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A Month of Poetry

It seems that April is National Poetry month; imagine my surprise when I came to the realization- poetry is something to be celebrated! Forgive me, boor that I am. It takes me a while to come to certain realizations. You know like, “No J, your husband’s governmental agency does not have your back. You’re on your own honey.” Took me a good six months to come to that conclusion.  I lie.  I’ve known that for a long time, I was hoping it was different this time.  Anyway.

I am not a poet nor a poetry reader. I can’t see myself putting beautiful phrases together coherently and I prefer to hear poetry rather than read it. However, I can appreciate a well written poem read by a man with a beautiful voice.

To ensure I don’t have to read a lick of poetry, I have a long standing date with Garrison Keillor via “The Writer’s Almanac”. I download it to my iPod every day. I listen to the podcast while I do chores. Garrison’s voice (yes, I’m calling him by his first name as I feel like we’ve been intimate considering that I let his sultry voice entertain my auditory cavities on a daily basis) can make any household chore slip by effortlessly. I appreciate him. I’ll never take Garrison for granted. Never, ever. His is a peaceful voice, a soothing voice, a voice of sustenance in this house of chaos. He could have a “Let’s read the phone book in Swahili!” podcast and I’d subscribe. If I weren’t married, I’d marry him. Okay, he’s probably married, I’m chasing a red herring. ANYway…The Writer’s Almanac podcasts are sponsored by The Campaign for Love and Forgiveness which is another fine idea in the grand scheme of things. Out with the bad juju, in with the good. Such a good policy.

The last few weeks have taken a teeny toll on me, the boy-child has flown the coop once again, to Philadelphia of all places! Bear Bone took a lonely walk on a dark and stormy night a few nights ago. He’s back thankfully. Finally, the South America adventure has already started with the red tape kaka, not to mention that I’m sick of watching Al Diablo con los Guapos on Telemundo. Soap operas are bad in any language and actually, I’m living my own soap opera peppered with Spanish phrases right here in little ol Maryland.

Madness, it’s madness I tell ya.

Love to all, my keiki. Be good, be brave.


4 Responses

  1. oh have you seen the one where it’s spanish period soap opera? It’s delicious. And very much like the cover of a smutty romance novel. :)

  2. Like a smutty romance novel you say?! I’ll have to check it out. ;) Smutty being the operative word.

  3. Philadelphia, careful, it’s a trap. I came here for college and swore I’d leave as soon as I graduated, 20 years later I’m somehow still here.

  4. Unfortunately for him, the only family he has in Philly is a statue in German town! I want him to head back to the west coast close to the rest of the family. But, I’ve got to let him do what he needs to do.

    And you missy, you seem to have your life in order….if Smither led his life the way you do, I’d have no problem with his living in Philadelphia.

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