Huffin n Puffin up the street - Poem: The Red Timer

Scott and I just walked around the block. I thought it would be easy but remember we have a big hill.

Then I heard the unmistakable sounds:

A garage door opening via remote control?

The sounds of A Muleskinner's Blues from the Ken Burns documentary on Country Music?

The stapling by Liberty Roofing of half a dozen men atop a roof on Sleighride Road.

Here's my fantasy about dat:

I stand on the ground by the side door.

One of the helmeted men comes sliding down the roof.

I position myself 'just so' and catch him in my arms.

HE's fine but I'm not. Since I'm wearing a dress my face is bloody as are my shins, knees as well as my shoes.

Got my lab tests done this morning and drove in the sunshine to QUEST in Jenkintown. Then I requested copies to other docs.

Dr Albert Schweitzer in Africa.

Sheryl was my phlebotomist.

Fine gal, fine gal, covered from head to toe in a paper Cinderella gown.

Much construction. You must be able to SEE as you wiggle thru the orange cones.

As a treat, I ate at Dunkin Donuts.

Photos please?



Croissant with egg n cheese, hold the sausage, AND Iced coffee with a straw.

There's usually one reason I blog.

Hmmm.

I quit my volunteer job at Second Home. All last night I was feeling sad.

There's no good photo for ya.

I usually arrive at 10 am. Got there a little late and announced to everyone why I was leaving.

I felt useless, like there wasn't anything I enjoyed helping with anymore.

Said goodbye to everyone who could speak English.

When I worked at Symphony Manor I was paid $30 per session. I only worked several days a week. The checks often took 2 months to arrive.

The Manor however was an assisted living facility unlike Second Home.

My philosophy is:  Close your eyes and allow yourself to feel sad. Don't bury your feelings but allow them to surface.

We're trying to get a guest speaker in New Directions. Yoga or meditation or T'ai Chi.

PHOTOS

 My breakfast was something my late cousin - Chez Ray - would make at his restaurant in Eugene ORE. Blubberies, pecans, cinnamon and two beaten eggs.

 The Michener Museum bag is a work of art so I taped it against the wall in the kitchen.

 What will I make with this DD bag?

Have I wrin a poem yet about my timer, which is not made by Robert Lux.

MY RED TIMER

Right in the middle
A shiny silver teardrop
Reminding us of all the losses
We've endured and will endure agayne
Love, too, awaits us
Swims in backyard pools
The sight of the hummingbird
Birds squawking in the bird bath
A family photo of Mom's
90th birthday taken out on
their front lawn by Patrick

The red timer has cheeks of red
and tiny little numbers
for Baby's First Book
and You shall read it to her
in a low and whispery voice.