Oops!!!
Sorry. If you follow my blog, you’ve probably seen most of these before, but they are all so obviously “Oops!” situations, that I had to reblog them.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/oops/#like-242274
Where did they go? I think they headed south!
This poem was written during a Skype conversation with my longtime friend Marti, as I tried to describe my earlier post about my (ahem) breasts! I started penning it and then just had to continue. If you haven’t already, you should read the poem in the below URL first, then come back to this one!
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/12/11/keeping-abreast/
Flopped Selfie
I did a selfie of my boobs—clad most decently.
The problem is I’m 68 and did it recently!
I only had two-dozen views—not many. Even worse,
only eleven “liked” them! Perhaps I should rehearse
the proper angle I should use, and maybe use a filter.
What’s more, I have just noticed that my right boob is off-kilter.
I’ve not the right equipment to star as fashion’s slut,
for my boobs will never measure up to Kim Kardashian’s butt!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/if-i-ruled-the-world/
The Prompt: You’ve been given the power to change one rule of nature. What would it be?
This is one of those prompts that cries out not to be taken seriously, mainly because every time we’ve tried to interfere with nature, things have turned out badly. With that in mind, I will resort to farce and hyperbole!
Keeping Abreast
If I were made the ruler of
this universe I rue and love,
the one thing I would not let “be”
is the force of gravity
in respect to just one issue.
Namely––my mammary tissue!
For, though you may feel dubious,
each year, I grow more boobious!
I do not like them hanging there
where once they used to thrust the air.
Where once each strained against its cup,
It seems like now they’ve given up.
Listless and flat, downward they droop.
Sad Sack replaces Betty Boop.
They have no personality.
They’ve lost elasticality!
The result is truly tragic,
so this is why I need some magic.
Please, gods of nature, give a cure.
There must be some way to inure
my breasts from force of gravity.
Now that I rule, hear my plea!
Tell gravity that it is best
to loose its hold upon each breast
so they are perky once again,
thrusting out below my chin
instead of hanging in two vees
somewhere down around my knees!
Restore my pride. Dispel my frown.
I want them hanging out, not down!
Go here: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/12/11/flopped-selfie/ to read a poem that is an answer to the poem above–as well as the response below! (I promise, however, to end this subject here and now. No more!)
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/if-i-ruled-the-world/
Every day, these three “B“est friends would come to our front door looking for the dog who was missing from our house. On the last day, they surprised us from coming to the back beach side door. Wish I could have seen them finally reunited!
And finally, “B” is for Big Black Birds. In this case, grackles.Cee’s B&W photos that begin with B or W are here: http://ceenphotography.com/cees-black-white-challenge/
Bedtime in the Bodoga
Frida and Morrie both got new beds today, thanks to Morrie who ate Frida’s old one and has eaten two of his own as well as one of the cat’s beds. He leaves only his idol Diego’s bed alone and sleeps in it whenever he can get away with it, so I bought him one just like Diego’s. (It’s upside down for now with the plastic side up just in case he decides to have an “accident.” (That’s not unknown to happen!) Once he’s a big boy, we’ll put the hot pink cloth side up. (Although it isn’t obvious in this picture, he does still have ears!)
Frida got a big pillow that isn’t even tacky. First one I’ve found that isn’t obnoxious colors or plaid or some other horrid print. At first Frida was suspicious and wouldn’t sleep on or even put one paw on her bed, but as you can see, she is now giving it a chance:
Since Morrie is still being mean to her, Frida gets to continue sleeping in the main house. She should have a few privileges of age. We all should! She now likes her new bed and I think it will be more hair-resistant than her old bed that seemed more like a hair-receiver than a bed.
Here’s Diego, in his same old bed that has made it through six months with Morrie:
The carpenter came today to measure for the shelves and storage bins for kibbles. They’ll have aluminum liners so the mice can’t get in–or the dogs!!! And, they have their own tiny fridge for opened tins of wet dog food and fresh bones, which the vet tells me I have to freeze for two weeks before giving them to them. Do you think the Taj Mahal got this much press when it was being built????
I tried removing the cages and just had their beds in the room, but they were so restless and that was when Morrie ate Frida’s bed, so I’ve put their beds back in cages and they seem much happier. I haven’t been shutting Diego’s door and he hasn’t reminded me to do so. He used to want it shut and locked. Morrie has learned how to open his cage door. Smart little trouble-maker!!! He’s even opened the side that has two locks instead of one.
I think I mentioned before that my friend Dan of Dan and Rhonda fame has dubbed the Doggie Domain with a new name: The Bodoga. (A bodega is a storage room so the bodoga is of course a storage spot for dogs!)
Let me know when you are sick of Doggie Domain (Bodoga) news. I don’t seem to be able to stop myself. I have a cool slide series showing the entire construction process but can’t figure out how to have the last pictures I want to add go on at the end and also I don’t know how to post a video or slides on WordPress. I just now learned how to find the Shortlink and how to post on Thursday Doors! Does the learning curve ever flatten out?????
One of my favorite bloggers, and this one is hilarious! Give it a read.
I pride myself on my independence. I try to do things solo, and whether or not these tasks are successful, I can say I did it myself. To date I have attempted to:
• Cut my own hair, and in doing this I learned a two important things:
1. Don’t cut hair with the scissors your child used in second grade to cut construction paper, and
2. Don’t cut your own hair.
• Pierce my own ears. Self piercing earrings were a torture device devised in the late 1970’s. They dragged out what should have taken no more than 10 seconds to two weeks of hell, followed by an infection and two half pierced ear lobes.
• I’ve repaired my own appliances, and learned two important lessons in that process:
1. If the YouTube Video I am using as a reference guide is 5 minutes long, it will take me…
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Flight of Fortune
Aisle seat in the third row–
a next door neighbor I do not know.
I put my seat belt on and then
look up to her all-knowing grin.
“May I tell your fortune?” is her request,
though it is not made at my behest.
A pastime really not my choosing,
still, with nothing more amusing
to pass the time, I give consent
and this is how our time is spent
in those first minutes of our flight,
until the ground is out of sight.
My fortune told, I sit and think,
ordering another drink,
pleased by some of her predictions
but finding others contradictions
to how I’ve planned my life to be.
I worry my fingers upon my knee.
Does she concoct or does she see
the lines that she relates to me?
Some things she mentions have happened, still,
I hope that others never will.
Yet I fear if I reject
the things she says, I might deflect
the good things so they’ll never be.
This is the choice that faces me.
Can the good that she foretold––
of feats accomplished and love and gold––
be accepted without the rest?
I want the warmly-feathered nest,
the stranger tall and dark and rich,
but I do not want all of her pitch.
The illness, sadness, loss of friends?
I don’t like how my fortune ends.
I press a coin into her hand,
take off my seat belt and quickly stand.
Perhaps if I just change my seat
and find a seatmate more discreet,
I’ll change my life as easily–
and react less queasily
to conversation that is not rife
with details of my future life!
Life Line:You’re on a long flight, and a palm reader sitting next to you insists she reads your palm. You hesitate, but agree. What does she tell you? https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/life-line/
The ceiling fans turn above five women. One holds an almond cookie in her mouth as her hands adjust her notebook and reach for her pen. She moves the rest of the cookie into her mouth with the hand that has finished turning to the correct page, then brushes away the crumbs from the glass table. Another woman sits hunched over a tablet in her lap. She is wearing a black swimsuit and sits on the white canvas cushion of a rattan couch.
A third taps on her computer—a fact that has driven her former sofa neighbor out to the terrace to write––that tapping too distracting. Next door, the crash of chisel on concrete furnishes a counter-tempo to the gentle tapping of the keys. The ocean swells in a continual basso…the notes and words of a plaintive Mexican song straining in over the fence as well. The sparseness of the view––sea dunes, succulent ground cover, crashing ocean and sky–– is augmented by so many sounds that they blend into a cacophony that can be overlooked…or underheard, as the case may be.
I am the fifth woman, and as the other four write about whatever world each is in, their imagined voices fill my thoughts to a point where my own voice is lost. I can only record what I see and hear. It is as though my own imagination has been sucked up by the morning, lost in the profusion of thoughts of others that grow like liana in my mind.
The blades on the fans spin. Tiny upside-down crosses are formed by the bolts that secure the glass globes of the lights below the fans. Like crucifixes the tortured have slipped free from, they stand useless as metaphors but necessary in actuality. All of the crucified have scurried away…survivors of someone else’s bigotry or fears or cruelty.
Some of the survivors climb up the legs of the coffee table and pull themselves onto my computer keys. They jump on keys to say, “We have voices that will not be stilled. We sacrifice that bullies may be overcome. We expect you to resist as we do. Frightening as it is, it is the only way. Life is choice after choice and those choices, if easy, are not worth making.”
I take over. Brush them like crumbs from my keyboard. I get to choose how profound my life will be, at least on the page, and I don’t want to write about crucifixion, church bombings, the Paris massacre, the San Bernardino shootings. I have six friends who live in San Bernardino. I haven’t checked Facebook. I don’t want to know.
I want my senses filled with tappings and poundings and too-loud strains of music and where the fridge will go in the tiny new sleeping/feeding room I’m having constructed for my dogs. I want another almond cookie, and a sip, two sips of hazelnut coffee. Some of us have to have a happy life. Some need to go on in spite of the slaughter, greed, small-mindedness. We win in this way. Something exists in spite of the horrible chaos some would make of the world.
We win by fighting, but we also win by being. By remaining. By choosing to be happy. The ocean roars and sometimes I must roar, also. But not always.
Note: No, my essay above was not written to the prompt. I did start a poem on the WordPress life-line subject of fortune-telling, and I’ll publish it later, but on my way to posting it, I found this snippet written in response to a prompt at the three day women’s writing retreat I went to last week, so I want to publish it, too. (HERE is a link to my poem on the subject of fortune telling.)
Most of these photos are severe recroppings of photos I’ve posted before. I love going back and playing with images, trying to improve on past sins!!!
More flowers? Look here: http://ceenphotography.com/2015/12/10/flower-of-the-day-december-10-2015-daffodil/
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 