My sheets attacked while I was sleeping. I thought we had resolved our difficulties and reached an accord. But, I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
* * *
Continue reading What Happens Among the Sheets…
Category Archives: From My Brain to Yours
A Womb With a View
I went through a rough couple of weeks worrying about a thing that could have been big, bad, and scary but turned out to be big, banal, and mostly embarrassing–so the story ends happily ever after, kind of.
(My fairytale life turns out to be something a whole lot different than my childish self ever imagined.)
The moral of this story is short and to the point: DO NOT GOOGLE SYMPTOMS EVER!
There is some mention of disgusting female-related bodily functions in this post; therefore, the men might want to scamper out of the room like the timid little bunnies they are.
Continue reading A Womb With a View
A Boy, A Book, and the Gulf Between Them
Forgive me, this is a hard post to write and I’d like to do justice to both the joys and the sorrows in their turn. It is a post about discoveries and magical thinking–the good and the bad involved in both. This is about a book–and a boy who will probably never read it. I would separate them, but the two things are inextricably linked for me. It would be like dividing the sun from the moon.
Be warned, as it is written on ancient maps past the edge of the known world: Here be dragons!
***
Continue reading A Boy, A Book, and the Gulf Between Them
IT’S ALIVE!!!!
I’ve been living an absolute nightmare. For TWO WHOLE DAYS!!!
But finally, after a weekend of anxiety-drenched trauma, I am back to tell the tale. It’s mercifully short, but not, I think, an insignificant one to any who has experienced the horror. Mary Shelley only dreamt of such nightmares as this!
Continue reading IT’S ALIVE!!!!
The Cannibal Diet
TRIGGER WARNING: The following people might want to avoid this particular post: those with delicate constitutions, the humor-impaired, vegans who didn’t reading the title. You might find this a tad offensive. Actually, anyone with any sense of taste whatsoever might want to give it a pass. It’s that bad. If you choose to consume my unfiltered thoughts, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Continue reading The Cannibal Diet
Walking Buck Creek Trail
A Remembrance—by K. L. K. Salazar
There was no plan before we left.
We just took off together—as if lured by sirens singing.
Beneath the stars, you steered me to the places that you love,
Made mysterious by the flare of rockets red glaring.
Through the cemetery and down the hill
To where the waters waited,
And the path was still and free of people.
We walked along Buck Creek Trail that Fourth of July.
Chasing fireworks just out of reach.
The flash bang of concussions meeting us in the dusk.
As slick, silent waters slid past a fallen tree.
Fireflies flickered, semaphore signals, beneath a gibbous moon.
When I was younger, I thought it was called a ‘Gibbon’ moon.
I couldn’t help but wonder…
Do monkeys dance bathed by moonlight thinking it is day?
Or does the Man in the Moon really wear a simian grin?
And how that mischievous moon loomed large.
A low-hanging pendulum ticking in the tree tops.
Playing peek-a-boo behind Earth’s shadow
While the jealous sun searched for its lover.
And then, we saw it
…A glimpse.
…A spark.
A sky lantern floating in the dark.
A flickering emanation
The softness of a scene unmarred until…
***BANG***
Followed by an emptiness–ears ringing
Eyes straining for illumination.
Then the skies rained down in jeweled profusions
Firecracker constellations.
And as we walked through the humid musk
Of night smells and sulfur from plentiful explosions.
Every inhalation left an acrid taste upon the tongue.
Around each curve we anticipated the next cascade to come.
But we never quite caught the pattern of their detonation.
When the pyrotechnics paused
We waited…wondering…
“Was that it? The last one?”
But no.
A serpentine hiss trailed an invisible propulsion
Launching upward, arcing toward the vault of heaven.
Earthbound, we held our breath in anticipation…
Will it wither, fizzle, die?
Or will it flower, hanging time itself upon a belt of sky?
Silver streaks descend
Causing seizures of joy in small children.
Cascades of tinsel dripping down
From a dark blue heaven.
You laughed and pulled me forward through the night
Following an ever-moving horizon.
You never caught them–the man-made stars you chased.
But then, that was never your goal.
You wandered the night in search of adventure.
Tempted by the golden monkey moon winking down
As if sharing a cosmic joke before we departed.
Back through the cemetery we went
Where the little chapel hides in hedgerows
Sparklers briefly crowning trees with red, white, and blue tiaras.
And there was no tomorrow yet to fear.
There was only the night and the steps we took
While the fire flies danced to a tune only they could hear…
…in the dark
…on the path
…along Buck Creek Trail.
**********
Out-of-Focus Musings of a Disturbed Mind
Head Rush
I was complimented recently on my writing, it came via someone with a tenuous Facebook connection. It’s the first time anyone who wasn’t a friend or blood relative (and therefore obligated to like my writing or at least lie to me and say they do) told me they found my writing funny. (But funny in a good way.)
It made me feel, just for a nano-second, what it must be like when famous people get recognized. It was awesome and I thanked him…and then felt like a total fraud because I haven’t given two thoughts to my blog in months!
You can thank/blame him for this post.
Continue reading Out-of-Focus Musings of a Disturbed MindI GISH, Therefore I am.
I participated in a 24-hour fundraiser this weekend. You might not have noticed me other than by my absence.
I was busy…
Making this:
The choice of Star Wars figurines was based in part on what I had on hand, and as an homage to my husband who loved both obscure musical tributes and tiny action figures.
I spent at least five hours constructing my homage to a famous album cover. I thought it was only a cake on the cover. I was certain. And then I looked at the actual album and said…”Oh, shoot.” (Or words to that effect.) But rather than finding something easier, I doubled down on the crazy.
I also took part in a Zombie Teleconference. You can check out the video link or here’s a picture of me on the couch with my son for evidence….of questionable parenting.
I also did this to demonstrate “camouflage in an urban setting with the goal of kid avoidance” skills:
Despite my valiant efforts, the kid found me.
The beauty of GISH is in how it pushes you somewhat outside your comfort zone. I didn’t set up a Zoom meet-up, but I participated in three. In addition to Zombie Conference calls, we had a sing-along to The Police classic: “Don’t Stand So Close to Me!” I am now much more impressed with those acapella groups that coordinate a sing remotely. Not one of us could keep time, nor pitch. Sorry Sting.
I juggled, quite badly, with some equally toss-and-catch-challenged individuals. But being good at things isn’t the point of GISH. It is entirely possible to go through a whole weekend and miss the point in the effort to finish just one more task. But I tried hard to pay attention.
For example, when I made this simple poster with my son, you might not be impressed unless you know how hard it is to get my kid with the program–any program. It felt like a Mom-Win. The kind you can feel good about.
While I am proudest of my Let It Bleed album cover, I am also glad that I tried to do things I am not stellar at.
Drawing, for example. With about an hour left to GISH IT UP, I sat down with my son and he painted his ‘calendars’ while I drew a picture of what my soul would look like as a bird house–with a flame alight inside:
I know I cannot draw well, but I’ve learned from taking part in GISH that it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to have talent to enjoy doing something. If it brings me a moment with my son, who lives in a hard-to-reach world even if he’s only a room away. It also let me connect with people in other countries and time zones. (This led to a momentary zombie conflict, but it resolved without any brains being eaten.) This is what victory can look like despite being quarantined.
If my shaky squiggles and flowers give me joy, that is reason enough. Art serves the soul. Creativity expands your horizons–even if you can’t leave your house. When we were little kids, we knew the power of a box of crayons and a blank sheet of paper. There are worlds to build and dreams to pursue.
But now, after getting four hours of sleep in 48-hours, I’m ready to “Take a nap. A good one.”
And this is how I really look when sleeping:
Ordinarily I’d make an effort to wrap this all up with nice tie-ins, but I am literally falling asleep at the keyboard. Instead, I’ll let you know that I would do it all again…but probably not all in one day!
Fondant: a French word meaning your floors will be sticky and covered in sugar, and your cakes will be beautiful but too sweet to eat.
Sundown – A Poem
SUNDOWN
by Kiri L. K. Salazar
Memory is the golden shore where summer waters lap.
Where sanded children shriek like gulls,
And mothers shade their eyes and search
The ever distant beach for tears or missing faces in the surf.
There the castles build and fall, where triumph tragedy becomes.
And sticky mouths suck greedy gulps of sugar-saturated pops—
Rainbow colors melting down.
See criss-crossed marks burned into skin which will no permanent memory make
To keep from repeating the mistake of measuring the sun by an SPF span.
Boiled-lobster faces whine and belated zinc is applied in futile effort to rewind time.
Gritted bodies, tired, worn but happy with a day’s respite,
Ride the chariot once more toward the sinking orb
Which threatens little from its perch on the lip of the world,
Leaving a flip flop token of remembrance behind.
You’ll find no ribboned concourse marking childhood’s end.
It is fleeting, passing, and no trumpet heralds its demise.
So, measure well those steps you take on burning sands
They will the hourglass wind down and scorch tender flesh
In haste to reach Lethe’s waters.
Notes From The Squirrel Bunker
Covid-Diaries Day 32
“This siege is going on longer than I would have imagined. Supplies are running low. I may have to eat the squirrels in the yard. Hope I can get better with the slingshot, just in case survivalists storm the brigade.”
Continue reading Notes From The Squirrel Bunker
TheDustSeason 