize is one of my "quiet places" that helps me find my calm.

So here's to my "quiet place," Belize, perhaps you would like to make it yours, too, from time to time.   

My mind's kind respite.

Letting the river take us.

Floating and floating.

Haiku about Adoption Day

Today is our family's "Gotcha Day." It's the anniversary of the day we went to court and the judge decided we were a family. The three children we had been living with for the past nine months, my husband and myself. traveled for an hour or so to the courthouse. The children were excited. And my husband and I were happy to see this day arrive. The judge was nice to the children, and allowed each of them to use the gavel and allowed them to pronounce himself or herself to be our child. My husband and I made our statements, and even my mother put her two cents in as well. It felt good. I remember most of it, but the words I don't  remember well.  Somewhere there must be a transcript of what was said. Right? I predict a little investigation in the future. Regardless of what was remembered or forgotten about the day, it was a success and we do celebrate it in our little way.

I have written a haiku in honor of this day,  when two years ago a judge made our family "official."

When the judge proclaimed

we belong to each other,

we all sighed and smiled.

Haiku for My Body

I never really did have a body image problem growing up. Any self esteem issue I had about my physical self was restricted to my face mostly. However, for most of my adult life, I struggled with my body image. I remember when it started. My dad said to me, "What's going on? You're gaining a little weight." I was visiting home, after having been away]for a few months. I guess you could say that my version of the "freshman 15" hit me five years later. I can recall a knee-jerk reaction to his statement. A simple, innocent statement on my dad's part hit me like a ton of bricks. I am truly sorry, and he would have been devastated, that his few words handed me the full awareness of the flaws of my body. That body of mine was only 22  years old and was, of course, beautiful and healthy. It's too bad that at the time, I didn't see it that way.

Today, I saw this video of an 86 year old German woman performing a lovely gymnastic routine. I watched it with awe the first time. "Wow. Good for her." Then I watched it again, but with envy. "I wish I could do that now, at my age." Then, I read up on her and found that she is a professional athlete. Not to take anything away from her performance, it's just that she has been doing it all her life. Nevertheless, regret set in for a little while. Why at 22 didn't I begin taking better care of my body and remove myself from the express train to Plumpville? Or in my 30's? It would have been easier many years ago. Blah, blah, blah. I finally told myself to shut up and listen to the great Jennifer Aniston when she said, "There are no regrets in life, only lessons." So, what have I learned?  Well, I learned that a healthy, more comfortable body isn't going to fall into my lap and say, "Hey, try me on for size!" I have to go out and do myself a favor and make myself one.

So, after baring this personal aspect of myself, I present to you my haiku for today, which sounds like a regret. But, it is indeed a lesson.

If I knew then what 

I do now, I would have been 

better to this body.

Haiku for the Drive-In Restaurant

Russ' is a restaurant in town, and it's a landmark that is part of my childhood. There's this memory I have. Our whole family was loaded in the station wagon at Russ' Drive-In Restaurant. I remember my dad talking into a phone and knew that soon we would be enjoying our sundaes. Our eyes were glued to the door of the restaurant waiting for the waitress to come out with her tray. She did, and hooked the tray onto the window. Then our dad would pass out the goodies. This was a treat! It did not happen often, I imagine, given that the size of my dad's wallet did not always correlate with the size of his family. And, then, one day, the drive-in went away. 

Today I went with my sister, mom and nephew to Russ'. It's a sit-in restaurant now, and had phones at the table that you picked up and ordered your meal. Most of those are gone. Now, Russ' brags about having a fancy computerized ordering system. We ordered and had a pleasant meal and everyone was content with their food and drinks. No one ordered sundaes. Eating there got me thinking of the happy little memory I have of the long-gone drive-in. Those phones were the cat's pajamas.

Part of me is sad

 About touch-screens replacing

 hang-on trays and phones

Haiku About Our New Car

My husband and I had this little 4-door 2002 Saturn for over 10 years. We've traveled a few times to Texas and back in it. It took us Up North several times. And it was dependable. It was just right for the two of us. Our family grew. Suddenly, we had 3 kids. We held off replacing the Saturn, but it finally had to be replaced. And giving that car up as a trade-in (if you want to call it that), was like leaving your old dog at the humane society hoping it will live out its years with nice people. And so it was: a couple of days before Thanksgiving, my husband and I became the proud owners of a 2011 Dodge Grand Caravan.

Our daughter said something this morning about our new car that caused me to realize how content we are with the Caravan.  We're not just happy. As kids would say, we're very, very, VERY happy with our new vehicle! For weeks we would climb into it, smile and comment at all the space we had. No more looking in the rear view mirror at our boys sitting in the rear seat with their knees squished up to their ears! Never realized what a tremendous difference it would make our lives. The kids are still finding neat things about the Caravan. "Oh, look, Dawn there are cup holders back here...we just hadn't seen them in the door. Cool." "Wow, the radio will turn off all by itself when you open the door!" "I like that we have our own lights back here." "You know, you can make our temperature back here different from yours up front.  See?" It's been two months, and we still hear ourselves saying things like "I'm so glad we have this car." Or "Who misses the Saturn? Not me!" I think the funniest thing that shows just how delighted we are to have this car, is what our youngest said this morning. "You know what I think we should do? On November twenty-something this year we should celebrate." When I asked why she answered, "because that's like the anniversary for the day we got this great car!"

So, today my haiku celebrates our new car, that reminds me that we surely didn't know what we were missing!

Don't take for granted

The space and convenience

of a mini-van.

Haiku to My Long-lost Friends

At the beginning of the year,  a friend was tagged on facebook. I took a peek at the pic, being curious. To my surprise, I was in that picture, too! There I was, my 11-year-old self, looking into the camera and smiling away with my 5th grade classmates. We went to St. Francis de Sales School,the only  Catholic school in town. It was a small school--one class for each grade.  I had to comment and so did many others. The avalanche of comments continued, becoming a chat, we went onto another picture and then another. We chatted about our memories and what happened to us during the past 40 years and about how nice it felt to reunite. A few of us agreed it was the most fun on facebook--ever! We share so much. It's sort of like siblings sharing the experiences of the family. We're the only ones with those memories and stories of attending St. Francis in that class during those years--no one else fully understands what we lived. The children in this picture I saw almost every day from 1st grade through 6th. We grew up together.

On facebook this morning I saw some posts from a couple of my reunited classmates, and I was reminded of how important they were to me in my childhood.  I started thinking of all the other important people at various times in my life. I wonder about them, those who have not been in my present life for so long, but played an important part. How are the girls I use to eat lunch with in junior high, the ones who helped me adjust to the strange, busy land of the public junior high school-- who ate and laughed with me, and who I looked forward to seeing every day? How are the young ladies who moved with me so very far away so we could teach-- who went to my college, but I didn't get to know until we shared the experience of living far away from home, brand new teachers in an unfamiliar place, enjoying the first two years of freedom from studying and having no parents to answer to? What happened to the people I taught with at that awful school out east--the ones who encouraged me when it was so obvious I was targeted as the teacher to be picked on by the school's upper echelon? What about the women I taught with for five years at that Catholic School during my first marriage--who were my only friends during a lonely time in my life? Where are my friends from the time after my divorce, some who taught with me in the huge middle school, and introduced me to the comfort of friends sitting at a bar while listening to blues music, who taught me to love sushi, and reminded me how to laugh til I cry--the ones who helped me find "me," after having lost myself by living solely to make some man happy?  I'd like to know.

And so to my lost friends,  who are somewhere in this world--hopefully happy-- here is your haiku. Perhaps one day we will serendipitously meet up. These days you may just be a couple of mouse clicks away. 

You made a dif'rence

And you're thought of with fondness.

I called you "my friends."

Haiku about My Growing Boy

Our children came to us on April 1, 2010. Three of them--at the time,two boys, 11 & 13, and a girl, 5. We knew that these children needed time to get to know us, to trust us, to bond with us. It may take a long time, the experts say for them to feel safe. Our middle child was not typical in his bonding.  He jumped into his new life with us fully. He started showing signs of bonding soon after moving in--a couple of weeks perhaps. He joined me on almost every excursion I made--to stores, family, even to pay bills. He wore my shoes, my robes, my glasses. He treasured a necklace I let him hold onto, wearing it every day.  He let me read to him before bed, invited me to play with his Star War figures along side him. He kept me company in the kitchen, or while doing laundry. He hugged a lot and cuddled.  Our experts told us that his bonding more quickly is probably because of his personality and the view he had of his life.

This morning, I was listening to some voice recordings I found on my old cell phone that our middle child made that first spring or summer he joined us. It was bittersweet for me to hear them. "The voice of the boy who is no more,"  are the words that came to me. Puberty and hormones took away my tag-a-long pal. I miss him. But, I do have a nice kid who considers me his mom and is happy to be where he is. That 11-year-old is now 14. He is now taller than me, and  no one will ever mix up his telephone voice with mine ever again. He chooses to stay home with the Xbox over coming along with me on my errands, but he still asks where I'm going and when I'll be back. He doesn't wear that special necklace anymore, but he still wears my robe once in a while. It's been a while since he climbed onto my lap, but he puts his arm around me, even in front of his friends, and he willingly gives me a hug when I ask for one. He still invites me to play but now it's on his video games, and not on the floor with Darth Vader and Obi Wan. Before bed, I don't read to him anymore, but every night he visits with me before bed and kisses me goodnight. 

Now I have a haiku inspired by my second boy, who is growing up too fast for me. 

Where is that boy who

was by my side? He's still near, 

If I look closely.

Haiku about Bacon

 There's this thing called Bacon Mania. Seems bacon is "in." The internet is full of bacon fun and humor. Lately, I've come across some good examples. One of my favorites is the picture of a car air vent showing the closed symbol (a rectangle with the diagonal lines) and the open symbol (three wavy horizontal lines). The caption read, "Email and bacon. This car has everything!" People are loving their bacon these days, with their novelty dishes and t-shirts. My favorite bacon t-shirt right now is the one that says "Bacon is meat candy." Funny. It makes me laugh, and that's a good thing. I need my healthy share of laughs a day. And these things help.

This morning I opened the refrigerator for some milk, and eyed our package of bacon. "Yum," came to mind immediately. Yeah, our family collectively smack our lips at bacon. The kids always say "Yay!" when bacon is involved in our meals. I could order bacon t-shirts for each child and my husband, and they would proudly wear them. We all appreciate the funny bacon sayings and pictures that are shared on facebook. We love our bacon by itself, with pancakes and eggs, in our sandwiches and burgers, our beans cooked with it, and some of us really enjoyed my brother-in-law's bacon wrapped stuffed jalapeños.

This morning I wrote a haiku about bacon, which is yummy, but c'mon there's a limit, folks.

"Put bacon on it

It makes ev'rything better."

Doubt they meant icecream.

Haiku for Me (When Facing my Messy House)

Phyllis Diller died this past summer and I was sad. She is a figure from my childhood. I barely remember seeing her on tv. She wore funny clothes and she called her husband "Fang." But, what I do remember clearly is my dad laughing at her jokes. When her death was announced I did a little reading up on her and she had a pretty interesting life. She started her comedy career at the age of 38. She raised five children. A sixth child died in infancy. Phyllis also studied music and was an accomplished pianist. She even performed as a solo pianist with orchestras. She voiced characters on several cartoon shows, including one of my favorites King of the Hill (but just one time). And even though she had a raspy voice and carried a cigarette holder, she never was a smoker. And, she was 95 years old when she died!  Her act was of a self-deprecating homemaker. And as a stay-at-home mom, I do enjoy the wit and, at times the wisdom, of Phyllis Diller.

This morning when I looked around my home, I groaned once again at the messiness and the clutter. Two things came to mind. One was my mother saying, "Cleaning house is never finished." My mom kept a very tidy house, despite four kids living there. When I think back at my mom when I was growing up, my mind's eye sees her doing a household chore. She was always working, I barely remember her sitting and resting. My dad use to tell her, "Ya. [a Spanish word that means "enough"]. Give it a rest." The other thing that popped into my head was one of Phyllis Diller's lines. "Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing up is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing." Similar to my mom's line, but there's a difference. While my mom's saying has the sentiment of "nothing you can do about it, just keep doing it," Phyllis Diller is saying "nothing you can do about it with kids, clean it later." I need to give myself a break. Sorry, Mom, I'm heeding Phyllis's advice--at least for now.

My haiku is a mantra I must say to myself next time I feel overwhelmed with the house, and feel I spend too much time relaxing and enjoying time, instead of "getting things done."

Scrubbing and washing

Must always be done. But, stop!

So does having fun.

 

Haiku about Words and Kids

 My oldest and I had a nice conversation about kids picking up their parents' vocabulary. I told him about some of the words I remember hearing pretty exclusively at our house growing up. When my dad didn't like what a person did, he called that person a "nincompoop." I don't remember anyone else ever using that word. I never used it, but I knew what it meant. Then there were the words we used that were old-fashioned words. We rarely used the word "refrigerator." It was always the "icebox." That's from my dad. He used that word; we used that word. Friends would ask me, "Why do you call it an icebox?"  I probably answered in a shrug and in my head said, "That's what it's called, you nincompoop." And then there are the words we thought were English, but were really Spanish. My mom used her Spanish words for items in the house. One of them was sabana. I think it wasn't until middle school when I realized it was a Spanish word and not just another English word for sheet. That's not bad, considering that when my sister was in her 20's, she asked a friend to hand her the sarten, and he had no idea what she was refering to. It wasn't until then that she realized that sarten is Spanish for frying pan., not a specific type of frying pan. It's funny, my oldest and I agreed, how my family vocabulary worked. 

I was thinking this morning about our influence on our children's way of speaking. They came to us older, already with their own way of talking, their own special words. Almost three years now, and I can hear ourselves in their speech and their choice of words.  "I'm really trying to make it to the top of this," the middle one says while playing a computer game, "but, so far, no cigar." I had to smile to myself. How many 14-year-olds would use that phrase today? Not many, I imagine. "but, no cigar" is a phrase heard in our house. I use it. He learned it from me. It's fun hearing our kids use "our words." The other day, I had to giggle to myself when the oldest asks me, "Dawn, do you mind if I ask [brother] to accompany me to the store?" I said of course not. I overhear him asking his brother, "When you're done here, would you like to accompany me to the store?" And the answer was not a simple "yeah." It was "Why, yes, I would." Such little gentlemen. Again, "accompany me" is one phrase my husband and I use. Even our youngest, would say something that we heard come out of our mouths. When she was six and  making a choice, she would say something like "I like both, but today I think I prefer this one." Our way of speaking--mine and my husband's. Hearing our words coming out of our kids' mouths makes us smile, giggle and sometimes we roll our eyes in amusement. I know, I know, it's fun now, but one day our words may come back to haunt us.

So, today my haiku is an invitation to our children to soak up our vocabulary.

Our words and phrases

Are yours to take, keep and share

(But, not the bad ones).

Haiku about Entering The Sandwich Generation

 By some definitions, my husband and I are entering "The Sandwich Generation." There are different definitions for that term, but basically they all agree. The Sandwich Generation are those caring for their children and caring for their aging parents. Both our mothers are widows. Both our fathers died too young--my dad 14 years ago; my father-in-law 5 years ago. My mother-in- law lives almost 1500 miles away, while my mom lives about a mile away. These two rather independent women need our support. Emotional support, mostly. And not all the time. On the other side, my husband and I adopted a sibling group, from the foster care system. They have been with us almost 3 years. They need stability, consistency, commitment, and a lot of our time. Just like other children, I know. The difference is that we are making up for lost time--they weren't born into a home that provided such things. We are constantly working on building their trust for us and helping them feel safe. Yes, I would say we are on the fringes of The Sandwich Generation.

This morning I'm thinking of my mother and how a phone call from her made me feel smack in the middle of that sandwich. Luckily, this does not occur on a daily basis. Picture it. I'm in the midst of preparing to leave for a birthday get-together.  (There's this neat kid who celebrated his special day yesterday.). My middle kid is looking forward to this; his friends would be there and he knows it's a fun house to visit. I scramble to find the address; I'm trying to remember my password to Amazon to get a gift certificate. I have to be sure my son is ready to go--did he brush his teeth, eat lunch...then...the phone rings. It's my mother. I let it go; I'll call her when I'm done. My husband's cell phone rings. "It's your mom," he informs me. Must be urgent. I better get this, I resign myself with a deep sigh. "Mija, can you come with me to the emergency?" What's wrong? Did she fall? Is she having trouble breathing? "No. No. I don't feel well and the doctor wants me to get x-rays." She's been fighting a chest congestion for over a week. "Isn't the x-rays by the emergency?" she asks.  Then adds, "The sooner the better." I'm suddenly being pulled--taking my son to a fun  place, or keeping my mom company while getting x-rays. To keep a long story, from getting longer, let's just say that after a little negotiating no one did without. Except me, who probably lost a day off my life due to the rushing to get out the door, and the scare that my mom needed an emergency room. 

So, today, I present a haiku that expresses the occasional turmoil that churns inside of me when I'm asked to care for my mom, while caring for my children.

Kids. Mom. Kids. Mom. Kids.

"Want. Need. Help me. Come. Please. Now."

Kids. Mom. Kids. Mom. Kids.

Haiku for Walmart

I don't like Walmart for all the reasons other people don't like it. It treats their employees horribly. Customer service is atrocious. It runs the small businesses out of the area. They don't have any regard for the environment. Etc. Etc. Other reasons include that they don't carry a strong variety of certain items and sometimes the store is messy. And my biggest complaint is that when we are financially strapped, Walmart's prices lure me in, making me put my convictions aside.  Damn you, Walmart!

 "Let's check Walmart first," my middle kid would say when he bought toys for himself. He liked the prices. I was conflicted about him frequenting Walmart. But, it gave him more bang for his buck and, at his age, it's a good thing to learn how to compare prices. So, I didn't stop him. He asked why I don't like Walmart, and I told him. In his then 11 year old mind he couldn't do anything about those things, but he can save a buck, so why not? At the time, I thought, one day he will understand. And as the visits to Walmart continued over the next two years, he is showing some understanding of the negative side of Walmart. No one showed up when we requested help in the bike department. He complained about waiting in the check out lane "forever" and why, when they have 25 lanes, are only 3 cashiers working? He frowned and muttered about it being stupid that Walmart doesn't carry his ice cream (the non-dairy type). Don't they know that there are lots of people out there that can't have dairy? And this morning I'm thinking about the straw that broke his camel's back. They didn't carry the music CD he wanted to purchase with his Walmart Christmas gift card. He had researched prior to the shopping trip. Walmart.com ensured him that it could be bought at the store. But, no. "Oh, we won't be carrying that," we were told by a blank-faced employee, who looked like he couldn't care less. My boy rolled his eyes and grumbled that their website said it would be. "They're liars. Walmart lies. It ought to be here. They  said it would be." I tried to comfort him. I told him that he has every reason to be disappointed and mad. Boo, Walmart!

My haiku is to Walmart, who is teaching my son, that sometimes, the lower price isn't worth it. 

Boo, Sam Walton's store!

You turned my happy boy cross

I can't forgive you.

Haiku On a Sunny Winter Morning

My dad named the Michigan skies from November to March "dirty gym sock skies." Those dingy clouds overcasting the day took a toll on him. He suspected he had seasonal affect disorder (SAD), though he never sought treatment. From Thanksgiving on, his grumblings could be heard about the lack of sunshine and the blah feeling it brings to the day ahead. Along with the lack of green on the ground, the bareness of trees, and the chill that the season brings, he complained plenty when it came to dreary winter days.

I, too, feel the effect of those "dirty gym sock" skies when they present themselves one right after the other. I get gloomy. I should be honest and admit I become down-right depressed. I understand my dad's lamenting about the never ending absence of bright sunlight. Today, as I am sitting, and thinking, and reading the news, during this very quiet time in my home, sunlight fills the room. I can see how dirty the windows are and the dust and cat hair floating around in the air. I frown with the reminder that there's a whole lotta cleaning to be done in this room. Nevertheless, I close my eyes and take a hint from Katrina the cat, and, for a while, I bask in these rays of sun. I open my eyes to the beauty of the extremely blue sky. I am indeed grateful for this time I gave myself. It helps me. It raises my spirits. It gives me hope for the day. And I wonder, did my dad ever take time on these special winter days to do this? I hope he did; I just wish I could remember him raving at how wonderful it is.

So, I wrote this haiku to show my gratitude to the appearance of the sunshine and blue sky this morning. 

Mother Nature, Thanks!

I am loving this dose of

Solar medicine

Haiku to Elly May

Growing up, my family was quite the television family. The most memorable night for tv was Friday. After our dad came home, we would go grocery shopping at Meijer's Thrifty Acres and we kids were allowed to pick out our TV dinners. Then, we got to look at the treasures in the toy department. At 8 o'clock or so, we would plop in the living room and watch the Friday night lineup, which included The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family. Other than Friday night, I don't remember much else of evening television. The real tv fun with my family was in the array of reruns after school, before dinner, and at times, during dinner. Yes, we surely watched lots of tv!

One of our favorite syndicated series was The Beverly Hillbillies. All of us loved this show. This morning while driving home from dropping the kids off at school, my favorite Clampett, Elly May, popped into my mind. I absolutely loved Elly May! She was fun. What young girl wouldn't adore her tenderness toward "critters?" She had all sorts of neat pets--horses, ducks, chimps, skunks.  Elly was a very nice person.  Elly May loved her family and was kind to everyone--unless, Jethro "riled" her up. Even then, Elly May had good reason to clobber him. And that leads me to another attribute I admired: Elly was one strong gal! She protected herself against boys that came "courtin'." Wow, what 10 year old wouldn't admire that? She was a tomboy, doing things boys typically did, climb trees, shoot a gun, "rassled" Jethro to the ground for fun. She even used her bra as a double barrel slingshot! Elly May was so pretty. Her wardrobe included jeans, floppy hat, shiny sequined gowns, petticoat-ed dresses, and don't forget the rope belt!--all appealing to the prepubescent me. Elly May was great. Adult me thanks the creators and producers of this show for not exploiting her beauty and making her a one-dimensional pretty blonde.

Here's to Jed's daughter, who visited my thoughts out of nowhere this morning and brought a smile to my face! 

Elly May Clampett

Oh, what a fun friend you are

to my inner child!

Haiku about Sleep and Me

Lately, sleep and I have not been on good terms. I have this dichotomy with sleep. I'm like that four-year-old who fights sleep, and says, "I'm not sleepy, damn it! I don't want to go to bed." I love staying up. My bedtime is after midnight--way after midnight, every night lately. I enjoy my nights, in my pajamas, relaxing and watching a movie, reading, browsing the internet. And that is fine and dandy, if I got up at nine or ten in the morning. But, that is not so. I love getting up early in the morning--like six o'clock. I'm like that eleven-year-old who wakes up, looks at his clock and says, "Wow, I can put some game time in before school! Shoot, maybe even two hours!"  Except my "game time" is mostly "thinking time." The house is so quiet, you know the quiet, like I'm the only one who lives here. I watch or read the news. I write. I try to make lists. I plan. I absolutely love this time.

I've come to the conclusion that I am essentially split between a morning person and a night person--not necessarily "split;" I'm both. I'm pretty pleasant in the morning, I've even been known to be  "chipper." At night, I'm pretty pleasant, too. I'm ready to invite a friend over to chat, or put on a movie. It's the in-between-time that is problematic. That time between 2 pm to about 7 pm. I'm tired and have been known to be....I'll just say..."not nice." One could even call me useless when it comes to getting anything done. I can't concentrate, feel overwhelmed and disorganized. (Some close to me may say this is more or less my usual state, I agree, but, add that during the afternoon these feelings are stronger ). I can't explain why my mood gets better as the evening arrives. All in all, I've decided something's gotta change, because I don't like this pattern.

So, here's today's haiku, to this decision I must make, for the betterment of my family, my home and my health:

Night owl, early bird

Have to choose one, can't be both

And still be human

Haiku to a Friend (1)

Dogs and cats--I love them. I keep an album for the dogs in my life. It contains pictures of Captain and Flash, two dogs we had growing up. There's Chico, Mimi, and Duffy, my three shelties, long since gone. Then, there's Snowie and TinTin, my sister's dogs. And I have pics of other dogs, who I've met along the way. We never had cats growing up; for some reason my dad didn't like them. Cats entered my life when I was in my 30's. And that is when I realized I could be both a dog person and a cat person. 

So, of course, an album exists, dedicated to the cats in my life. I came across it last night and peaked inside. I saw a gorgeous picture of Kit. He is on my mind this morning. It was he who taught me how wonderful cats can be. Kit was a cute kitten and he grew into a  big, handsome tom cat--a gray tabby with green eyes and a pink nose. Kit stayed by my side for sixteen years, until he passed away two and a half years ago. He was with me through many difficult times in my life-- a divorce, the death of my father, a peeping tom scare, a miscarriage. Kit was present at the excitement of new romance, a couple of fun moves, my wedding, finding our children. And there was my cat at the quiet, mundane times--cuddling up with a good book, cooking dinner, coming home from work. Always, Kit.

Today's haiku is inspired by my first cat, Kit, who, after almost three years without him, I still cry over his absence. 

Kit, my friend, my constant,

Through all my changes--good, bad

My Pet was present.

Haiku to Wrestling

 Before the adoption, the only things I knew about wrestling I learned from Big Time Wrestling which my dad and brother watched, featuring names like Rowdy Roddy Piper, The Sheik, Andre the Giant and Bobo Brazil.  And I knew their uniforms are called singlets. Our oldest was more than happy to enlighten me on how limited my knowledge of the sport of wrestling was. And another tidbit: a bi-product of wrestling as a sport is practicing control of your aggression and strength, and practicing quick problem solving.

 

There's a meet today, and my mom duties included driving our wrestler to catch the sport bus. So, there I was driving back home, sipping on some coffee and thinking about wrestling and this man-child of ours. He loved it, he let us know in our early days. It was more than important to him in his prior life, as a foster child. I believe his place on the team gave him a sense of belonging he didn't find in any other parts of his life. His prior life was not an easy one, there's no question about it. I'm grateful he found some solace in this sport, that ironically appears so aggressive and hard.  

Here's to wrestling! It deserves a haiku.  

 Reversal, Takedown,

(Thanks for being there for him)

Control, control, pin!

Haiku for a Blue Christmas Tree

 So, Christmas is over.  We get ready for the special day by buying gifts, baking goodies, getting together with family and friends, attending school pageants, doing some charity work. Very busy time. Recently I was reminded  that time of year, the time we prepare for that special day, is actually called Advent. The Christmas season actually starts on Christmas Day and continues until January 7th, the day after Epiphany (the day marked for the Magi's visitation).  There are indeed Twelve Days of Christmas. And in some traditions, people have special gifts on Christmas Day and on Epiphany and smaller gifts on the days between. Hence, the partridge, rings, pipers, swans, etc. of song. I kinda like that idea!

 
As I think about this Christmas season--of which we still have 3 days left--I think about next Christmas and perhaps starting a new tradition at our house, incorporating the original idea of the Christmas season. I find the tearing open of many gifts on that one morning rather...may I use the word "gluttonous"? But, that's 362 days from now. Today, Christmas is indeed over at the Garcia's house. Our decorations are telling me to put them away. They even feel they have overspent their stay. 

Please, may I present my haiku, dedicated to the saddest victim of these days after Christmas: 

Oh, poor Christmas Tree

You look kinda naked there

Standing with no gifts

Haiku about Buying Coffee at Micky D's

Yes, McDonald's is bad in, whoa, so many ways. It's bad for waistlines, bad for wallets, bad for rainforests, bad for the cows, bad for overall health. And for me, it's the perfect storm of fats, wheat, soy, chemicals and non-food junk that will trigger an avalanche of cravings for more of it. Plus, Ronald McDonald is a clown and I don't like him.

Aside all that, I do like their coffee. So, I ventured through their drive-thru and ordered some. It's difficult looking at the menu; my body continues to crave the fast food cuisine. Therefore, I like to stay away from McD's, but this morning I didn't.

Please, enjoy my haiku which describes my battle with the temptation:

"Psst. I'm delicious,"

whispers the Egg McMuffin.

"Shut up", I answer.