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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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!