Tag Archives: Daily Post

Morning Blues Saga

DSC08356Morning Blues 

Another day is dawning. The birds are full of tweet.
So I decide to take a little stroll out on the street.
I have no need for makeup. I prefer my features bare.
I choose my clothes most carefully, but do not brush my hair.
With my new haircut, tousled’s in. I’m told to leave it there.
“Just run your fingers though your mop as though you do not care!”
The trees are bursting verdant, dry grass the hue of wheat.
Smiles stretch across the face of every man I meet.
I find their moods infectious, so I smile back at them.
I’m sporting a new haircut, so I feel very femme.

Corner after corner I round to see what’s there.
I straighten out my collar and toss my brand new hair
as I stroll by the house the new guy’s living in.
I check my watch and see it’s only eight-oh-ten.
Perhaps he’s a late riser, so I walk right on by.
If he had been in evidence, I might have murmured, “Hi!”
and maybe he’d have talked to me and asked me for a date.
Perhaps I’m not too early. Perhaps I am too late!
One day I’m sure I’ll meet him, but I am wondering when.
It’s not that I’m accustomed to running after men,

but it’s especially pretty, this block where I’ve just been.
I turn around so I can stroll through it once again.
The second time I pass his door, I see it opening.
As he comes out my spirits soar. My heart begins to ping.
I know this is the man for me. He’s pleasant, handsome, tall.
I’d go and introduce myself if only I’d the gall.
When his eyes light on my face, he smiles like all the rest.
Of all the smiles I’ve seen today, this smile is the best.
I croon hello and smile back and yes, I flirt a bit—
his grin so wide I know that I must have scored a hit.

I pass on by but I am sure we’ll meet another day,
and judging by his smile, he’ll have much more to say.
As I retrace my steps again, I’m feeling very pert.
Perhaps I’ll lose a few more pounds.  It surely wouldn’t hurt.
I climb the hill to my house and open up the door.
The perking of the coffee pot drowns out my roommate’s snore.
I pour a cup and take it back to work upon my blog,
and all this time my roomie is sleeping like a log.
An hour passes, she awakes and stumbles by my door.
Until she has her first cup, she’s grouchy to the core.

Five minutes pass and she comes in and plops into a chair,
her grin so wide, I wonder if she’s going to diss my hair.
“I took a walk,” I tell her, and her eyes go really wide.
“Like that?” she said, “You mean that you have really been outside?”
“My hair’s supposed to look this way. The natural look is in!”
I said to her most huffily, my patience wearing thin.
“I finally saw the new guy, and he’s really cute.”
I told her, and I saw her look, because I’m so astute.
“What,” I asked her, “is your problem? Don’t you like my hair?”
I met her answering guffaw with an angry glare.

“Your hair is not your problem,” she said and grabbed my hand,
pushing me into her room, where she made me stand
before a full length mirror, where finally I could see
perhaps why all my neighbors had deigned to smile at me.
For my whole face was covered with last night’s facial goo—
dried upon my face to form a vivid shade of blue!
Not quite the statement I had hoped to make that fateful day,
and since that time I fear my confidence began to fray.
I’ve given up long walks for neighborhoods much nearer,
and I never leave my house without checking out the mirror!

For other sagas, check out this URL:https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/saga/

Singlish

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Singlish

When Papa grabbed his squeezebox and baby hit the gong,
all the other children ran up to play along.
Henry played the drums and Molly the kazoo.
Oscar blew the tuba ’til he started to turn blue.

Sally on the saxophone and Henry on the flute,
Wanda on the trumpet went rootie tootie toot.
Mama led the singing and Grandma hummed along
as one-by-one the children joined them in their song.

All the kids went swaying, rocking on their toes
as they sang a song embellished by cardinals and crows.
The cattle in the pasture joined in with soothing moos—
the cockerels crooning descants with their cockadoodledoos.

The mourning doves sang background, telling of their woes,
while all the little sparrows cheeped neatly from their rows.
The horses voiced their  whinnies and sheep all baaaahed along
until the  world surrounding us had joined in on the song.

Woodpeckers beat percussion until our song was done,
joining us in music that proved that we were one.
Goldfinches and burros were next to join the throng,
all speaking the same language in this singalong.

I heard it from the mockingbird who heard it from the jay.
It was a pretty chorus that rose up from that day.
Now most days thereafter, we’ve sung in harmony.
If everyone would join us, how grand the world could be.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sing/

Bricks

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Words are as versatile as bricks. Whether they build a sidewalk or a wall is up to the one who uses them.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/brick/

To a Pensive Pre-Teen

(I posted this photo this morning but had appointments all day long until now, when I’m finally posting a poem to go with it. I just now noticed it is my 2,000th post in this blog!!)

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Judy Dykstra-Brown Photo

To a Pensive Pre-teen with Her Toes Curled in the Sand,
Outside the Beachside Cafe with Her Chin Cupped in Her Hand

What might you be dreaming of?
What thoughts have formed your frown,
child sitting on the steps
where ocean meets the town?

Perhaps you do not have a coin
to stay the vendor’s cart
for paletas of strawberry
or guava, cold and tart.

Perhaps you do not wish to stay
and yet you cannot leave.
There are so many stories
that a taleteller could weave.

But the truth is, you’re eleven,
and your parents are inside.
Reason enough for you to choose
the company of the tide.

 

Note: A paleta is an ice cream bar or popsicle.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pensive/

Fishless Chips

 

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Dykstra-Brown Photo

 

I received the below new lunch menu from a local restaurant via email immediately before reading the daily prompt, which was “Flourish.”  It was inevitable that the two would merge.


A NEW
LUNCH MENU is being offered from 11:00 am to 2:00 pm
  • Fish & Chips with Coleslaw
  • Burritos ( Shrimp or Fish)
  • Chimichangas (Shrimp or Fish)
  • Tacos Shrimp or Fish
  • Large Salad with  Shrimp

Fishless Chips

Never have I had a wish
for any kind of seafood dish––
fillet of flounder or tuna knish.
The only menu I find delish
is piscine-free, served with a flourish.
So if this bod you wish to nourish,
just french fry spuds and skip the fish!

is, I fear, devoid of fish.https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/flourish/

Heading South

Heading South

My friend put on her traveling gown
for London was her sort of town
where mouths share tales and shoulders rub
when friends or strangers meet at the pub.

My friend put on her traveling gown
for Paris was her sort of town—
gone to the boulevard to eat
where strangers she perchance would meet.

A demitasse or two, or more,
a shared baguette or petit four—
approachable down to the bone.
Better not to eat alone.

She was a traveler, born to roam
when she was not ensconced in home.
Back home, a cat upon her lap.
Away from home, a well-creased map.

On maps, the south is always down,
be it Paris or London town.
So be not sad or down at mouth.
Our friend is merely going south!

As I grow older, I like to think
one day we’ll meet there for a drink.
Well-versed, our friend will show us where
to sip our coffee in open air.

Or snuggle in for shepherd’s pie
in company fit for roving eye.
To lift a pint or raise a glass
once we have joined her there en masse.


(Word came yesterday that my friend of 49 years had passed away in a London hotel room, where she was just finishing up a month long vacation.  If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, go HERE.)

Marilyn suggested this song which my poem reminded her of.  It is one of my favorites, so I’m including it here…the link provided by okcforgottenman. In his words,  ‘It is Fort Worth Blues, written by Steve Earle in tribute to the then recent passing of Townes Van Zandt. You can see him sing it HERE- in a Townes tribute on Austin City Limits. It’s a worthy tribute to Grimmer, too, I think.’

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/south/

Dr. Judy

(To enlarge photos and read the captions, it is necessary to click on the first photo.)

Her name was Judy Grimm. She was a “little sister” assigned to me by Chimes—a junior women’s honorary at the University of Wyoming. The year was 1967 and that summer, we started up a correspondence that consisted mainly of her asking questions and my answering them.  She was a freshman coming from Colorado to Wyoming  and her main fear was that she wouldn’t be able to wear cut-offs to class.

She was a relaxed sort of girl.  We were different in many ways, but alike in others.  She pledged my sorority. We were both English majors. We shared a first name and since we also shared a best friend, we were to weave in and out of each other’s lives for the next 49 years. She was a funny tomboyish girl with a devilish grin. We spent a lot of the two years we were in the house together forsaking our early afternoon classes to play bridge with the hashers after lunch. She had an infectious sense of humor and when she married one of the BMOC’s and became Judy Hill, it was to be just one of the surprises her life had in store for us.

After earning an undergraduate degree in English, she discovered that her true talent was in science and she went on to become a dental surgeon. When she divorced her BMOC and joined the military to see the world, I went with our mutual best friend Patty to give her a send-off in New Orleans, and when she was sent to Germany and Patty went to teach nearby, I went to visit them there and we traveled to Paris and Spain together as well.

Years later, after she moved back to the states and I moved to Mexico, she came to visit me in Mexico several times. When I went to Denver, I stayed at her house and when she sold her house and downsized, I visited her in her new high rise luxury apartment overlooking the park.  We were making plans to see each other in Denver at a mini-college reunion when I go through enroute to a family reunion in Cheyenne this June/July.

But a phone call early this morning changed those plans, for it was Patty telling me that Judy had died the night before in a London hotel room.  Due back in the states a few days ago, she had phoned to say she was cancelling her flight reservations to check into a hotel and get over a bout of the flu.  She had said earlier that her month in England had been the best of many vacations she had taken in her life. And so in the end, she seemingly died the way we all would probably like to die—doing what she liked best.  She was scheduled for back surgery in a few weeks, and if it had to happen, I am so happy she died in a London hotel room instead of a Denver operating theater.

R.I.P. Dr. Grimmer.  We didn’t write much and although we didn’t always see life the same, we did continue to see each other over the nearly 50 years since we first met. You always did enjoy traveling, whether it was with company or alone, buddy.  I hope your last trip continues to be as enjoyable as your penultimate one was.

I’ve since written THIS about Grimmer.

Ironically, the Daily Prompt today was “buddy.”  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/buddy/

Mary Jane Revisits the Boomers: Marijuana and Your Health

It has been almost a year since I reblogged this article about research concerning the tumor-shrinking qualities of marijuana:
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/08/27/biologist-explains-how-marijuana-causes-tumor-cells-to-commit-suicide/

I had actually forgotten this article until today’s “health” prompt led me to search my own blog.  Then, after rereading it, two other recent conversations sprung to mind.  One was a friend who is experiencing chronic pain.  I saw him recently and he told me of his success in using marijuana oil suppositories in place of the strong pain medication he has been forced to use just to function for the past ten years.  He shared with me this  article which deals with the medical uses of marijuana oil for a number of medical conditions including cancer.

Here is an excerpt from this long and detailed article: When a person smokes a joint, over 90% of the medicinal aspects of the plant material just went up in smoke. It’s ironic for me to see patients who have taken chemotherapy smoking hemp to reduce their nausea, for they are smoking the very substance which, if taken properly, could cure them. To me, there is little or no comparison between smoking cannabis and ingesting the essential oil from this plant to treat a medical condition. If you are simply seeking a little relief from your condition, smoking cannabis may be of some benefit. But if you want to treat the condition properly, ingesting the oil is the best way to accomplish this. There is no question that even smoking cannabis does have some medicinal benefits, but don’t expect to cure a serious condition in this manner.”

William Randolph Hearst is often credited with being the main agent in the vilification of marijuana, but in his  weekly science podcast, Skeptoid, Brian Dunning addressed the facts and myths surrounding the topic of the vilification of hemp in the U.S.:

California had banned non-prescription cannabis in 1913 as part of a campaign against drugs that was largely anti-Chinese; New York City in 1914; Texas in 1915. Enforcement was almost entirely against Mexican and black communities. . . . .Hearst’s newspapers absolutely did sensationalize and exaggerate marijuana crimes and the dangers of the drug, but so did virtually all publications of the day. Anslinger’s Federal Bureau of Narcotics pumped a constant stream of hysterical press releases to satiate the media, blaming murders on single reefer doses of the drug, and all sorts of crazy amplifications. A 1936 church film called Tell Your Children was massively promoted nationwide and remade by Hollywood as the 1938 Reefer Madness, a cautionary tale designed to show the horrific results of marijuana. By the time the Marihuana Tax Act was passed, the United States population was well primed to view cannabis as the deadly symbol of the criminal immigrant class. . . . Cannabis hardly needed a conspiracy of Hearst and DuPont to put it out of business by the 1930s. It had already been doomed to extinction by racism, class warfare, and a complicit government and media to feed them. Though we often tend to look toward the rich and powerful to point the blame for society’s missteps, oftentimes the true root of the problem is uncomfortably in our own back yards.”  (You can read transcripts of the rest of his podcast here: https://skeptoid.com/episodes/4401)

Due to this vilification of hemp, many of its traditional and utilitarian benefits were hidden from widespread public view, but need is a great educator and as more and more of those in the boomer generation experience the debilitating effects of arthritis, hip and knee replacement, glaucoma, spinal injuries, diabetes and cancer,  people I would not have expected to laud the curative and palliative qualities of marijuana have begun to do so.

It was news of an acquaintance who cured his pancreatic cancer in a matter of months that has given me additional cause  to share the two articles above.  My husband died in three weeks of pancreatic cancer that was detected at the same stage as the cancer of this man, who started to use marijuana oil to treat his cancer.  According to a mutual friend, within four months, there were no more signs of cancer. (I have been meaning to interview this man and if there is sufficient interest shown, I will do so.  Let me know in “Comments” if you’d like to hear more on this topic.)

Now that 24 states and the District of Columbia  have laws legalizing marijuana in some form and four states and the District of Columbia have legalized marijuana for recreational use, the cloud that has hovered over it for over fifty years has begun to lift. The internet was brand spanking new when my friend and I were looking for any possible alternative treatment for my husband’s cancer, and the above articles had not yet been written.  I present them here for you to make of them what you will, knowing that in dire circumstances, great headway is sometimes made in overcoming past prejudices.

P.S.  Thanks, Hirundine, for furnishing this further URL to obtain information about Marijuana oil:  http://phoenixtears.ca/ I also want to print this warning from the man who wrote the book Phoenix Tears and who operates that website:

‘This is the only real Rick Simpson web site. Make your own oil and be aware of scammers.
We do not supply oil, we are providing information. 
The only way to know that you have the real thing, is to produce the proper oil yourself. There are many criminals who say that they are producing RSO, and who are using Rick’s name. Rick Simpson has no connection with these suppliers and he has no involvement with the Phoenix Tears Foundation from the U.S., although there is a link on their web site which leads to his web site and Facebook page.”

Cultural Shunning

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Cultural Shunning

We tend to underestimate,
to isolate or tease or bait
the children of the heads of state
sent to our country to educate.

We shun them or we inundate
with judgments that excoriate
their daily prayers that ululate,
or trappings that seem too ornate.

Before you do, please choose to wait,
considering what is the fate
of these strangers you think you hate
who’ve entered in our nation’s gate.

That student that you underrate?
That strange man that you will not date,
make fun of over dress or weight?
One day may be a potentate!

I wonder, can you “guesstimate”
how likely when he’s called to rate
our country as a foe or mate––
he is to underestimate?

The word prompt today was “Underestimate.”

Old Flame (A Maiden Aunt’s Testimony of Survival)

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Old Flame

“I stood and craned my neck to C
if I could make out the ID
of the one my parents chose for me.

He’d courted them from A to Z
and then proposed on bended knee,
but even though I knew that he

suited my father to a T,
I said that it was not to B.
He did not set my spirit free

nor make me want to be a “we,”
so I’m afraid that his suttee
was never fueled by such as me.”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/survival/