LOVELY DAY: Another Flight of Fiction

She thought the rain would never end.

Day after day after day of rain, rain, rain.

She even tried her childhood chant,

“Rain, rain, go away; come again some other day.”

It didn’t work.

The rain continued.

Day after day after day of rain, rain, rain.

“Catch some of that rainwater, gal?”

Her grandmother’s voice spoke to her from the past.”

“Nothing like rainwater for a hair softening shampoo. It’s God’s fresh water gift to us and the earth. It’s just downright refreshing!”

God’s fresh water gift did not enthrall her now as it had all those years ago when she had gleefully run out into a rainstorm to try and catch it all in her little metal bucket.

She stood and peered out the window.

“Rain, rain, rain, here to stay; I came outside just to play.”

The little girl wore a black and white polka dot rain coat with matching hat. Her rain boots were bright red.

Her round little face was turned upright, mouth wide open as though she was trying to catch every drop of rain before it hit the ground.

Her mother walked behind her, a smile on her face as she watched her little one celebrate the downpour.

When did childhood joy turn into adult angst?

Her husband was more than a little surprised to look out the upstairs window and see his sixty-five year old wife in a black 30 gallon garbage bag and a supermarket plastic bag on her head wearing her old cowboy boots splashing down the street in the rain.

So were the neighbors.

She did not care.

“Rain, rain, here to stay; I just came outside to play!”










Weeping my endure for a night but joy comes in the morning.”

Sometimes the wait for anticipated joy seems interminable.

One night stretches into another night and that night merges into more darkness.

Most people just want to be happy.

Happiness depends on happenings.

Negative happenings, no happiness.

Happiness is too subjective, too dependent on the whims of the day.

Joy, on the other hand, is an inside job.

It is a decision, a choice

Difficult in difficult times?


A determined decision!


Choose to see the golden butterfly that flutters above the garbage can rather than the garbage that spills into the street.




INTELLIGENT: A Flight of Fiction

They never said she was smart.

“She is intelligent,” is what they always said.


She hated being called intelligent.

“Sounds like something you order off the menu of that trendy restaurant in SoHoBoHo,” she once said to no one.

She wanted to be smart.

Razor edge smart.

Dorothy Parker Algonquin Table smart.

She wanted to be smart perched on a grand piano in a ballroom swathed in a red hot dress while others crowded around her waiting for the next bon mot to trill from her sultry tinted lips.

Yeah. She wanted to be that smart.

“Intelligent,” she muttered as she grabbed the take-out order from the waitress, adjusted the straps on her backpack and walked out the diner door.

Sitting on the park bench, she took a bite out of her tuna sandwich with the huge red onion slices she added to her order because she loves red onions.


She did not have an appointment today so the onions were a no harm no foul decision.

“Hey,” Tom said as he plopped down beside her on the bench.

The Tom who was smart and witty and longed for by every woman who ever laid eyes on him if only for a moment.


“Mmph,” she muttered as she did her best to talk and swallow at the same time.

Red onions, so not a smart choice!

She hated being called intelligent!










I could not remember if I posted “H” for the A-Z Challenge.

I took a peek at my blog and sure enough, no “H” post.

But, right in front of me, on my page, the word “Home.”

Thank you, blog muse!

I love the movie “Michael.”

It’s about an angel, a fallen angel.


An angel falls from heaven down to earth (or maybe it was a vacation away from the celestial clouds).

Anyway, the angel comes to earth and is on his way to being outed by a tabloid journalist.

The search for news turns into a rescue mission for Michael, to get him to Chicago before he “dies.”

It also turns out to be a rescue mission for the journalist and others who are thrown together for the journey and have a few issues of their own.

When the reporter and others connect with Michael, they are little perplexed by this angel’s idiosyncrasies and are pulled in the consequences of his earthly shenanigans.

From my perspective, it is a funny, fun filled, compassionate cinematic treatise.

What does “Michael” have to do with my blog topic “Home?”

A song on the soundtrack is a song sung by Bonnie Raitt. Every time I hear it, I am called back to small town Texas where I spent my youth.

It’s really a lovely love song, but the chorus feels like home to me.

The song makes me want to go back home to those days of barefoot youth on a hot summer day.

Yeah, every time I hear it, it feels like home to me.





Grace: Unmerited favor

I am grateful for a grace that forgoes punishment in spite of my flawed humanity and inherent propensity for making risky decisions.

I am grateful for a grace that deems me acceptable, even when I find the unacceptable more delectable.

I am grateful for a grace that looks beyond the imperfect me.

Grace that is greater. . .

Grateful for grace.


Destiny is a word I hear bandied about quite often these days.

Whether the venue is secular or spiritual, destiny seems to be the focus of many.

When does destiny become an non-entity?

Is there a cut-off date for the pursuit of destiny?

Is there an “after” after the pursuit of same ceases to be an imperative?

Is it arrogant of me to think that I should pursue purpose in this season of life?


“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”

~Robert Frost






“Your password will expire soon; change it now.”

I didn’t.

Three days later.

“Your password has expired. Please reset your password.”

No worries. I now know to keep a password record for those memory lapse moments.

“Incorrect password. Please input correct password.”

I guess I did not record the most recent password.

Two hours later. . .

“Incorrect password.  Yada, yada, yada!”

I believe in prayer.


That night. . .

“Please help me remember the correct password.”

One day later.

“Incorrect password! #*!#*”


Two days later.

Hello Geek Squad!



What is that new password?



I just learned a new thing.

Rather than jump in the car and drive down to my bank to make a deposit, I can now use any one of my devices to click, capture and deposit those checks from the sanctuary that is my bedroom.

Who knew?

Yeah, well, probably a lot more people than I knew a lot sooner than I but it is still a revelation to me.


Cyber Banking, I love it!


There is just one little hitch. . .

This introvert now has one more reason not to leave home.


So this is how hermits come to hermit and recluses recluse.

Setting all device alarms to “Outside.”



One day it hits you like that proverbial ton of bricks.

You are no longer a teenager.

You are no longer a young adult.

You are no longer middle-aged.

You are old.

Euphemistically, a senior.

More than half your life is behind you.

You could live your life celebrating the fact you are still here.

You could, that is, if America did not work so hard at thumbing its nose at you.

Doing its best to point out that wrinkles and gray roots are anathema.

Wisdom is no longer revered.

Emeritus really means out to pasture.

Pursuits of achievement and awards are relics from the past.

Expectations for more are rooted in yesterday.

Aging in America is too often the death rattle for women.

Wrinkles become the bane of the mirror.

Makeup settles into creases and crevices hitherto unknown.

Eyelashes and eyebrows betray her with gray growth.

Hair thins and arm wings flap.

Body parts that once stood proudly, now sit down, never to stand again without support.

A cougar when she relishes the company of a younger man.

An old fool if she is wealthy.

“Growing old is not for sissies!”

It is for those who have the courage to age in America without apology!

Come, grow old with me. . .