Toonage

Music is my religion, it is my philosophy of life, my therapy, my escape, my energy, and well, much more. As soon as that needle hits the record, I feel warm and fuzzy – like I just had a glass of wine or felt the sun on the first day of summer. The other day, I put on our wedding song and in that one moment, it all came flying back and I looked at him and just felt love. I was  holding my little  tootsie pop, and I think she felt it too. No words needed to be said, just a vibe sent from my heart to hers. I don’t remember much in terms of being a  baby, but I do remember the lyrics to Catch A Falling Star, A Lover’s Concerto, and Once Upon a Time, for no other reason that I think my momma passed along the same vibe. And for all I fear I do wrong, this is the one thing I know I do right, without having to try, think, or fake it. I think my love of music is stamped on my daughter’s soul and she will carry that with her forever. She will hold with her, securely, the feelings I have for her, for my husband, for life and know they’re real. 

I will hold it forever too. Each time we dance, I am taken to a place where we are wrapped up in silk above cobble stone streets, muted light touching our noses and soft petals falling from the sky with the smell of fresh and dewy, glowing and glowing and ease…I can lay in it,  at anytime of the day, when I hear a song. Okay, now I’m gushing, with love, I am…and I’m going to say it, cheesy, cheesy, cheesy me, queen of the sap, but life is beautiful and I love it. I LOVE IT. So, world, if you see me passing, sing a song, you’ll get a smile, maybe even a hug.

Kisses and Bounce,

Flora

How I Like to Boogey

“You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose”…it kept running through my head as I stared at one of the many boogers I have pulled from baby girl’s nose.  One nose, one finger, one goober. Through this rather grotesque act, I realize that there is no ick great enough to stop me from giving baby girl everything she needs.  It grows clearer how every event in my life has led to this- this boogey. Each decision that seemed so insignificant…really…wasn’t…because of this mucus pucus on my finger. All of the things I thought I did wrong and the mistakes I thought I made with outcomes that I thought would have changed my life for the better, are no longer perceived as such because each time I chose, I chose this sticky goop that descends from her cute button nose. And she is  my friend, my dearest, closest friend, even though she’ll never know it, because she saved my life in so many ways.

So, adage of old, pardon my disaccord when I say, you really can pick your friend’s nose, you just can’t eat it.

Parum. Pum.Pum.

Flora

Hot Crossed Buns

The Proverbial ME

I take sugar and whole cream in my coffee. I once used soft butter as a dip for my bread, rather than a spread. I don’t read the label on food items and the only thing that pops to mind when you say trans fat is a car once popular amongst meatheads in the 80’s. After drinking a coca-cola, I was once showed how a coca-cola can clean a mark in the bathroom -my thoughts-please keep cleaning my bathroom.

The Proverbial YOU

You lie and tell people you like thier clothes just to make conversation. You back stab, you gossip, you judge. You only stress over things that affect you. You can call a baby ugly. You can call a homeless person lazy.

I AM NOT THE ONE POISONING MY BODY.

Flora