Boys are awake. I was sitting next to my youngest in living room. We hear his big brother shout from the kitchen, “Stupid pickles!” Pause and then ask what happened, not sure if he was in the pantry or fridge. TEENAGER replies he was trying to get pizza for breakfast and the box was “perched precariously.” The jar fell on his foot. The pickles are OK. So is he. Pizza is being eaten. Here I figured he’d go for leftover cake.
May 24, 2014
Saturday morning just a little after 7am
I had fun printing out poems and snippets of thoughts about my Blue dog last night. This morning I put them in a 3-ring binder for my Grandpa with a pic on the cover and the title, “The Blue Collection.” A belated gift for my poet, story telling, fiddlin’ Grandpa.
I’m taking the last last jar of Alien Goo to him too, a.k.a. Green Tomato Pickles. I found ‘em hiding in the back of the pantry. Here I thought I’d delivered that last jar in November, when I made a trip via southbound train, the day before his 97th birthday.
Turns out I have a thing for packin’ pickles on the train. For I’m ridin’ the rails again today, but not alone, for my magical sister is sittin’ alongside me. We are not talkin’ as much as I expected. Just sorta chillin’ and enjoyin’ sittin’ quietly, playin’ on our idevices.
It is a beautiful day. A blue sky one, without any clouds in it. Oh, so lovely.
January 16, 2013
I have a hanky in my pocket
I’m leakin’ all kinds of tears
my heart, oh how it’s hurtin’
some solace waits for me there
my parents went south yesterday
the highway called their name
my cousin always lives there
next door to Grrr
who got me on this train
for grandpa’s birthday is the reason
number 97 is nearly here
I’m arrivin’ one day early
today’s the day I could come
“Happy last day of 96!”
I brought the last jar of alien goo
they’re really, “Green Tomato Pickles”
but either way, I made ‘em just for you
written Thursday, November 8, 2012
as I rode the southbound train from Normal to Alton, Illinois
the first leg of the trip