Monday Musings - Ted E. Bear

TED E. BEAR

The first day I saw him,
smiling at me from the shelf,
I knew he could be mine,
Ted E. Bear,
that cute little charmer
with brown fur and eyes.
I knew I was a grown woman,
long too old for childish toys,
but Ted E. was different
and I longed to hold him tight.
And once in my possession
I knew he was the right fit,
but little did I know that Ted E. had a mission.
As if by magic,
I was smiling and laughing again
and I felt like a child once more;
and I owe it all to a teddy bear my hubby bought,
Mr. Ted E. Bear, my friend.

Vintage Silver Christmas Trees

SILVER TREES

Silver tinsel shimmers and reflects
the multi-colored lights -
red, yellow, green, pink and blue -
a glistening holiday sight.
Although much better than trees from the past,
a silver tree is still unique
with the characteristics of its green counterparts,
but daintier, fuller, unusually pretty.
Memories of vintage 70s trees
without the retro color wheel,
no Christmas lights could be applied
and only round glass balls were allowed.
O, how the colored lights were missed,
but these trees were all the rage
and for a few holiday seasons
they were displayed with pride,
until the next fade came to town.
Things have changed in 40 years,
C9s replaced by multi-strings
and most mass produced ornaments are no longer glass,
but made from unbreakable plastic for keeps.
The new little tree is nostalgic in color and size,
but modernized to accept miniature lights
and the eclectic array of ornaments
collected from year to year.





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Ode to Orange Slice Cake

Last year, my youngest daughter, Chris, baked me an Orange Slice Cake for the very first time, but I was unable to enjoy because of my illness. I'm hoping she will indulge me again this year and bake another one because I will gobble it up! The following poem was written three years ago.

 

Ode to Orange Slice Cake

By Bobbi Rightmyer

Although butter is no longer my friend

it is hard to resist the creamy fluff it makes

when blended into sugar so pure and so white.

The eggs combine to give more texture still,

to the all-purpose flour that forms the cake.

Yummy dates so sweet

with pecans and coconut

give an irresistible taste delight to make a mouth water.

But it is the candied orange slices that make this dessert

a heavenly, to die for treat.

Orange slice cake comes but once a year

at a time when Old St. Nick is near. 

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Kisses from heaven

It really is a shame my sister, Amy, didn't live long enough to see her grandchild born. Desiree will be 6 years old this week and I am sure that her granny is smiling down on her from heaven.

Amy Kisses
She spoke to me like a flicker of air swept by in a dream
Gentle kisses in the ear making me feel wanted and loved;
She’s been gone so long it’s been almost five years
And yet I can still feel her in my heart.
She caresses the inner sanctity opens my wounds with a flick of her wings,
Then she smiles and says, “thank you for being there today.”
Her first grandchild she will never know, but will watch from her chair high above.
Every kiss, every prayer, every loving moment in time
Captured internally and filed away, ready to recapture the joy.
We will give her earthly love and vigor,
You will give her angel kisses;
She will grow and thrive and capture the light
Fulfilling her destiny unwritten.
She’ll have much hugged awards, atta girls, aren’t you sweet
But she’ll also have memories and history and cherishments.
Yes, we will raise her and see she does right
And she will know the grandmotherly love, though the package may seem strange
She will know the love you are giving
You don’t have to worry we will make sure she knows,
That granny’s my sis and we all miss her so,
But she’ll live in your heart and your soul.


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THE SYCAMORE TREE

(Photo copyright Dan Felstead)

The Sycamore protects the house
with long, lean limbs of white;
so old with age, it’s hard to say
how much longer she will be around.

The Sycamore looms not in the horizon,
but in the side yard of the house;
sheltering the house in summer
but leaving anxiety with the cold wind.

The Sycamore tree, a friend a foe,
stands tall above the land;
how long will she last, is it her time to go
or will she reign as Queen of them all?

TRAIN GRAFFITI

looping letters
swirling the entire box car

vivid colors
seeming to be 3-D

exquisite examples

of unknown artists

On a Hot Summer Night

ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT

crying
Sarah, answer your phone

clang, clang of the see-saws

squeak of the swings

watch both ways

siren from fire truck

kids squealing

kids laughing

the ice cream truck bell

leaves rustling

birds crying

wind blowing

words forming

Cornfield

(Photo copyright Dan Felstead)

The cornfield, slowing starting to yellow,
neglected in the darkening sky
as grass and storm clouds move in

or maybe the yellowing corn
is near the outer fields
as the storm has passed away.

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Clandestine gloom

 

 

 

SHAMBLES

A summer storm has subsided
and all is quiet,
but there are continued hints of clandestine gloom.
Everything is now in ruins
and an ever growing mystery
is leading to a new event,
drawing us closer to catastrophe.





(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)

Drowning Shadows

 Drowning Shadows

Sorrow creeps in,
a step at a time,
and eases its way into life;
robbing the soul,
tainting the aura,
changing the essence of happier days.
Worry, anticipation, anxiety and stress
replace the happy go lucky,
marring the image of pleasant memories,
drowning shadows of times gone by.
Why does it happen when you least expect it?
And when will it go away?
For sorrow is no friend,
when it drags you down
and invades your subconscious
without a sound.


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Windsday

WINDSDAY

Oak leaves dance and twirl

like a brown whirlwind littering the air
as the unusual windsday blows through.
Robins going from treetop to tree
teeter off course in the gusty gale.
Bags, napkins and other garbage
take flight to pollute other areas.
Flags snap to attention,
stiff in the cold air;
weak tree branches break and bow,
as young saplings dip to the ground.
Ladies over 60 protect tightly permed hair
with plastic rain caps,
while the under 40 crowd let their hair
blow wildly in the storm.
Garbage cans, Christmas decorations and all manner of yard art
have been gobbled up by the current
and deposited down the street.
Umbrellas turn inside out and no longer protect from the rain,
and doors are ripped wide open with the cold, wet blast.
Makes you kind of wonder if mistral gusts are meant to scare us away
or draft us closer together,
or maybe it is angel kisses from on high
giving us a whiff of what's to come.

If I were a flower

If I were a flower, I'd be a daisy, white and fluffy with a happy yellow face. I'd be growing on the garden fringes, away from the fancy hybrids with their unusual growing habits and prized blooms. I'm not one for large crowds or loud excitement, so being a wallflower, the plain little daisy would be just my speed.

Hardy growth requiring minimal care, this also describes me to a tee. I'm not one for fashion or makeup or hairdo, preferring instead to enjoy life's little pleasures. Low maintenance - that is me and the daisies.

Childish games from yester-year occupy a summer day. Daisy chains adorn my head and the gentle singing of "He loves me, he loves me not" fills the air. You can always find me out in the garden, passing the time with my friends. Goldenrod and Black-eye Susans will always be pretty, but nothing holds my heart like the quaint eccentric daisy.

From afternoon dreaming to Haiku

Haiku in the Park


Hedge apples fall down,
squirrels eat them up today,
Hedge apples gone now.



Sunshine breaks the clouds,
beams come down in vast array
then it's gone away.



Red-headed woodpecker
clings to tree, inclined repose;
peek, peek, peek - he's gone.



Clouds float by on wind,
fluffy elements of shape
making me laugh joyful.



Oak leaves strewn on ground,
litter with orange, red, yellow;
pretty to look at.


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Shadows of Requiem

(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)

SHADOWS OF REQUIEM

Tension seems endless,
torn with concern,
steep and winding,
and it twists and turns
like hidden secrets from the past.
Early morning memories are like mist,
raising vague memories of a forgotten dream.
Mysteries echo and reach out,
mysteries of a past unturned;
on the surface calm and serene,
but heavy with undercurrents
a web of confusion draws the anxiety deeper into the core
like a raised spector of yesteryear,
intruding on the future.
Unreasonable hatred can unlock
the dark corridors and musty corners,
turning the tension into a symbol of strength
to unlock the secrets of the future.

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And so it goes .....

There's a sad sort of clanging
from the clock in the hall
and the bells in the steeple,
and up in the nursery
an absurd little bird
is popping out to say coo-coo
(coo-coo, coo-coo)

 

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The sun is shining again

The past few refreshing mornings have been wonderful! It is noticeably cooler with little to no humidity, reminding me that summer is quickly fading and autumn is fast approaching. I love having the windows open so the curtains blow in the breeze. I love the fresh, crisp smells of the air, ruffling the pages of the manuscript I am working on. It has felt good to be writing this week because it has taken my mind off my illness

Some days will when I am fine, days where I do not cry or have an uncontrollable urge to huddle in a little heap and snarl at someone, days where I smile at the world and feel comfortable. Then everything will suddenly change and the burning hole in my chest will burst open, erupting and I suffocate, no matter how hard and how deep I try to breathe. No matter how hard I try to protect myself against this feeling, it never gets easier.

Life is not always warm and fuzzy, but I have developed different coping mechanisms to get me through those moments and carry on, carry on as if nothing is wrong….just carry on. There are days when it really feels as if Lady Luck turned her back on me, where I cannot feel her warm smile beam down on me. There are days where I battle with each step I take and each breath I breathe, where I battle to remind myself that the sun will shine again. It is times like these where I feel defeated, where it feels as if all I do is in vain, where all I want to do is have a “pity me” party.

My mind is a babbling mess of uncontrollable chaos. I wish there was just a small fraction of a moment where I could escape the inner dialogue racing through my brain, to just leave everything behind, forget about things that need to be done, forget about responsibilities, just sit by myself and wallow in self-pity.

But I have so much to be thankful for, so many reasons to rejoice. I am so lucky to be alive today, and even though I know I still have a long way to go, I have to give myself some slack and not get frustrated with my slow progress. Things could be a lot worse for me, so I will take my rehab one step at a time, with grace and gratitude.

And the sun will shine again tomorrow.

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Hiding Again

HIDING AGAIN

Hiding from the world,
sealed away by choice;
fearful of what?
Heart palpitations, cold clammy sweat,
feeling the world is out to get me,
irrational thoughts won't go away.
There's a safety in cloister
with comfort items around
in every pile of books you'll see,
offering a calm serene.
Many call it nesting,
having treasured items within easy reach,
but when this behavior continues on
and interrupts your life,
this nesting syndrome has gone too far
and a solution must be found,
only ...

rapid breathing takes over again,
and the tightness in the chest returns,
these aren't only mental ailments,
but physical manifestations,
so I hid from the world again.


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Lost Childhood

LOST CHILDHOOD

Just when I should have been
having the time of my life,
I thought I wasn't complete
unless I had
that one perfect someone to call my own.
Instead of hanging out with my friends,
I was caught in the loop
of pleasing my man.
My heart would beat faster as each class bell rang,
knowing we could steal brief moments
for kissing out in the hall.
Scheduling our after school time
so we were always together,
in hindsight was probably not the thing to do,
but the excitement and joy
and tummy butterflies
were a high we both sought to obtain.

Did the good outweigh the bad?
Obviously it did because we ended up together,
at least for a short time.
The problem is, it wasn't enough
to satisfy that need we had deep down inside,
the need for something more,
something special to fulfill an aching need.
So, we crashed and burned,
down in flames in a magnificent bonfire
of heated words,
angry acquisitions,
finger pointing and
screams.
Two lives torn apart, two souls ripped asunder,
but the fallout damage affected much more
and it would be years before the collateral was known.

Looking back, the path is quiet clear,
even a child could see the course;
so why was I too blind at the time
to not see the outcome
when it was right before my eyes?
I guess love really is blind
and it has the ability to swoop in
and steal our childhoods,
give us tunnel vision,
like the quest for the Holy Grail,
tempt us with a happily ever after,
yes, love is very easy to find,
but much harder work to keep.

Learned behavior from childhood

Learned Behavior

skinned knees - chocolate chip cookies
runny nose - chicken soup
feelings hurt - rocky road ice cream
broken heart - everything but kitchen sink
wonderful news – chinese food
disappointment - snicker bar
anxiety - lays sour cream chips
stressful day - m&ms
unending grief - box of ho-hos
long hard week - supreme pizza
self-pity – any form of potato
still in love – want to do better

The Keys

The Keys

the keys have locked away my heart

inside a special wrapping

 

it waits alone

for the one I love

to keep it everlasting

 

 

 

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