If I were a turkey

Turkey Lurkey says...

Turkey Lurkey says… (Photo credit: jelene)

If I were a turkey I’d start training in April

to keep from becoming a Thanksgiving staple

In May you would catch me honing my skill

on how to avoid those missiles that kill

There’d be classes on dodging a sharpshooter’s aim

and how to outrun those arrows that maim

In June I would learn how to camo my feathers

 and to quickly blend in no matter terrain or weather

In July and August under hot scorching sun,

the training would continue, none of it fun.

In September things would get really hard

This is the month I am banned from the yard

Any fat has to go, that fact remains,

No more picking at insects or gorging on grains.

October would bring full starvation mode for me

I can’t afford to look at all healthy you see

When the dreaded month arrives, if I’ve escaped the fate of many,

you would think I could relax and enjoy and eat plenty

But no!  December looms as dark as the winter,

and there are some who would have me for their Christmas dinner.

So still I’ll lie low and eat less than I desire,

to keep myself, another year from the fire.

In January I will gobble and let down my guard

and enjoy my dinner and prance through the yard.

~Yes!  Another Turkey!

~Yes! Another Turkey! (Photo credit: ~Sage~)

By  Lisa

For me?

Author: Bagande

Okay ladies, let’s get real.  It’s almost Valentines Day.  For those of us who are married or involved with someone, a large percentage of us must admit that yes, in fact, we do want something.

Granted, some of us are easier to please than others.  There are those who say, “I really don’t want anything” who really mean it.  I don’t understand these people at all, so I’m not going to spend any more time exploring that.

You have those who are perfectly content to receive a romantic card.  These will tend to be the same people who like to give cards.  Then, you have what I believe to be the largest group of all, those of us who want gifts.  I belong to this group so it’s the one I’m most familiar with.

The thing I wanted to explore is why it isn’t enough just to receive from our “loves”.  We must also share, post, tweet, call a friend and dish out our good fortune with as many as possible.  So, it seems just the gift isn’t quite enough, we need pictures and at least a little fanfare.  Perhaps the chocolate is a little bit sweeter once we brag about it to our friends.  Oh, we don’t call it bragging.  We share.

I must grudgingly admit that I have done this – Bragging, masquerading like sharing, that is.  This is embarrassing to admit because I feel like it makes me look adolescent.  But, as I’ve said again and again, many personal secrets just don’t seem that sacred anymore; I’m way happier being transparent, partly because I know without a shadow of a doubt, I am not alone.

It’s funny how sometimes either our pride or some deep-rooted insecurity causes us to think we need approval from others.  We need to make sure, especially with our closest friends, that they love him too and that they realize he really does love us.

However, to cover all the bases we don’t always have the wrong motive and often we really are just sharing something wonderful that happened in our lives with people who we love, who love us back.  This is the good kind of sharing; nothing to be ashamed of here at all.

Truth be told, I love my husband and I don’t need a gift from him to prove his love; he shows it every day.  It’s bigger than the biggest card or heart he could buy.  This should be enough for me and my motives should be remain pure in all of my conversations, pictures and posting about it.

Hopefully as the day set aside for all things romantic approaches, we will remember this and think about our knight in shining armor who took his time to make the day a little more special for us and not worry so much about what others need to know or think about it.

Also, there are a lot of hurting people out there who have either lost someone by death, or recently divorced, even recently broke up who just might not need to hear our sap.  Let’s be thoughtful regarding this as well.

And if you do get a gift, even if it’s a light up plastic flower from the corner convenience store, be thankful.

I’m hoping my love remembers the dark chocolate 🙂

Wide awake in 406

Hotel Bed

The third night in a hotel is supposed to be the one where I finally fall asleep at a decent hour and sleep through the night (for the most part).  I guess it was not to be.

I did fall asleep early, snuggled in bed, ready to make my way to dreamland by around 9pm.

Suddenly, I awake to what sounds like a car alarm going off.  Groggy. I perched myself up on the overabundance of pillows and bed coverings (I think hotels think if they put 6 pillows on the bed it will make up for the fact that not one of them are a good pillow)  to try to get my wits about me.  My heart is pounding, like hearts do when woken up in the middle of the night.

Oh, I left the television on, that must be where the sound is coming from.  I search for the remote frantically thinking the quicker I can make it stop, the better chance I have of simply falling back asleep.  Found it, click.

Okay, so now it’s pitch black in my room, but the noise is still going strong.  I stumble over to the desk, thinking for some reason that the sound is coming from that area – is it the lamp?  Did a prior sleep deprived traveler leave some sort of alarm in the drawer?

Oh hey, there’s a window.  Let me find all 3 sets of window hangings and move them out-of-the-way so I can look out.  Maybe if someone is breaking in I will see them.  “Yes, because surely they would still be there hanging out after all this time”, I say to myself sarcastically  ‘maybe they will even look up to the 4th floor and wave”.

Sure enough, it is a car, no visible intruders, flashing and honking awake everyone on this side of the hotel who happens to be a light sleeper like myself.  My husband would sleep right though it.

Since there is nothing I can do and I’m sure someone has reported to the front desk by now, I decide it best to lay down and try to go back to sleep or at least be ready to when it stops.  I realize very quickly, sleep will be elusive for quite a while.

My half asleep but overly active mind begins to try to map out scenarios of what happened.  Did someone really try to break into the car, situated under a light in full view of one entire side of the hotel?  I decide it’s more likely that it’s an accident.  Then I begin to smile as I visualize a small child with keys dangling from their fingers and an evil laugh on their lips, singing na-na-na-na-na-na.  This makes me smile.

I imagine someone hanging their keys out of a 6th floor window, trying to stop the noise.  This makes me remember that these windows are locked and that makes me feel suffocated and imprisoned, contributing to my anxiety.  Maybe someone was bored and couldn’t sleep and decided no one else should be able to have that luxury either.

Then with my detective skills I have picked up from way too many episodes of CSI and Law and Order, I remember there was a tree directly over the car and I decide that something fell out of the tree and on to the car.   Case closed; now my mind can chill and perhaps I can sleep.

Some time in the middle of my musings, it stopped. I look at the clock and determine about 8 minutes have passed.  I rest my head on the lumpy pillow and try to get comfortable enough to sleep once again.  I was still checking the clock after 11pm.

It will be good to get home and sleep in my own bed.

Your cousin’s sister’s husbands nephew

Cherish your human connections, your relationships with friends and family- Barbara Bush

Family Reunion

Family Reunion (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Granny, how am I related to him?  “Well, let’s see, you’re double kin because between Pop and me, you’re cousins on both sides”.  This was my life story, growing up in a small town.  It’s a wonder I ever found anyone to “like”.  Thankfully, by the time I was in for serious dating, we had moved away and there was a smorgasbord of available young men who I had no familial ties to whatsoever.

I originally had mixed emotions this past weekend about attending a family reunion.  When I was younger, it had seemed that being related was more trouble than anything.  The fact that I am a notorious introvert probably contributed to my angst.  The plus was that my husband would be with me and he is the opposite and usually fills in the gaps for me.

In the past, the mere thought of chatting it up all day with a large gathering of people would have sent me hunting an excuse to retreat.  This time though, I made reservations as soon as I heard about it and for the most part, looked forward to it.  Do we crave this type of interaction more as we age because we’re afraid of being old and lonely so we are trying to add to our list of go to friends?  Or, are my forties just going to continue being full of surprises for me?

We arrived at the beautiful park where it was being held and I was anxious to hear some of the almost forgotten stories, figure out who was who and get reacquainted with old friends and family. I also wanted to get a look at that family tree and try to figure out this double-kin stuff for once and for all.

I enjoyed watching the children running around, sounds of their laughter mixed with the lighthearted banter of the adults.  I took pleasure in the grandparents proudly displaying pictures of the most brilliant grandchild ever to be born and some of the “elder” cousins harmlessly arguing in the same way they probably did in their younger days.  The food was plentiful and delicious and I hoarded some of my Aunts delectable fudge for later in the hotel room.

I was honestly surprised at how much I enjoyed myself as in the past I ran from this type of event.  But on this beautiful Saturday, I found myself hoping for another one next year, making silent vows to see some of these people more often.  Some are old and we don’t know how much time we have left, to hear their stories and learn about them as well as from them.  So I ask myself again….Have I really changed that much or do I now just finally possess the wisdom to appreciate them more?

Whatever the answer, I am blessed to have so many wonderful and interesting relatives.  There are a lot of similarities and also some differences, but when all is said and done, we are blood.  We should get to know each other, be there for each other and love one another regardless of differences.


Me, long before the nickname kerplunk

Me, long before the nickname kerplunk


The smell of the low tide on the way home tonight brought back more childhood memories.  You know how you can be somewhere and just get a whiff of something and it can take you back to a specific time in your life?

My dad was a commercial fisherman and stone crabber and we were out on the water a lot growing up.  It’s hard to remember exactly how old I was, but I think I was around 10 or 11 and I must have been going through a gawky, clumsy stage.  One year my dad gave me the nickname “kerplunk”.  It wasn’t one of those nicknames that last you for the rest of your life (thank goodness!)  It was a nickname for a season.  And let me tell you, that particular season, I earned it.

It seemed that we couldn’t be in the boat or actually anywhere near a body of water without me falling in. “Kerplunk”, he would say.   I was thinking today that maybe the fact that dad started calling me that made me fall in even more, since our words hold such power.

I remember one time he was fishing and there was a large cooler in the boat and at the time the lid was halfway off.  I was precariously perched on the edge of it and before I knew it, I was overboard and trying to get back in the boat.  “Kerplunk”.  Another time, my dad was stopped near a mangrove tree and had told us all to sit down as he was about to take off.  In all my youthful stupidity, I thought it would be a cool idea to hang on to the mangrove branch as my dad moved forward.

The next thing I know, I’m hanging from the branch as the boat speeds away.  I thought it was pretty funny until the branch broke.   I screamed and they looked back about the time I found myself going under.  Thankfully, I did know how to swim.  I can still remember how the oyster shells felt when they cut through the tender flesh in the salty water.  My dad gave me a piece of his mind that day for that one, but he had to feel sorry for me at the same time.  I was a pathetic, bawling, dripping mess by the time they picked me up.

Then, it seemed that as quickly as my “kerplunk” incidents began, they just stopped happening.  I guess you could probably say I learned my lesson, started paying more attention instead of trying to merely get attention.  Even though it’s kind of an embarrassing one, it’s a good memory, because I remember all the good times we had out in the boat.  I’ll have to remind my dad about that the next time I see him.

Mitch Teemley

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