Hunger

I was hungry when I wrote this

Forgive me if it goes astray…

Hungry sounded so much better than angry and I just wanted to mess with your minds.

How this blog has gone on for four years is a mystery to me.

Some have allowed themselves to be controlled by anger.  Because of their subsequent, violent acts, some won’t see the beautiful sunrise this morning.  Eyes of the living will be  blinded by tears of grief.

I will not dignify such events by referring to them as acts of civil disobedience.  There has been no civility.

In these difficult times, it’s been a struggle to maintain a positive outlook.

A modicum of diversion refreshes the mind.  For that reason, a stuck dresser drawer is calling me.  Dremel tool & me to the rescue!

Reports Of My Demise #dreams #death #humor

The family sat at a round table in a restaurant’s banquet hall.  Conversations were polite, but subdued.  Appropriate laughter was allowed, if it engaged the guest of honor.

Wait staff worked the table efficiently.  More chairs were brought in for the stragglers.

There was no awkwardness in discussions about the reason for the family gathering.

There was no fear at the thought of my demise.  In my dream I was critically ill.  Death would come in a matter of weeks or months.

The weirdest part of this dream came this morning after breakfast at a local restaurant.

“Honey, last night I dreamed that the family gathered at a restaurant to honor me–because I had a terminal illness,” I said.  “I knew death would soon come, and was at peace with it.”

She hesitated–deep in thought.  “Oh, my gosh–that’s very odd.  Because, two nights ago, I dreamed you died.  I was stunned.  Didn’t know what to do.  I was reluctant to tell you about it.”

What did this mean?  An obvious reference to my own mortality.  We’ve been married for thirty-five years this month.  Sharing similar dreams is something I’ve never experienced.

Were dream reports of my demise greatly exaggerated?  Time will tell.  So far today–I’m feeling fine.

I’ve been summoned to rearrange furniture.  My demise could be sooner rather than later.

Death stay away–don’t shadow my door today.  It’s only muscle aches, nothing more.

DEMISE OF THE BECKY LYN

shrimp boat in action

A macabre, blackened skeleton

Emerged, from morning fog

Attached to a tow rope

Masts, rigging–burned to stubs

Blue and white-trimmed hull

Dull, soot-covered and stained

The gleam in her eye, long gone

Left anchored, to burn out at sea

Captain and crew–abandoned ship

Fire gutted her heart and soul

No tears, only memories

This lovely lady, sailed no more