shake it off

caught on the sidewalk

in pouring rain

like a mini monsoon

from gray cloud warning

to bucketfuls falling

once home

inside and dried off

sky faucet stops

sun resumes

me and the dog

are still sopping

August 10, 2015

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bird song

nighttime rain
stops
morning light
dawns
snow melts
bird song
floats along
trilling:
odes of love
warning:
dog coming
birds a plenty
perched
in tree tops
on wires narrow
flying o’er head
in v-formation
honking
the birds are back
the earth is soft
and muddy
puddles form
in the grass
on sidewalks
as snow piles
disappear
and daytime rain
begins to fall
oh, spring
you are coming
we can feel you
in the warmer air
we hear you
approaching
in the lilting
beauty
that is
bird song

March 10, 2013

5:30 a.m. on Tuesday, April 10, 2012, added two quarts of oil to my wonderful old gal, Lola the Corolla. There is now more than the merest smidge of oil on the end of the dipstick. Last Friday afternoon, as I drove around town with my sons, my empty fuel light AND my oil light were coming on as a WARNING. Thankfully the fuel fill up was in a nick of time and we didn’t run all the way out of gas. Bought oil at the grocery store last night. I’m sure I paid too much, but it was my last chance to see to it for a few days time and it needed to be done. I’m so glad my dad saw fit to teach me how to check and add oil to my car. I remembered to use a funnel this time, so the garage floor doesn’t have an oil puddle. He taught me other cool stuff too like how to bait a hook, cast a line, shoot a gun, gas weld, fry an egg, cook a burger, sew a button on and drive. The two lessons that were obvious at the time, and not veiled in conversation, are:
1. Don’t speed in small towns.
2. Seek the good and shun the bad.
The second was uttered, as we were left the house I grew up in, on the way to college for my freshman year. That was when his dad shared it with him too. My grandpa heard it from his uncle when he left home to serve in WWII. My children have heard it already. More than once. I’m not waiting until they are eighteen to pass it on. They need now. We all do. All this to say, Dads are special. Oil Pouring Writing About Random Stuff Moms are too, even if we do have to say so ourselves. It’s 5:55 a.m. now. Time to make lunches, pack snacks for testing and write a schedule for today because it’s Mom’s Day Off. Granted, I have to go to the hospital to get one. You see, I’m running on empty and need some TLC, just like my old Corolla. I’ll be OK. Just need to be flat and still after the procedure so I’m off work until tomorrow morning when Blue says, “Woof”, or I wake up on my own. Whichever comes first.