“Duck under the table and see what you can find,” was Father’s pat answer to the question of what was for dessert.

He was like that: quick-witted and full of comebacks.  My husband is the same, and I compound the problem by walking into it every time:

“What have you got on tomorrow?” I’ll ask, innocently enough, to which he’ll inevitably respond:

“Shorts and a T-shirt.”

The trouble with this kind of humour is that it is never obsolete – the jokes are corny and usually elicit a moan rather than a chuckle, but they are also catchy and when the kids ask:  “What are you up to?”  I can’t help myself and reply:


(These groans are brought to you by the daily prompts of obsolete (Daily Addictions), compound (Fandango), and duck (Ragtag Community).  Have a few zingers of your own?  Leave them in the comments and I’ll promise not to laugh.)

July Blues

Summer bursts with activities and plans, and I am already wondering at the folly of trying to move in the midst of it all.  I put out a group text yesterday to solicit help from our kids, and the response was as expected:

We are away that weekend.
Can we help with the pre-move prep?
Sorry, Mom.

Our youngest son has offered to dedicate a day to help with his truck, which will be great; and the others have said they could help of an evening, but we are moving outside of town, so that doesn’t make much sense.  We’ll hire help.

The other event happening this month is my 60th birthday.  I haven’t really wanted to say it aloud, or make a fuss.  It’s just another day.

“It’s an important birthday,” my husband chastises me.  “I am disappointed you haven’t heard from the kids.”

I am not.  Birthdays in July are always hit and miss.  Kids go to camp; families go on vacation.   For years, my family went away the week of my birthday.

“No worries.  I am getting a new house for my birthday! What more could I need?”

Truth is, July has always been a difficult time for me in terms of depression.   It is not   a conscious thing, but nevertheless it has taken up residence in my psyche.  It hit two days ago.  As usual, it catches me off guard.

“Where did this come from?” I wondered as the heaviness descended.  Even this morning, I felt an urge just to remain prone on my bed, lacking incentive to budge.

It wasn’t until I saw the prompts for the day that I realized the source of this discontentment:  birthday month.

It is not aging that sets me off:  in fact, sixty has a freeing ring about it.  It is a history
of disappointments and letdowns, dating back to family of origin.  I have tried to lessen the pain over the years with therapy, and yet, it lingers: a dappled bruise on my soul.  Maybe some things never heal.

“Send the kids a message that we will host a birthday celebration here,” Ric suggests.

I do.  One family is just getting back from vacation then, another out of town.  So far, one daughter can come.

“Let’s just go away,” I suggest.

And then, sometime later, another text…outside of the group chat.

“We’ve been trying to put something together Mom, as a bit of a surprise, but your messages are messing things up.”

A warmth rushes through me and I smile.  This is not the family of my childhood; these are my kids, and they care.

I had momentarily forgotten.

(Today’s prompts are as follows:  Fandango, lessen; Ragtag Community, dappled; Daily addictions, resident.  Thanks for dropping by.)





How is it that you overlook
my presence, as if
I am no more than
a blade of grass,
a ripple on the water,
our passing









You are flesh
torn from my flesh
blood coagulated,
still flowing –
hearts tied
in forever.








Rest here a while;
there is renewal
in the sun’s rays,
in the steady rhythm
of the water lapping;
in the reassurance
of friendship.



(Inspirations provided by:  Daily Addictions prompt:  indifferent;
Fandago’s: allegiance; and Ragtag Daily prompt: rejuvenate.

All photos from personal collection.)