I’m Pretty Sure You Don’t Want To Do That

Buffalo Nickel
Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

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About 17 years ago I lost 50.00.

I was shopping and I’m pretty sure that when I reached into my unorganized purse and pulled out my unorganized wallet the 50.00 dropped out.

Do you know what really made me mad?

It wasn’t that I lost the  50.00- though that did sting. No. What really made me mad was that some lucky ducky found 50.00.

I have never looked down and found anything larger then a penny.

That’s what really made me mad- in my life I have never been that lucky but on that day I sure as Hell made sure somebody else was.

So ever since that black marked day I don’t carry cash.

I use my debit card.

And here’s the reason why.

When I was in high school I went to church with my friend.

Her Church was one of those people speaking in tongues and writhing in the aisles with snakes kind of church.

It was better then any horror movie because  the feeling in that church was dark and oppressive and if something would have reached up through the floor  in an explosion of brick and mortar  and faded plum colored carpeting and pulled us down  one by one and  kicking and screaming and dripping entrails all the way through the gates of Hell..I wouldn’t have been surprised

But on that day they were going on about people being marked with numbers- specifically credit card numbers.

That was how Satan was going to mark us…so whatever you do, don’t get one of those cards.

No problem. I was like 17 at the time. I didn’t see myself to ever be in a position to be ‘marked by Satan’.

It was shortly after I lost that money and made someone else very lucky I remembered that day in the Church- how we would be marked and cursed and turned into Demons doing the Devil’s work for all of eternity  if we got numbered.

Oh really? I thought. Is that how it works? Because I was tired of being the softie who gave in ( most of the time m)  with just about everyone in my life…my kids, my job, holding the doors open for people, and now apparently I am throwing money around like confetti at a New Years Eve Party.

I dug through my desk drawer, found my Debit card, activated it and since then I haven’t carried cash. I’ll be damned ( literally ) if I ever make someone’s day like that again.

I must say though:

When I pull that card out I feel wicked.

Very wicked.

And it feels….good.

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My Favorie Part Of The Turkey ( is the skin )

I asked my Sister  if she wanted me to give her a hand this around the kitchen this

Thanksgiving.

 

She said no.

Strange.

Who couldn’t  use an extra set of hands when  making a big meal.

So I called her again and said I would love to bake some cookies…how did that sound?

Great she says.

Wonderful I tell her.

I just love to make Gingerbread Cookies I reminded her.

She asked me if I wouldn’t mind making them with heads this time.

I always make them with heads I laughed.

Attaching the gingerbread heads to the gingerbread bodies would be a nice touch she says-and  it would be something new for me, wouldn’t that be nice she asked.

Sure, I think I could really ENJOY baking boring cookies.

So this morning I sent my Sister an e-mail.

I asked if I was still banned from carving the Turkey.

Damn straight, was her speedy reply.

Brother.

I tell one silly story about a dissection class I  took while carving the Christmas Turkey and I get forced to use plastic SPOONS for the rest of my freaking life at family holiday meals.

Some people have NO sense of humor.

NONE.

Well.

There must be something I could bring to dinner I said to my sister in a phone call this evening

 that would not make

 the people in our family think about things without a pulse and smelling like formaldehyde.

 Not a chance says my Sister says after a very long pause.

Well.

I don’t know what your Thanksgiving will be like this year, but apparently

I

will be dining with a bunch of weirdos.

 

 What can I say

besides

I hope your

Thanksgiving is as interesting and fun

as mine.

 

 

Enduring Bones

 THE IMMORTAL PART

by A.E. Housman

(A Shropshire Lad was originally published in 1896. This Web edition is based on the 1908 edition printed by Ballantyne, Hanson, & Co.)

sleeping

When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
“Another night, another day. 

autopsy room

 

“When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone remain?
 dissection_540
“This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout,
These thews that hustle us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its humming hive of dreams,–medical class
 “These to-day are proud in power And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul.dissection class
 “‘Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as earth.
 bike skeleton
“Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
‘Tis that every mother’s son
Travails with a skeleton.
victorian post mortem photography 06 
“Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night.
 
anatomy class4 
“Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o’ the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child.
dissection class 2
“Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
–Another night, another day.”
So my bones within me say.  
 
medical class2
Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,
 morticians
Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and enduring bone.

Mad Love

A Macabre Tale of Love

Photograph(s) copyright Shaun O’Boyle

Jim and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital. One day while they  were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Jim suddenly jumped into the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled Jim out.

 When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna’s heroic act, she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable. When she went to tell Edna the news she said, “Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you’re being discharged, since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of another patient, I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness. The bad news is, Jim, the patient you saved, hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt right after you
saved him. I am so sorry, but he’s dead.”

Edna replied, “He didn’t hang himself, I put him there to dry. How soon can I go home?”

Photograph(s) copyright Shaun O’Boyle

Dehiscent

Tree Shadow, © Copyright 2009 Jade Leone Blackwater 

In the woods of old poetry
I find lost moments of clarity,
fragments of unabashed emotion.

New lightfall on the thicket
obscures the darkness of self-destruction;
mitigates what only I remember.

Clean verse and clean hands:
meticulously sculpted stories
contain the broken nut of my shell.

Bristlecone-memory is a curse
and a companion.  Its branches
scrape the shadows without compassion.

With compass and cutlass
I inch through the forest:
leaves whisper ugliness and truth in one breath.

Now I gust past rage to finger twigs of wit,
lilt through old poems like prayer:
barely spoken, barely there.

Prostrate in duff, I crack apart the pages,
cast each to the fire as a voice to the wind —
watch the flames finally have their way.

© 2009 Jade Leone Blackwater

Fire Snake, © Copyright 2009 Jade Leone Blackwater

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Thanks to Anita Marie Moscoso for once again generously sharing her audience here at Anita’s Owl Creek Bridge.  I always welcome constructive feedback on my writing.  To learn more about my work, or to contact me via email, please visit me at Brainripples.