Don’t be fooled! You may think you’ve got the normal 24 hours today. You may think the lunch date is at noon today, but . . .
#75 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS - A SWIVEL & A THUMB
It’s a noun and it’s a verb. A swivel is nothing more than a coupling between two parts that allows one of those parts to move without turning the other. To swivel means to rotate around an unmoving point. It’s the way some people dance. My desk chair is swiveling now with me in it.
#74 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- FOOD
500 tons of food “expires” tomorrow. I wonder if my Senator knows.
#73 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- COUSIN TROUBLE
Friends, come close and gather near,
I have a tale to spill.
#72 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS—COOKIES, COFFEE, AND CONCERN
It had to have been this Christmas last when my daughter made these cookies.
#71 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- CROW FEATHERS
If you know me, you know that I admire crows.
#74 PUPPY -- TIME
“Are you playing me, Scooter?”
#70 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- WIND
Wind is air in motion . . .
#69 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- THIS IS OTIS
“Hello, Otis. Welcome.” Good for Otis to realize that grief is best met in company.
#68 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS: DAY TEN -- AN APPLE FROM GERMANY
Is it not unusual to have an apple delivered fresh from German soil?
#67 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS: DAY NINE -- EASTER SUNDAY
Complications of this holiday prove plentiful and embarrassing,
#66 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS: DAY EIGHT - EASTER ANGUISH
Had I known, had I known
#65 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS: DAY SEVEN -- NOTHING BUT FEELINGS IN THIS POEM
Let me tell you, now’s the time to send your frontal lobe out for recess. This poem is all amygdala,
#64 A WOMAN'S BLOG: DAY SIX -- PRAYER
Storge does not speak People. She did her best to inform me of her problem. In her dog way
#63 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS: DAY FIVE -- TIME
I have occasionally written about time;
#60 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS, DAY TWO: MOON SNAIL SHELLS 1987
I seek treasures but not the sort that belong on glass shelves with indirect lightening
#59 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS" #1 BORROWING FROM THE PAST WHILE THE PRESENT IS SO PISSY
Who doesn’t know that confession seldom bodes well for the teller of them, but I confess. I don’t feel like writing