My Christmas Eve

You Never Know

We split the shopping duties
to better gain our quest
Husband Paul went east
I pushed the baskcart west

Four days lay between us
and our deadline: Christmas Day
we were highly optimistic
we could reach our goal this way

Determined to be focused
I'd memorized my list
and mumbled to my self
I need this and this and this

Once, twice a third time
Paul called me on my cell
asking me if this was right
or would that one do as well

With each call and decision
I lost my train of thought
was that wallet on my list
or was it already bought?

No matter what temptation
from above or below
I was going to be cheerful
so much that all would know

It was a little crowded
as I knew it would be
but I worked to stay composed
most ardently

A quite serious test
I managed to pass
when a woman rammed my ankle
with her baskcart when she passed

She gouged it with a vengence
like it had no earthly right
to be in the popcorn aisle
at six o'clock that night

It took my breath away
and I looked into her face
and saw an expression
I'd seen before someplace

It was de'ja'vu
Oh goodness could it be
the phantom baskcart woman
back to de-ankle me?

In the days of long ago
in a store not far from here
I was pushing a baskcart
shopping, in good cheer

Then suddenly a gasp
filled up my lungs
when pain struck my ankle
causing me to speak in tongues

The driver of that cart
gave me an angry look
dissolving my anger
as dismay overtook

And here she is again!
What could her problem be?
And why in the world
does she have to baskcart me?

Hobbling along
trying to smile through the pain
I grab a few items
that still float in my brain

Then off to meet Paul
at the checkout line
he shows me his items
I show him mine

When I show him my ankle
imagine my surprise
when he laughes out loud
and says, "I can't believe my eyes!"

He recalls the first account
of the baskcart ankle attack
I had published it years ago
and gotten great feedback

We both had the same question
what made this lady so mad
had life done something to her
or was it a condition she had?

The woman before us in line
began checking out
while Paul watched her process
I fiddled about

I heard the cashier and Paul
talking and turned to see
the woman who had just checked out
was the one who had baskcarted me!

They were discussing her demeanor
she looked so mad and dour
she was silent but her mouth was pursed
like she was eating something sour

I said, "That's her!
She's the ankle hater!"
"At least she hates mine
that's an indicator."

"I don't know", said Paul
"She didn't attack mine.
But, she was very rude
while going through this line."

"Yes", agreed the cashier.
She didn't speak a word.
That's highly unusual.
In fact, its absurd."

"What would cause someone," I asked
"to be so doggone rude?'
And pointing to my ankle added,
"and dangerous and crude?"

Troubles, health, or just plain mean
the causes were debated
Was the baskcart lady angry?
or really constipated?














Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Written on 2010-12-22 at 08:05

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by Phyllis J. Rhodes

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Preparations
I Used To Be Shy
Doggie Sitting
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October Moon Haiku


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Preparations

(cristes maesse)

I've seen the movies
shopped the mall
baked the cookies
watched snow fall
trimmed the tree
plugged in the lights
wrapped many gifts
late into the nights
listened to music
of peace and joy
heard ads for every
gadget and toy

I've bought the food
thawed the turkey
conquered meringue
which is always quirky
I've dispatched dust
and banished dirt
scented the air
with a warm dessert
my table is set
my house is clean
its decorated
in red and green

The mood is festive
the details fulfilled
everyone coming
is sure to be thrilled
I've walked through each room
noted all I've done
with great care to forget
no thing or no one

Now I glance a last time
at the gifts piled high
beneath the bright tree
and wearily sigh

The meal is ready
everyone has arrived
we eat with gusto
we won't be deprived

Now we head for the tree
presents are passed
paper is flying
there are giggles and gasps

Stuffed toys are snuggled
a doll laughs and cries
a football is passed
a remote plane flys
earrings sparkle
a new robe is warm
electronics are everywhere
there's a cute wooden farm

Music's a big hit
with drums and guitar
I pods and CDs
will make a rock star
shirts, ties and socks
normal Dad things
gloves for the mothers
and yes, powders and creams

The paper is torn
the ribbons are broken
the bows are tossed
the boxes are opened
The pile is high
a trash bag is needed
Christmas is over
my check list completed

Goodbys are said
with kisses and hugs
and I turn from the door
to straighten the rugs
fatigue overcomes me
and I struggle to rise
when a flash of red
catches my eyes
Another package?
I think with doubt
as I stretch my arm
to pull it out

Down on all fours
I have to go
to reach the back boughs
hanging low
mostly hidden
behind the tree
I pull out a box
marked 1953
The cardboard is peeling
the corners are worn
tape has been pulled off
retaped and torn

Crumpled newspaper
from when I was just five
wrap small figurines
that had looked so alive
back in those days
when I stared in awe
at the tiny babe
lying on straw
with cows and sheep
and his Momma and Joseph
watching him sleep

I sing an old carol
and set up the scene
how could I have forgotten
what all of this means
A baby, the angels
some shepherds, the star
young Mary, good Joseph
wisemen afar

I close my eyes
I bow my head
I say a prayer
I go to bed
In my dreams
I hope to see
the truth of Christ
God's "maesse" for me




Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Written on 2010-12-20 at 06:20
More of my poems can be found on Poetbay.com

Phlegming In Public Pools

A cold is an evil little bug that has no peers when it comes to nasty. It has to be the meanest, rottenest, vilest creature on earth. I give it that title because since mankind began, no effort from all humanity has succeeded in ridding the world of this costly and destructive pest. Consider what mankind has achieved. People have walked on the face of the moon. We’ve probed outer, outer space and can see what is out there. We’ve found the cure to many deadly diseases. We’ve cloned animals. We’ve spanned vast bodies of water with bridges. We’ve explored miles into the earth and oceans. We’ve made machines that fly and perform tasks like human beings. We talk to each other, and see each other from thousands of miles away. We transplant hearts and hands. We’re pretty smart beings. But that danged little bug has us in its control.
My husband Paul and I have been dealing with colds for over three weeks now. He has a week’s head start on me. Since the bug moved into our lives I estimate we have spent $10 on tissues, $6 on extra toilet paper (we use it when tissues aren’t right at hand), $68 on over the counter meds (antihistamines, decongestants, sore throat lozenges, cough meds, achy muscles, etc), $12 vitamin C, $13 juices, $5 anti germ gel. That’s $114, a conservative estimate and we are still not well.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS YUKKY. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Let me just say upfront, in my opinion, phlegm is as gross or grosser than anything that can exit from the human body. It is why I hate going out in public with a cold. It isn’t something that’s going to kill me but it is an embarrassing condition. Like gas, its expressions are so rude. Hearing myself blow my nose makes me cringe. Hearing someone else blow their nose makes me wince more. However, much worse than that is hearing someone (usually a child) sniff a loaded nose up instead of blowing it out. That gives me a stomach churn. Next on the list of cold gross outs is hearing someone cough up some phlegm. That gives me a double churn. If they don’t take out a tissue or hanky and put it to their mouth after such a cough, I know they have swallowed what they coughed up. That puts my stomach in complete rebellion and ready to reject something of its own. The absolute worse cold gross out is hearing someone go after a deep pool of thick nasty phlegm with every ounce of hack strength they can gather, then wait for their choice of disposal. Oh, mercy me, my stomach is now totally grossed out. Nothing is worse than this, EXCEPT, when I have a chest and head full of phlegm to deal with.
Just what is the etiquette for dealing with cold issues? As nice as it would be for everyone to be able to stay home until a cold is completely over, it just isn’t reality. So what do we do with our sneezing, coughing, spitting selves when in public? I pack a gazillion tissues in my purse. When I sneeze one goes to my nose and mouth to wipe every bit of expulsion. Often it takes two. When I cough I do the same thing. What’s difficult is when a cough brings up “material” only part way into the throat. I cannot stand to swallow it back down and I cannot bear to make the sound that would bring it all the way up into my tissue. I’m stuck with coughing small coughs while fighting the natural impulse to swallow. If the swallowing mechanism wins, I am in danger of really gagging without control. That is a terrible expression of sight and sound in public. Ugh, what to do, what to do.
What do people like Hillary Clinton and Michelle O’Bama do when they have colds? What does someone like Prince Philip or his wife do if they cough up phlegm in public? Do they have people at hand to wipe their noses for them? Are they allowed to spit the nasty stuff up? Can they hock it up into a tissue if they stick their pinkies out? They probably don’t use tissues. They probably have a dozen royal hankies at hand at all times. I’m sure it is one use only per hanky. What about Angelina Jolie? Can you see her spitting out phlegm? There are some people I’d love to give a cold to. Can you see Bin Laden with a cold? I’ll bet he uses his beard as a hanky. It probably gets stiff from a runny nose. You might think its ice, but it snot. Tee hee.

Where Did I Go While I Was Living

For the past 30 years something strange has been happening. I’ve noticed with each birthday I’ve lost more and more of myself. I’m at the point now that my body has been completely replaced by one someone else must have thrown out. And much of my mind is missing.
I first noticed a change in my body after my second child was born and I wasn’t able to wear my pre pregnancy clothes home from the hospital as I did after my first child was born two years earlier. About 18 months later when I retired my milk factories, they just hung around instead of taking their former places. Also, my body’s baby bed didn’t go all the way back to the wall as it had before. So I had to scoot it back a bit at a time with sit ups. This is about as much fun as hemorrhoids (which can be the result of giving birth then doing sit-ups).
After the torture (only terrorists should experience) of having hemorrhoids removed, one avoids all strenuous pushing. That led to other unpleasant issues which led to…. strenuous pushing. Then, unexpectedly, the baby mechanisms were called back into duty. This time nothing even attempted to return to pre pregnancy form. But, with three kids and a dog to chase and a house to keep I was able to take off the extra pounds and end up with the right weight even if it was redistributed downward.
It was about this time I noticed some new coloring on my skin. Freckles started appearing on my arms, legs, hands and face. Being a sun lover, that wasn’t too surprising. But along with the freckles there were these white, pigment-free spots. It was as though the color from these spots had left there and moved next door to join the pigment there creating bigger darker freckles. As time went on I became a brown and white speckled creature sort of like a baby bird.
Next I noticed white showing up on my head. Mixed in with my brown silky tresses were white course ones. Slowly my head was becoming a dish scrubbing pad. And my eyebrows were turning so long, white and course I needed wire cutters to trim them.
If that weren’t bad enough, hair stopped growing from the outer part of my brow. I was left with brows above just the inner half of my eyes. This means I have to do something I swore I would never do; pencil in fake brows to complete the line. It doesn’t matter how good an artist you are, you aren’t going to fool anyone. No brow pencil is your exact color or three dimensional. I have seen this look on women of a certain age all my life and always shake my head at their futility and bad taste. Now I know why they do it. As ridiculous as it looks, it’s better than being a half-brow. Half-brows can give wrong messages with their facial expressions, kind of like signaling with half the flags or smoke you need. You might be pulling an, “I’m really interested in what you’re saying” look, but with your half-brows it looks like, “If you don’t shut up I’m going to wrap your tongue around you uvula.”
Cruelly, after my brows became half-growers, my chin picked up what my brows dropped! One day I was looking in the mirror sideways and saw a long hair on my chin. I reached up to brush it off believing it to be a stray from my scalp. But it wouldn’t brush. It was attached! Apoplectic, I grabbed my tweezers and yanked that thing like a skunk in church, but, to my dismay, more cropped up over the weeks that followed. Now I must diligently peruse a small patch on my chin and pick any unwanted crop growing there.
As the general downward slide progressed it widened my body and rounded my face. Places that curved inward straightened and some went even further and curved out. I began to think I was melting during the night. I had begun to have night sweats so bad I would launch the covers up and over my husband onto the floor on his side. He would soon be awakened by his own rattling bones and wonder how all the blankets had ended up on the floor. After a few time of this he finally woke up during one of my launches and questioned why I didn’t just quietly pull them off myself. Not being cognizant enough to give an intelligent answer clued me onto the loss of brain cells. Evidently they were leaking out when my wiry hair pushed out my silky hair. I soon became aware of times when I couldn’t remember what had taken place the day before. I couldn’t find anything, including words. I’d have to stop in the middle of a sentence to search of a name or word I knew two moments before. It was like they skittered away and hid just to torment me.
So, I’ve been melting for a long time now. My body looks very much like an often used candle. Wax has run down the sides and left bumpy lumps all around. My brain matter has melted and pooled at the bottom of the candle. I’m no longer tall and tapered and elegant. I’m short, misshaped and bumpy. I’ll soon be able to tie my cheeks under my chin and use them as neck warmers. And if I want to measure myself for a new bra, I’ll have to take my socks off!

Basketball Begins

Skid into the drive while pushing garage door opener. Keep driving as door slowly opens. Whew! Cleared the bottom of the door. Rush in the house. Drop purse on table. Throw open fridge, pantry, cabinets. Gather edibles and utensils. Place on tray. Scurry downstairs. Deposit tray on table in front of couch. Grab remote………remote? Remote! Where’s the remote?? Tense body. Growl and pull hair. Throw cushions off two couches and two chairs. No remote. Look under said pieces of furniture. No remote. Give up search. Walk to TV and push “ON” button. Oh, remote on top of TV. Punch buttons. Dang! Miss punched. Try again. Dang, did it again!! Push again. There! Sit on edge of couch. Fix eyes on TV. And finally, after 8 month wait, IT BEGINS!!

YES!! Swallow cracker. Go, go, go, go, go! Gulp water. Get back! Get back! Pop a grape. What?!! Are you blind?! Foul, foul! Rotate, rotate!! No, no, no, don’t take that shot! Argh! Time out! Call a time out! Yessss! Yesss! Whaa Hooo! Charging? THAT was charging?? If that was a charge I’m a Puke, I mean a Duke fan!! (oooo, I shiver just thinking about that). Whoa! Did you see that move? (No answer from the cat. She obviously didn’t see it.) What’s the deal here? Mugging is now legal? Get some glasses!

Ohhhh, Stop reaching in! Miss, miss, miss! Rebound, rebound! Grab it like its Beyonce’s booty! (Probably shouldn’t have said that. But just the cat heard me.) What a great pass! Now you’re cookin with gas!... Jump up on couch. Punch air. YEA BABY! You got some air time!..... No, no, no, pass it, pass it, you’re out of control. Pull up! Oh, wow! How did you do that? Sorry kid, I was wrong…. Three, three, three! We’re on fire, we’re burning the nets! Three grapes, a piece of cheese and a cracker end up in my mouth at the same time. Choking. Reaching for water. Keeping eyes on TV. Knock water over onto plate of snacks. Still choking. Can’t faint now we need a basket! Bend over. Keep eyes on TV. Give violent heave of air. Mushy food ball splats TV screen obscuring brilliant dunk. Arrgggh! Rush to wipe screen and await replay. BEAUTIFUL!! ………

Standing 2 ft. from the screen pacing. Eighteen point lead down to 9. No fingernails left. Toe nails pealed to the quick. Yanking on hunks of hair. Oh, no. Oh, no. Come on guys, don’t blow it now! Sit down on couch. Pull pillow tight into knotted stomach. Rock back and forth. Chew lip. Liggins at the free throw line. Hold breath. YES!!! Rock some more, chew lip, hold breath. YES!! He hit them both!!

PLAY DEFENSE! HEY REF! THERE’S THE CHARGE!! CHARGE, CHARGE, CHARGE!! MAN THAT WAS A TEDDY ROSEVELT!!! Stand up, pick up exercise elastic band. Pull it as far apart as I can. Relax. Pull apart. Relax. Step on one end of band. Pull up high as possible. OUTLET PASS, DUNK!! WHATAPLAYILIKEYOMAMMA! Forget I'm standing on stretched out elastic. Jump off floor. WHOMP!

Eyes, nose and mouth mule kicked. No mule. Confused. Can’t focus. Buzzer sounding. Game over? Sea of blurry blue arms waving. WE WON!! GO BIG BLUE!! Boy that was fun!
Paaauuullllll, I need an ice pack!

If You Want To Know What I Think


I enjoy Haikus, short Japanese poems, often on a subject in nature. They have three non rhyming lines. The first and third lines have five syllables. The second line has seven. I often take liberties with this form of poetry by rhyming or increasing them to three verses. I wrote this three verse Haiku after a weekend of dog sitting Jake for my daughter and son-in-law. Jake is a year old Aussie, bred to herd whatever needs herding. Jake needs lots of exercise. If Jake doesn’t get a thorough workout one way, he will get it another.

Dog sitting spastic
year old Australian Shepherd
Stop, you’re herding me

Meows, growls, hissing
will not deter pup’s torments
Cat, catatonic

Stairs more hazardous
straddling a canine’s snout
Too wet and nosey

Husband Paul thought it was a good idea to have a sleep over with our three youngest grandkids. I’m always up for grandkids, but this evening there would be an additional grand. Year old Jake was coming for the weekend. Daughter Jenna and husband Bryon were off for an anniversary getaway. Also in this mix is the resident cat, Lily. She doesn’t like anyone but me, which is very strange. I’ve been trying to disown her since Jenna brought her here temporarily eight years ago.

This menagerie hit while Paul was running errands. Luke 6, Mac 5 and Maddie 3 came fully charged. Jake always is. When he discovered the kids, he became a hairy spinning top on spring loaded shoes, high on a case of 5 Hour Energy. He barked as he bounced like a soprano on a pogo stick. Wiley Coyote and the name ACME came to mind. Three hyped up kids running amok in a small house with a basement was stimulation overload for Jake. This was his first job! Or so he thought. First he had to gather them, and then he had to figure out where to put them.

I tried to keep the kids and the dog on separate levels but in their hyper excitement they couldn’t remember to close that basement door. Up and down I went trying to corral somebody, anybody. The problem was, so did Jake. If he wasn’t distracted, there was no way to keep him from getting past that door. I couldn’t close it fast enough. So most of my trips up and down the stairs were aided by lots of nips at my ankles and if I wasn’t moving fast enough, I got crotched.

The kids tried playing Twister. So did Jake. Right foot on green circle. Left hand on blue circle. Left foot in dog’s mouth. Right foot on red circle. Dog’s nose in boy’s groin… (Note: call Homeland Security. Canine nose for pat down woes?)

We ditched Twister. I tried separation again; kids downstairs, dog upstairs. That lasted about five minutes. Someone wanted crackers. Someone else wanted juice. Light sabers were called for. The three grandchildren were full into Star Wars play. They were jumping on and off the jumping couch and chair (yes, I have furniture just for that purpose), challenging all bad droids and using The Force to win the day. I was on a mission for supplies. I ran up the stairs quietly, slowly turned the knob and cracked the door. Boom! My head met the door like a hammer. Jake stretched that two inch opening wide enough to pin me against the stairwell wall and give him room to bound down the steps two at a time, barking with a laugh that said, ‘TA DA! You can’t stop an Aussie. We’re fast and saucy. For herding’s sake, just call on Jake!”

He jumped into the action like a greyhound on speed. To quote my late Father, “If he had looked back, he’d have run through himself.” In the small confines he had to use his cutting abilities to stop and change directions sometimes in mid air. Ninja Dog! The kids jumped from couch to chair to floor and back to the couch again. For all his good intentions, Jake simply didn’t understand the situation. It had to be frustrating for the poor fellow. Young as he is, he wanted to show he had skills. But the kids weren’t cooperative. To distract him I thought about pouring a bowl full of marbles out on the kitchen floor and telling Jake to “get em!” That would challenge his herding instincts. Though I think Shepherds only herd living things, I don’t know if Jake would have known the difference in his state of arousal.

Lily? She dispatched Jake from under my bed with a gutter growl and a flurry of lethal claw slaps. I read her thoughts “Herd a cat? Fatuous, addlepated, asinine, canine cretin.”

This Little Piggy Went Crazy

I was reading my Bible when my mind reminded me that I should write a new column today. Yeah, my mind wonders a lot that way. It is frustrating to be trying to concentrate on The Word, only to realize your mind went somewhere else two verses ago. The same thing happens when I try to pray. I'll be into a serious prayer, when at some point I'm shocked to realize my brain is singing, "She'll Be Comin' Around The Mountain When She Comes". My mind has a mind of its own and I haven't been able to corral it all my 62 years.

Anyway, my mind recalled a column I wrote years ago about what happened when I asked God if there was anything funny in the Bible. Where but from God, did people get their senses of humor? So why wasn't I hearing pastors quote scriptures and tell stories from the Bible that left me giggling, if not cracking up? So I double-dog dared God to show me something in the Bible that would make me laugh. And I used the method all we well seasoned, mature Christians use when we just have to know something. No, I didn't fast or meditate or call others wise in God's ways to join me in this search. I closed my eyes, randomly opened my Bible and put my finger down right on Mark 5:1. God had taken the dare. I began reading. At verse 13 I burst into laughter. I had read this story before and somehow missed the outrageous humor of it. Holding my side as tears rolled down my cheeks, I had to say, okay God, I give. You win. You are hilarious!!

As I began reading this story, a screen came into my mind and I watched the whole episode as I read, just as though I was seeing it live. Jesus got out of a boat and was met by a lunatic. The guy had demons. He hung out at the graveyard and ran through the tombs screaming and cutting himself with stones. Imagine being accosted by a naked* bloody man, running through the tombs screaming every time you went to place flowers at a tomb. It would certainly cut down on Memorial Day visits. There is no telling how much he was costing the town florist. Burials there were likely quick and poorly attended. The townspeople, who just hated that this freak was in their neighborhood, would capture him and put him in chains. But his demons were so strong, he broke the chains and went back to the tombs making enough noise to wake the dead.

When Jesus arrived on shore, his greeting party was a pack of demons inside this poor guy's body. They knew who Jesus was. They called him "Son of the Most High God". When he asked the man his name the demons said "My name is Legion for we are many." Then they begged Jesus not to cast them out. I can't speak for Jesus but I know he had good reasons for his actions. And since God said this was funny, I can't help thinking Jesus chuckled when he decided to do what the demons asked. There was a herd of 2000 pigs on a nearby hillside and the demons asked to be sent into them. Jesus agreed.

Think about 2000 pigs just lying back, giving a grunt now and then, maybe rolling in the mud, cooling it up on this hill. I imagine the guys tending to them didn't have a lot of excitement in their work day. Unless a squealer alerted them to a problem, another pig hogging their mud spot maybe, the keepers probably had time to lean against a rock or tree and doze. I'm thinking that was the situation on this day. The weather was probably pretty warm and the pig herders were appreciating the shade and any nice breeze that came along. Like the pigs, some may have been fully asleep and some in the dreamy zone. I'm seeing this all on the movie screen in my mind, remember, in full color.

So Jesus says to the demons, okay, go! And he watches with great anticipation and a smile. Suddenly all 2000 lazy pigs jump to their feet, squeal like banshees and take off in mass, down the hill, over a cliff and into the water! The piercing sound of 2000 pigs squealing, struck the lazy herders like lightening. Up they jumped, dazed and confused, in time to watch stunned and helpless as all that pork, running as fast as their short little legs could carry them, launched themselves off that cliff. Talk about when pigs fly! This scene put me in stitches. I could see the looks on the herders' faces, and watching 2000 porkies raining off a cliff into the water below is a sight I can't describe. They cried wee, wee, wee, all the way down.

I don't think people out on the river fishing ever saw such a sight. I can see a couple of guys in a boat who've fished all day in all their best spots with no success. Sitting facing away from the shore talking about giving up they suddenly hear these monumental splashes behind them. Imagine their reaction. Instead of a massive school of huge bass or catfish they jerk around to see pigs pouring over a cliff. Being Jews, who consider pigs unclean and taboo, they probably said something like "Oe vey"! There goes my career, and I still have 25 payments on this boat!" (excuse my Yiddish. I'm clueless)

Then there were the people hanging around the area who witnessed the whole thing. Big eyes and dropped jaws everywhere. They were so traumatized they asked Jesus to leave. He scared the wits out of them after seeing the sausage stampede he caused. And what about the poor guy who had been possessed? He suddenly has his own mind and realizes he is bloody, muddy, naked and empty. Wow, what to do first? Here you are, naked in front of God and everybody. Do you run to the nearest rock to hide behind, or try to cover yourself with your hands? What this fellow wanted to do was go with Jesus. But Jesus told him to go and tell everybody what God had done for him. Other accounts explain that he got dressed and did what Jesus said. He was no longer empty either. God had taken the place left by the demons. And what about those ninnies? Well, they drowned. I can see Jesus with a quiet smile on his face as he sent the fellow off to his family a whole person. I can hear God whisper "great job son", with a voice Jesus recognized as amused and pleased.

This story was great fun for me when I was shown a different perspective that day. But it is primarily an event that has a great many important lessons. I hope you will study it for that reason. But I know God won't mind if you have a little fun with it too.

*Luke 8:26-37
Matthew 8: 28-34 also gives an account that has two men being healed

This is the story of my fracture adventure that began on 29 July 2010!


KICKBALL

Nearly 62
In improper shoes
I made the foolish call
Lets all play kickball

Ages 2, through 10
The 6 assured they'd win
How hard could it be
That young gang against me

First up I scored twice
The feeling was oh so nice
Then I snagged their first kicker's bounce
and prepared to make my pounce

My torso shot ahead
But my feet felt like lead
and failed to arrive
before my face took a dive

I plowed a painful row
With my glasses, face and nose
Then somehow flipped around
and jabbed my elbow to the ground

It jammed an exposed root
like a steel-toed biker's boot
Then I felt two snaps and a crunch
and a threat to rerun my lunch

Ow, ow, escaped my lips
before I made any more slips
I did not want to fright
The kids who saw the sight

As they hovered above my head
their eyes thought I was dead
Dirt and blood adorned my face
and my arm looked out of place

When assured I wasn't done
Joey asked, call 911?
but the little ones showed fear
so no sirens they should hear

As I lay upon the ground
in my pocket the older ones found
my cell phone working fine
and they dialed line after line

Four unanswered calls were made
Then their bravery began to fade
As I looked into their eyes
I could see panic began to rise

3 year old Daisy began to cry
as brother Joey continued to try
with cousin Madison to call
someone to help, anyone at all

3 year old Zoe and Maddie 2
asked, "Are you alright. Can I help you?"
5 year old Mac studied my case
and got just the thing for my face

A bag of ice should do the trick,
stop the bleeding and remove the stick
and the dirt and leaves mixed in
that covered my face from forehead to chin

With the efforts of each child
I praised them in a voice as mild
as I could find in my throat
which came out sounding like a goat

So much ground beneath the oak
filled my mouth I began to choke
But with each earthy coughing spell
I assured the kids I was doing well

I sat up and attempted to rise
hoping to calm Daisy's cries
I wanted to stop her panic and fears
prevent a trauma that could last for years

But she didn't calm when she saw I could walk
or when she heard me calmly talk
So I sat back down and held my arm
to prevent another cause for alarm

My head protested when I stood
with a little spin it said "No good."
And my stomache began to churn
a revolt would accompany another turn.

Suddenly two jeeps, a truck and a car
parked in the drive, flower bed and yard
Everyone who was needed had arrived
My callers' efforts had finally jived

Looks on the adults' faces
betrayed their attempts at social graces
I must have been a sight to see
dirt caked my eyes, mouth, nose and me.

blood with mud, leaves and grass
gathered in a nasty mass
at the bridge of my nose
where my glasses usually go

But my glasses were not there
just a bloody slice where
a flap of skin was peeled back
like a banana for a snack

As I spit out mud and leaves
I was helped to my knees
as I gave the alarm
DO NOT TOUCH MY RIGHT ARM

Husband flinched at my condition
but saved his critical rendition
of what I should and shouldn't do
with kids ten or five or two

As for me my only thought
was what this accident would wrought
I wanted to know if and when
I'd play with my friends again

Madison, Joey and Daisy
won't let me be lazy
Maddie, Mac and Luke
Are certainly no fluke

Nathan, Lincoln and Lily,
and Gabe so funny and silly
Every child who wants my time
cares nothing about my prime

They only know I care
and am willing to share
myself as best I can
and will be their biggest fan

We arrive at emergency care
and people everywhere
looked at me in surprise
with wide open eyes

I guess I was a sight see
There was no wait for me
Should their rush cause me alarm?
Did I break more than my arm?

One thing was really strange
I wasn't feeling any pain
It was shock I was told
that was making me so bold

Xrays told the full story
The site of the break was gory
My elbow was in tatters
My bones all had shattered

It was all gloom and doom
As they gathered in my room
It is really, really bad
is what the doctor said

They gave me shots and started to clean
the horrid face I hadn't seen
and picked leaves and sticks from my hair
I hadn't realized were there

I laughed when husband said
I looked like the living dead
No wonder Daisy flipped
I turned Zombie when I tripped

At the hospital a doctor came in
and told me once again
"Your arm is a mess, I fear
I want to make that very clear"

Goofy from meds I grinned
I wasn't thinking how I'd mend
Painless and a little buzzed
I was thinking how cute he was

I was warned the chances I'd make
a full recovery weren't great
But they would do their very best
And I'd have to do the rest

Sweetie, I thought, whatever
Lets start on this endeavor
Use your skills and do your duty
I'm so glad my Doc's a cutie

That was three months ago
and I have a lot to show
A scar that's long but clean
and I don't mind if its seen

It hides screws and a plate of metal
that have helped the bones to settle
back where they were meant to be
before I fell beneath that tree

Mobility is so much more
than what I thought was in store
Thanks to intense therapy
by therapists dedicated to me

Two really good looking guys
young but oh so wise
in teaching an elbow to bend
and helping an old cougar mend

With work I can still improve
So I continue to work and move
And whatever I strides I make
I will thankfully take

I know above all human skills
It was God's love and what he wills
that has seen me through this test
and gives me hope for the best

Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Written on 2010-11-02

Long ago and not so far away, I was 40 years old and thought too old to live.
That was then and I was such a fool, cause 20 years have passed and I am still around.

The above statement was written while Karen Carpenter was in my mind singing, "Long ago, and oh so far away I fell in love with you before the second show....." Anyway, time sure does fly! It was way back then that I started writing for Green Banner Publications. I primarily covered the news of Sellersburg for The Leader but also covered sports for a number of high schools in Clark County and during tournament time some in Harrison and Scott Counties. I also had a column called "If You Want To Know What I Think" that ran in the Leader, Banner Gazette, Giveaway and the other papers at GBP. I enjoyed writing those more than any other part of my job and from the response I got, many readers felt the same. So, after ten years, I have decided to come out of retirement and see if anyone still wants to know what I think.
For those that know me by my writing I will tell you that no, I haven't gotten over myself. I am worse. Knowing how I nearly became apoplectic when each birthday came around, can you imagine how I felt this October 4 when I turned 62, an age that should belong to my mother, God rest her soul. And no, I still haven't had a face lift and you can imagine how badly I need it now. Plus, I have G.L.O.W. I'll let you figure that one out. I'll just say it isn't because I'm "with child". Can you imagine 62 and preggo?? Which brings me to my first rant. This trend of saying "we're pregnant" is bovine dung. Do WE have to eat crackers every morning before raising our heads from the pillow so we can make it to the bathroom before spewing? Do WE see our bodies morph into kangaroos with no tails to balance our overloaded fronts? Do you know what that does to our backs? Do WE have to try putting on shoes or shaving our legs with an over inflated basketball in our laps? Listen, you can end up going out in bunny slippers with bloody bunnies. Do WE experience heartburn so bad you would swear you were carrying Satan's child and it's tail was sticking up your throat? Do WE suffer labor pains so bad you think a volcano is erupting inside you? And do WE have to listen to some ditzy nurse tell us our screams waste energy we should be putting into breathing or pushing? I told one nurse where she could blow! Do WE have to push through the pain until you think your brains have squirted through your hair follicles and are dripping down your face? Do WE have to push hard enough send a rocket across the Grand Canyon only to have someone say, "You have to get more umph behind those pushes now sweetie."? Do WE have to display the most private of our privates to a whole crew of people who keep lying to you about how much longer your torture will be and whose heads you are going to snap off with your tongue as soon as you push Sasquatch junior out of your body? And finally, do WE end up with a crop of hemorrhoids as the "proof of birth" stamp in case we forget who did what that day? Oh no. You fathers get to watch (or faint), cut the cord and be the first to hold the baby. Dear pregnant ladies, don't give part of our most important purpose, the one thing men cannot do, over to them. Until they can carry and deliver more than pizza, men cannot share being pregnant. They can get you that way but when you are lying there believing you could actually be delivering a hippopotamus, you will discover your man won't be lying down to take his turn on the delivery table. Repeat, "I'm pregnant. He's the father. I"m pregnant. He's the father."