Authors, writers, bloggers, all seem the same in different degrees. Some take themselves very seriously, others are dedicated to one subject such as cooking, gardening, photography, politics, long stories, chapters of books, cartoons, jokes, short anecdotes, or sales. We’re all selling ourselves in a way, wanting interaction, contact, reaction, or comments. We seek recognition, hoping that what we write will spark a thought in someone else, agree or disagree, but acknowledge our tinkering with words.
The Prompt today is co. This is appropriate for me, because I think of my relationship with my daughter as co parent. Yes she has a wonderful husband and in-laws and eight children, but I think we co parent each other. She is always there for me and vice versa. She pushes me to do things I probably should but don’t and we consult on life situations like cos do!😂.
The last two weeks have been nerve wracking for me and of course her, in turn. I had a colonoscopy on August first and had to wait til yesterday to know results. You may have noticed I haven’t been a barrel of laughs lately, partly because of worry, and pain. But today I found the polyps removed were large and pre cancerous, not colon cancer and revisit the lovely procedure in six months.
I wouldn’t have been worried as much if I hadn’t already had uterine and bladder cancer–so thought, okay, maybe I should have the lower half of my body removed to be healthy! Pain in my lower back for other reasons had me worried. That’s the worst thing about cancer. Even if they say operation successful, you are cured, it seems any abnormal pain makes your brain click into fear overdrive and that’s what I’ve been living with the last two years.
Anyone you have a close relationship with shares these fears even if they don’t talk about it. It’s probably even worse for them. That’s what co means to me.
Bottom line, pun intended, I am okay and relieved. So celebrate your health, go for tests, take care of yourself, and if you have questions, are afraid of anything, ask me, or talk to me, I am always here if you want to ask me anything, I’ll answer honestly. My email is provided.
The capitol grew rank in the summer heat, the humid streets clogged with sweating tourists and rats. Not a pretty picture painted here, but it is truthful. The city streets are always crowded, throngs of people pushing, shoving, bumping, walking, jogging, running, and then someone stops dead to answer his phone and bodies pile up behind, accordion fashion and the yells, moans, and groans begin.
I wonder if it’s worth it, all this mess of humanness clogging up the path of everyday life. People, trying to get to their destination, always in a hurry. The blur of humanity. There is no politeness, no pardon me, I’m sorry, no holding a door, I’m in too much of a hurry. Besides I’m on my phone, I can’t be bothered. Anyone I’m calling, texting or reading is more important than your living breathing body next to me.
We humans are a mess. More and more of us each day jumble together haphazardly ignoring our environment, our peers, our loved ones, and do not take the time to just stop, even for five minutes to be polite, or smile at a stranger, say please or thank you, or appreciate being alive. Taking advantage, getting ahead, money motivated–is this really success? Is this the life you dreamed of when you were twenty?
He was so tired he could barely hold on to the walking stick. Would his search ever be over he wondered. It had been many days since his faithful sheepdog, Marley had disappeared. The old sheep herder was determined to find him, no matter how long it took.
Growing frail from not eating his usual homemade meals and walking nonstop caused him pain, but he kept going. His lips were dry from whistling the familiar call Marley would recognize. He had heard stories of dogs returning from great distances. If you never had a constant companion like Marley, you wouldn’t understand. Every day the man felt it would be this sunset he would sit down to rest on a grassy patch and finally see Marley running up to him. He believed even the sheep felt his absence.
This cloudy day the rainy mist covered the valley below. Perhaps Marley had taken shelter in that grove of trees. Just a few steps more and maybe, possibly, hopefully, he would whistle and see Marley’s silhouette.
I’ve had a few back fences in my life but the one I’ll tell about today was in Colorado, around a big grassy yard where our kids and dogs played. When we first bought the home, the yard was gorgeous green soft grass, unlike the St. Augustine we had in Texas.
When we moved in, there was a flower garden and after we adopted our wolf shepard mix, the yard took a beating. When he ran across the lawn, his big paws made divots of course. The fence was chain link and even though he could have just hopped over with ease, he never did. The neighbors loved to greet and pet him and he was big enough he could lay half over but never pushed himself the whole way. He was a guard dog for us and two side neighbors.
Neighbors directly behind our fence had a dangerous boy who’s pastime was throwing knives, too close to the swing set our kids used in our yard. That’s another story. Directly outside the back kitchen door there was a circular style wooden fence that held the flower garden with a large cottonwood tree in the center. We had a cedar deck built around the tree and also a bench circling the tree to sit on.
Having only a chain link fence offers little privacy, which would have been fine except for the boy directly behind us. We lived there for eighteen years, our kids grew up there and I still miss that house and yard.
What does all this mean, he queried. He had seen graffiti before, enjoyed the pictures on stones, but this was strange to his alien mind.
New earth visitors were often curious, mostly muddled, wondering what these numbers symbolized, and the only thing he recognized was the overdrawn peace symbol.
The peace symbol was universal, even in his galaxy. Every species called for peace, he thought to himself. After researching the numbers, he found 666 was a sign of hatred, the devil or its works; 420 a drug, and 69 was completely puzzling, finding no relatable information in his memory bank.
You must be logged in to post a comment.