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A bird in the bush--er, I mean house

This lil guy flew in the dining room window and couldn't figure out how to fly back out. So I reached down to pick him up and he bit me.

Well of course he bit me--how could he know I was being helpful? All he/she saw were an enormous pair of hands coming towards it. If I saw giant hands coming for me I might bite them too, if I didn't faint first.

And that's been most of the excitement around here for the past few days. Ooh, I've been taking the girls to the pool at the Y every day and that's been fun.

Except for the day I locked my glasses inside my locker and then couldn't SEE the lock enough to UNLOCK it to GET my glasses out. Or my clothes. Or anything else for that matter. I was not a happy camper, standing there in my bathing suit, banging my head against the lockers. I kept asking people as they passed me, "How's your eyesight?" It's amazing how many strangers will simply keep on walking when you ask them if they can see or not.

Finally a young mom with four little boys stopped to help me. I gave her the super-secret combination to my lock and with her young and excellent eye sight she was able to turn the tumblers to the correct numbers and open the lock on her very first try. If not for her, I might be standing there still, dripping water in my bathing suit and banging my head against the lockers. Or not.

Oh, to be young and in full possession of all my faculties.

Hey you kids! Get off my lawn!


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A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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