Saturday, July 11, 2009


Not far from my home on Salem Avenue is a small city park with a pond. Over the years domestic ducks and geese have been abandoned there. They have survived quite well because feeding them is a fun pastime for people in the neighborhood.
Wild mallard ducks often make the pond a stopping place in their migration. Some find the living there pretty easy and decided to stay.
This has resulted in some interesting cross breeding of domestic and wild ducks. Diversity is the word when it comes to the Feral Ducks of the Nature Park Pond.
Some say that this genetic evolution has led to mutant ducks having super powers. They are being guided by Xavier Duck.
At night they dress in spandex costumes and use their amazing super powers to save ducks being threatened by evil.

Thursday, July 9, 2009


1960's magazine ad "I dreamed I posed for a Fashion Ad in my maidenform bra."
My last post would have you thinking I love to shop. Quite the opposite. That poetry was the product of a long-ago writing class. The first one was an attempt at a poem with a double meaning. I posted them to stall until my brain recovered from the weekend with house full of people I love. Anyway, to me shopping is a chore. I purchase things such as clothing only when necessary and when alone. I refuse to subject others, especially guys, to waiting in an uncomfortable chair outside a store dressing room, thumbing through a worn issue of Is Martha Stewart Living? while I stand in the stall and stare at my sorry self in a mirror. The most dreaded item on my clothing list is a brassiere. Because I hate this shopping task with passion, I have rules about the job that help ease the misery. • Buy quality. I don’t want to do this any more often than necessary. • Because quality is expensive buy only two—one to wear and one to wash. • Keep the old ones until certain the new ones won’t try to kill me (like the underwire one that tried to stab me while I was standing in line at the bank; or the one with four hooks that tried to take a bite out of my back; or the other underwire one that almost got me strip-searched at airport security). I don’t wear underwires any more. • Always try them on. Even if, by some miracle, I find the same brand and size when I return two or three years after the last purchase—there is no guarantee they will still fit the same. Things change. • Since there are always a thousand kinds to choose from; take as many varieties of the estimated size into the dressing room as possible at once. Bribe the sentry at the door if necessary. I don’t want to expose my saggy white ladies to store air conditioning in a public place any more often than necessary. Of course this is where a shopping buddy would be helpful. But I am too inhibited to expect someone else to assist, especially with this one. • When a bra is finally selected, have a second choice since there will only be one of that kind and size in the store. • Take care of those objects of torture. Even though I would be sold for hamburger if I were a dairy cow, I still need something to stop the flapping. So keep the bras clean and in some state of repair until, alas, the purchase of new ones becomes necessary.
1960's magazine ad, "I dreamed I went to blazes in my maidenform bra."

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


 Searching for new shoes is glorious.
There are so many choices.
What fun to try out all sorts.
Many are attractive, though some pinch,
Or hold on too tight.
A few leave the wearer wobbling
Or even tilt her into a gutter.
The best are still those
That don’t need much breaking in
And even with much wear
Give comfort.

 Some things you buy
And some you try,
And some you ho
And hum at.
 An important part
Of being smart
Is knowing
What you’re dumb at.

Monday, July 6, 2009


Our Family Fourth gathering is over. All our guests have gone home.

The guys blew up every kind of kaboom they could get their hands on.

The boys took care of the smoke bombs and black snakes.

The big guys lit the exploders, fountains and flamers.

The girls enjoyed the sparklers and glow sticks.

Plus there was the gi-normus display in the sky. When it was over our group cleaned up a whole trash can full of debris from the street. Not too environmentaly friendly, I know. Nobody went to the emergency room. We had wonderful food. The cat has finally come out of hiding and--when I finish a few more loads of laundry, re-stock the toilet paper and find the source of the wet-diaper smell--the place will be mostly back to normal.