Balaneze Cats For Sale

don't get excited...I don't have any kittens for's just the title of my story.

Lately, a lot of my blogging friends are cat lovers and reading their stories about cats and seeing their pictures reminded me of the days I used to have cats.

One of my favorites was the offspring of a sneaky black alley cat and a friend's pure Siamese cat. We were lucky enough to receive "Lowder Luff" for free.

"Lowder Luff" because one of my kids couldn't pronounce 'P's".

Her name was soon shortened to Low-Low or Low-Life, depending on her behavior at the moment. One of her low life moments was when she copied the behavior of her mother and sneaked into the alley before we had the sense to have her fixed.

Naturally she met a friend and I think it was the same friend that her mother had met and it wasn't too long before we had 7 beautiful kittens that were the spitting image of their mother and their grandmother. They all looked like pure Siamese cats. Well they looked like Siamese to us.

The problem was that we didn't have any friends who wanted a cat or another cat. So, I got the bright idea of donating them to a pet store. "Great,"my wife said. "Then they will get a home with someone that wants a cat."

The store was happy to take them off our hands and we were glad to be relieved of the burden of finding homes for them.  A week of so later I was driving by the store and wondered how they were doing with our kittens.

When I walked in, I saw a cage with a sign that read "Balaneze/Siameze" kittens...$50.00. There were only 3 left. I had mixed emotions and a few questions and I bet you do too.

First  -What's a Balaneze/Siameze cat?
Second -Why can't they spell?
Third - Why are they ripping people off?

At first I was mad and wanted to see the owner who wasn't there. I asked if the kittens had papers.  They didn't. So, I left.

As I was driving home and thought about it, I cooled off.

I decided that they could call them what they wanted to and if they weren't claiming papers it was the buyers problem.

Fifty bucks was a fair price. They were suppose to make money and the kittens looked healthy and well cared for.

I never did figure out why they couldn't spell but, I had a sneaking hunch they did it on purpose.

Low Life went to the vet and became a loving Low Low. I never knew what happened to the sneaking alley cat.

I had to give up cats because I live in an area where Coyotes roam (no buffalo though). The cat we brought with us when we moved here disappeared one night.  Not sure but I'm guessing the coyotes.

I do miss that purr when she crawled up on my lap.

Fright or Frong (15) - Smooth

Fifteen - Smooth

“Be wary of the glib my friends
Their smiles may just shove you into a lavonic hell.”
                                                                  gs batty

"Call for ... the Macho Man"

Smooth was a friend
I met long ago
his raspy voice enticed me

 a status monger
selling iconic dreams of
inselbergs in a marmalade sunset

I walked among
 his dreamlike wispy clouds
thinking I was  sui generis

never knowing that smooth
wasn't a friend
but a raft drifting on an eclectic tide

 and I was like a rodeo clown
being tossed around in
a broken creosotic barrel

heading for a thundering fall
into a sea of cascading horrors
where I could not suck air

smooth gripped me by my throat
sucked my will away
a demon not smooth but evil and black

the marmalade sunset turned
into a tornado of volcanic ash
filling my lungs with lavonic terror

gasping for breath
I ripped the tendrils from his clutching fingers
he had wrapped around my throat

and ran from his black bubonic cloud
of ugly carcinogenic carnage
and cleansed my body of those iconic dreams of inselbergs
                                                                    gs batty/June 2013

Returning to our story…the chapter we have all been hoping for and praying for…

….the final chapter…the one that smoothly strides off into the sunset…

Why?..Simple…I do not want my characters to turn sixteen and become belligerent and "now-it-all jerks" like I was at sixteen and it has to end some place….

….Upon our return…Khan has left the tomb and his pacing.

Approaching our hero, he offers a simple trade.

"I would like to trade your human mind back for my animal mind."

Cassandra asked, "Can he keep those beautiful electric blue eyes?"

"I only want my evil, wicked, mean and nasty mind returned to its rightful place in my brain."

"Don't do it," Spillane said. "He will use that power to conquer heaven and hell. He will control everyone's eternal destiny."

"I have to do it," our hero replied. "I can't think about anything but those damned Skorts that Cassandra is wearing. I don't even know what color her eyes are."

"Yes, yes, yes," Hammer said with glee. "Make the trade for the glory of Khan. With his rightful mind, he and I shall rule all of eternity."

Our hero looked to Andrea for her approval.

"Make the trade," she said.

"But, what if he does become the ruler of eternity?  If Khan controls eternal life we will all become eternal slaves."

"Khan's plan will not work," Andrea promised.

"It will work. It is a simple plan and simple plans always work," Khan sneered.

"Your logic is flawed but I will let you find that out the hard way," Andrea smiled.

"I will not argue with a woman. You will find out how terrible the mighty Khan can be when I get my mind back."

Khan sneered at our hero. "Well Mr. Hero, what do say? Is it a deal? You get your woosy mind and the electric blue eyes and I get my powerful magnetic animal mind.  But wait! If you make the trade in the next five minutes, I'll also throw in the Skorts."

Our hero could not resist. He did not care if Khan ruled the eternal universe of heaven and hell as long as he got those Skorts. He had even forgotten why he wanted them but the thought of having them as his very own caused a chill to move across his spine.

"It's a deal."

"You can't give away my Skorts," Cassandra said

"When my power is returned I will do what I please."

"Relax," Andrea said. "Let them make the deal. It will be better for everyone."

They moved inside the tomb to the "Altar of the Minds".  As Andrea, Cassandra and the supporting cast of spirits looked on, each man placed the undesired part of their minds on the Altar and the trade was completed.

They left the tomb and Khan puffed up like a desert Gila monster.

"The great Khan has returned. I am master of all. I can now claim my kingdom."

Hammer held up his hand and said, "Hey, what about me? What about our plan to kneel and grovel and pretend to repent."

Khan dismissed him with a grunt and said, "The great Khan kneels and grovels to no one. I will find my own way and when I do, they will all pay with their eternal souls."

He walked back into the tomb and slammed the door behind him and instantly the tomb was returned to the marble mausoleum that it once had been.

Hammer was crushed and turned to Spillane but said nothing. Spillane put his arm around him and they walked across the cemetery in deep conversation.

Our hero, somehow feeling that he had won, was puffed up like a horny toad with no place to go. However, his electric blue eyes were no longer glued to Cassandra's Skorts. They were locked directly on her "I got you now" green eyes.

He lightly took her hand and said, "My name is Birdsaul, William Birdsaul Have we met before?"

"Yes, but I will have to explain it to you," Cassandra said.

They walked away shoulder to shoulder into the sunset and of course for some reason he couldn't keep from hooking his thumb in the back of those lovely Skorts.

Andrea and Magic Al watched as the new lovers strolled across the spirits of the past.

"But, What about Khan," Magic Al asked? "Will he get into heaven?

"No, he is no different than he was when he stole our friends mind. He is just back to where he started from. He could not get in before and won't be able to get in now. I'm afraid the great Khan is doomed to forever roam in the space of the damned.


next week…new prompt…only  "The Shadow" knows where that will take us..

thank you Mrsupole…you are a very classy lady…

the story was a bumpy ride driven  by weekly prompts from "Theme Thursday"

This series of prompts and stories also planted the seed to begin with  a personal thought about the prompt word and then a poem and finally an explanation about the poem.

The poem..."Call for...the Macho Man" is a tirade against cigarette company's smooth talking sales pitches and a take off from the old TV commercial "Call for Phillip Morris" and the Marlboro Commercials. I smoked for 25 years but I am one of the lucky ones. I am still alive. 

Battle of the sexes - part 2

Sometime before this year’s Turkey Day I said something or did something that put me in the dog house with my wife.  Being the stubborn person that I am I refused to ask her just what I did? 

Naturally, since I was in the wrong and she was in the right, which is the natural result of a domestic spat, we began a period of silent meditation.  I am sure that she would say something more like I was being blessed with “the silent treatment”.

What she didn't realize was that I was smack dab in the middle of my NaNoWriMo project and was very happy to be left alone.  To be real truthful I was ecstatic.  I wrote for hours without one “Honey-do” finding its way tino my hide away.

I did have to make my own B-L-D’s.  No, that’s not a bacon, lettuce and dog meat sandwich.  It’s breakfast, lunch and dinner.  However, just to prove that I am not a complete cad, I continued to take care of my normal chores of doing the dishes and picking up the dog poop.

But, it was a fair trade-off because as you already know, I did finish my writing project.

Also, around the middle of November I decided that I was spending too much time sitting on my ample back side and pretending to be a writer so I began a walking and exercise program.  My goal was and is to lose some weight and to be in a little better shape.

Notice that I used the words some and little.  That was on purpose because by using those words I cannot fail.  Any amount of exercise that I perform guarantees me of being in a little better shape.  After my first morning walk I had succeeded in obtaining my “better shape” goal.

Losing “some weight” was and is a more difficult goal but I knew that if I gave up donuts for just one week and continued to walk that I would lose weight and I did.  So far I have lost three whole pounds.

I know it’s not like those people on TV but I can’t afford the weight trainers they have and I have already succeeded.  Any more improvement is just gravy on my potatoes or the cherry on my hot fudge sundae.

Oh…no more gravy and potatoes or hot fudge sundaes?  What have I done to myself?

Yes, we are talking again and she has joined me on my morning walks.  Her only response to my new fitness program was short and simple.

“I've told you to do this for months.”

Was the argument with my wife a plot?  Did she trick me?

Naturally, being a man and a husband, I will never know but somehow I suspect that she did.

June 2013 update...still walking and talking but November is coming up...anyone have an idea for an argument...I'm going to take another shot at NaNoWriMo.

Battle of the sexes - Spooning

file under the heading of "no big  deal"

I have been married somewhere around 39 years. My wife might say 38 or 40 but never 39, as long as I said 39. That's the way it is with long term marriages.  We have to disagree about somethings and since we get along and agree about most things (except politics) we usually disagree about what happen when or to whom.

Of course there are little things that men and women will always disagree about and when one of those "little things" pops into my life, I tend to write a little something about it.

I call this little episode...SPOONING

You will have to read it to see if there is any logic in my words..

The Battle of the sexes - Spooning

We all know about it…"it" being the battle…the battle that has been fought since the day that Adam removed his rib and didn't barbecue it.  

He gave it to God to make “woman” and then the fight began.

“Why did you have to bring that Damn snake home?”

“Why did you serve that fruit for dinner?  Now look what you've done.”

“Me...what about you?…you didn't have to eat it.  You don’t have any willpower.  You've never had any willpower.”

And so on…down though the ages…man…woman…goggle-eyed…lovey-dovey…the children…the battles…the lucky couples…the mature couples…the couples that grow together and stay together…keep their battles to a minimum…maybe battles that are only spats…spattles (I call them)…small teeny-weeny differences of opinions.

Man has come to realize that woman usually gets the last word and in her mind she wins.  In man’s mind, he gives in to keep his peace…each is correct.  

Man is never wrong, but he is wise.  He knows that if he keeps the spat alive, that lousy snake from the garden will sneak in the back door and steal his private fruit.

But, once in a while…once in a great while…man wins…it may be only in silence, but he wins…and if he is smart…he gloats in silence.

One particular small “spattle” in my man-woman marriage (that needs to be defined these days) is about dish washing.

Not dish washing the old fashioned way way…”you wash, I’ll dry” but in the new fashioned way…”how do you put the dishes and the silverware in the “Dishwasher”?

There are numerous spattles waiting just over the dishes and the pots and pans, but when the silverware gets tossed in, it can really get serious.

Are they sorted…does each knife, fork and spoon go in the same slot,

or…are they just tossed in whatever slot is available?

Naturally, I…I being man…favor the “willy-nilly” approach…the…”any old port in a storm” approach.  However, I have logical reasoning on my side.

My logic…”the book says not to put them in the same slot because they will nest together and will not get clean.

Naturally, woman also claims “logical reasoning”.

Her logic…”I don’t care what the book says, I put them away and if they are in the same slot, it is easier for me.”

Grumble…grumble…grumble…that’s man…me…defying woman…refusing to give into false logic…I use that one a lot…it makes me feel superior…silently superior.

Over the years the spattle has silently gone on and when we combined homes with her mother the spattle was changed from a spattle between man and woman-wife to a spattle between man and woman (mother-in-law).

The jobs or rather, the “household duties” are divided.  Woman-wife cooks, man-husband does dishes, and woman-mother-in-law puts dishes away.

Naturally, mother-in-law’s logic is the same as wife’s logic and the “silverware” must be separated so it is easier for her to put away.

Naturally, man-husband has not changed and will be damned before he lets a woman-(mother-in-law) control his life.

Man continues to “willy-nilly” the silverware.

Woman,  (mother-in-law)… escalates the spattle to an almost a battle.  But man, being ever so virile and strong, does not give in.  Man holds his ground.

Naturally, old woman complains to young woman that man…me…is a jerk.

Young woman agrees…I agree…I am happy…I am a happy jerk…I…man…have stood on the mountain and fought the spattle for all mankind.  I refused to cow-tow to the likes of woman and old woman,

However, life changes…old woman (mother-in-law) is not feeling so good, so woman-wife now does the “putting the dishes away” task.

Man-me, softens…man gives in…silently…and…let “the drum roll begin”…separates the silverware and slots them in perfect nesting position…spoons, forks, knives... hugging each other as if they were making love.

Man, being old, wants to be helpful (finally) and what is man’s reward…VICTORY…yes…
V-I-C-T-O-R-Y…because woman comes to man and tells man that…”if the knives, forks and spoons are nestled together they will not get clean.”

Man…me, silently gloats…yes…yes…yes…I was right…I am right…I am man..I am logic.

Woman…her…well, I wasn't dumb enough to ask her why she changed her mind…because I know that whatever other laws there are in the universe…woman-daughter will never agree with woman-mother, and…well man…man is just a problem to be reckoned with.

gs batty/June 2013
                                                                                                           for - "Two Shoes in Texas"


Somewhere from across the canyon the sound of laughter echoed through the hoodoos. My fire was small but still cast a flickering light on the canyon wall behind me.

I had heard the laughter for the last seven nights and for the last three days I had gone in search of the source of the laughter and I had not found a clue. The laughter would begin at exactly eight o'clock and end at exactly midnight.

It was impossible to judge the distance because of the canyons and the echoes. It could have come from a mile away or five miles away. I'm not sure why I was concerned because no one had bothered me. At first I decided it was none of my business. Also, the laughter didn't seem as if it was sinister. It just sounded as if a few people were having a good time. It was impossible to tell how many but I was sure there were at least three and probably more.

It was the third night before I realized that it started and stopped at exactly the same time and I am sure that is when my curiosity got the best of me. Leave it alone, I told myself. But, I couldn't. So now I was making my way through the hoodoos towards the sound of the laughter.

The laughter was getting louder and I was sure I would see who it was at any minute. I rounded a canyon wall and it was obvious that the sound was coming from the top of the canyon. I started up the canyon and when I was almost there the laughter stopped. I walked another hundred yards and just beyond the last hoodoo and at the canyon wall a small fire was burning.

I paused for a moment and then realized that it was my fire.  It was my camp. I must have gotten turned around in the hoodoos but as I walked, the laughter had gotten louder. Confused, I sat by my fire and and pondered what had just happened to me.

The next morning I decided to pack my jeep and leave. The peace and quite that I had wanted was still there in the day time but I knew at night that my stomach would churn and my mind would jump at shadows.

On my way home I ask a man at the local gas station and he gave me a funny look. "I have heard rumors about the laughter," he said. "But, I have never heard it."

"What does I mean?" I asked.

"No one knows," he replied. "No one knows."
gs batty/June 2013

written for "Two Shoes Tuesday"

Part of my early childhood was spent in the canyon areas of Southern Utah. I heard many "ghost tales" around the camp fires about the spirits that inhabit and live among the hoodoos of the canyons. This is a story based upon tales that my grandfather used to tell me. According to him the spirits of the Anasazi Indians still roamed among the spires (hoodoos) of the canyons and at certain times of the year they celebrated a marriage or a birth.

"Listen," he would say. "Listen very close and you can hear their laughter." I could only hear the winds as they whistled through the canyons.

How's the balls of your feet?

The bat wing door of the old bar banged open as the half drunk farmer came stumbling in.

"Hey Bubba," he yelled. "How' the balls of your your feet."

Bubba, the bartender, shuffled slowly towards the tap beer in the middle of the bar. He took a cold mug from the freezer and poured "The Banker" a beer and slid it down the bar.

"Not good Banker," he answered. "They hurt like hell."

"That's not good," The Banker slurred back through the foam in his beard.

The phone behind the bar the bar rang and all nine men sitting at the bar said the same thing, "I'm not here."

The doors flew open again and Ballard, the pool shark, came in looking for some action.

"Man with all you old goats at the bar, it looks like zoo in here. Anybody want a game. Hey Bubba, hows your sex life?"

Bubba shuffled over to the cooler and found Ballard a bottle of Coors.

"Not good wife cut me off again and I'm hornier that a two-peckered billy goat."

"I thought it was a three-peckered billy goat," someone yelled.

"That'll be next week if she's still mad."

"How long before she gets un-mad?"

I don't know but when she does I'll be home quicker that a New York minute."

"Hey Ballard, rack em up. I'll be off quicker than you can shake a leg."

"Don't you think you better get home to the little lady?"

"Not for awhile...when I left this morning she was madder than  a wet hen and screaming, 'you make my blood boil'."

Another voice laughed, "There's no making whoopee for Bubba tonight."

The bat wing doors flew open and Bailey the plumber yells, "Hey Bubba, how's the balls of your feet?
Gimme a beer sausage and a cold one."

Bubba shuffled to the taps and said, "Do you want horseradish?"

Damn tootin," the plumber replied. "You should put some of it on the balls of your feet. It'll cure what ails ya."

"Maybe I'll try that," the limping bartender said.

"Maybe you should try a little of that on your wife and see if it makes her blood boil in the right place."

written for "Mindlovemisery" - cliches

When I was going to college I worked at one of the local "Farmer Bars" as a part time bartender. Bubba was the day man. Most days consisted of the farmers taking a break, drinking a few beers, shooting a little pool and talking in cliches. It was a bar that catered to men only as it had only one john. If a woman came in and needed to use the rest room she had to wait her turn and then get someone to guard the door.

The owner of the bar was a firm believer that woman and alcohol spelled trouble with a capital "T". Those were the days of good beer, awesome beer sausages, wicked, mean,evil and nasty horseradish and, of  course, less government intervention.

                                     old grizz

it's more than "only a night"

This week ends the Prompts from Carry on Tuesday as presented by Kieth Hillman of the UK. I have wrote to Keith's prompts since 2010. I have always found them interesting and challenging. I am not here to say that what I write is good or bad. I call my writing "Just Is". Sometimes I get good comments and sometimes I get ...well a little less that good or none at all and I am okay with that because I am trying to learn about the world of writing.

Keith put a lot of effort into the prompts and if you used his prompts there was a good chance that you might also learn something about some good poetry, literature or music. But, like all of us I think he hoped for a little more appreciation of what he was doing then he was getting.

It's not really anyone's fault. Keith had a great place to write and some great prompts.

However, I believe that most bloggers of today do not want to write stories or prose but only poetry. Then they want to read others poetry and do not have the time to comment on short stories. There is no crime here. It is like my writing it "just is".

I only find it strange because if anyone wants to write and sell something there is more opportunity in the world of story writing than poetry.

I decided to go back to one of the first prompts that wrote to on COT - December 2010

With the New Year fast approaching, our prompt this week is the opening line
from Helen Hunt-Jackson’s poem
New Year’s Morning

Only a night from old to new!

"Only a night from old to new," the old hag cackled.
"Sleep tonight and the morning sun will wash away your sins."

"Not a chance in hell," I smiled.  "Some sins are not washable."

A thoughtful frown surrounded her wart.  She lit her corn cob pipe and took a deep suck on some nasty smelling concoction.

"Damn," I winced.  "If anything could wash my sins away the smell of that crap would surely do it.  What the hell are you smoking?"

"Peyote, mixed with some cedar bark," she smiled.  "And, yes it does seem to make my sins disappear.  At least it makes them go someplace that I don't worry about.  Wanna puff?"

"Maybe a slug of whiskey or something.  Something real strong."

"I got a jug made by old Joe about five years ago.  I use it when ever I get the grippe.  I don't know if it helps but after a swig or two I could care less."

She gave me a jug of Carolina 'White Litenin' and said, "This might ease your pain."

I took the jug and a big swallow.  It damned near set my throat on fire and oh sweet Jesus, when it hit the bottom of my gut I was sure I was burning in hell.

When I caught my breath, I gasped, "Hells fire, lady, I should have smoked the pipe."

"No sonny boy," she cackled.  "You chose the right potion.  This peyote and cedar bark ain't for boys.  It would really send you on a trip to hell"

"Come on son," the preacher said.  "It's time."

I sat up.  Sweat was dripping from my face.  My unfinished meal was staring at me.  I shook my head and decided that they had drugged me to make it easier.

What the hell, what would I be able to do?  Beg like a coward?

No, let them kill me and get it over.

As I walked to the chamber I thought about the dream.  Or, was it a dream?

Maybe the old hag was my first meeting with the devil.

Maybe the fire in my throat and gut was just a taste of what was coming.

Maybe the smell was my flesh frying in the chair.

One thing was for sure, the old hag had been right when she said,

"Only a night from old to new."

written for Carry on Tuesday December 2010


The world is not there
nor the stars
without you

with out you
my eyes are 
covered in clouds

without you the shadows are sinister
and within each one
is a lifeless mist

I refuse to say goodbye
for I know that you
will always be there

you are the happiness 
that makes my soul
come to life

thinking of you turns
the dark shadows 
from death to life

your shadow has
wound its life around my soul
I cannot say goodbye nor let you go

                                                            gs batty

written for one last post on COT and the new beginning for Josie and "Two Shoes Tuesday"

so long

Keith - Your Tuesday prompt will be missed. I salute you and hope your writing never stops. Thanks for all the prompts that have tweaked my mind and brought out the craziness that makes Old Egg want to explode.
It has been an enjoyable trip and I'm glad I bought the ticket.
The best to you and hope to see your words being touted by the literary world.
Old Grizz...

goodbye to Carry on Tuesday but not goodbye to Keith

He is ending the Carry on Tuesday will be a loss to those of us that enjoyed the challenge of his prompts.

This week I have said goodbye to more than "Carry On Tuesday".

I have said goodbye to an old friend's 21 year old son who was killed in a motor cycle accident.

I have said goodbye to a writing group that I have hosted for 3 years.

And finally...for now...I have said goodbye to my long shaggy hair and my Santa Clause beard and I have said goodbye to playing Santa clause at Christmas time. I hope the kids will miss me as much as I will miss them.

one last poem for COT...this is about a girl I knew long ago who still wanders around my mind.


The world is not there
nor the stars
without you

with out you
my eyes are 
covered in clouds

without you the shadows are sinister
and within each one
is a lifeless mist

I refuse to say goodbye
for I know that you
will always be there

you are the happiness 
that makes my soul
come to life

thinking of you turns
the dark shadows 
from death to life

your shadow has
wound its life around my soul
I cannot say goodbye and let you go

                                                            gs batty

Widdle & Friggle

They widdled and friggled
in the waters froth
two lively chirpadiatists

hoturious burgeomythiacs 
stargulling in chit chat
 and mockinomia

the froth became a bellicose sea
angry at  the burgeomythiacs' 
blithiodic verbosity

the rancorous ocean 
raised its angry fists at
our two lively chirpadiatists

and threw its tempest winds
to end their mockomaniacal
tornadic bloviational sins

A jibber jacky stab at Jabderwocky poetry for "Mindlovemisery" 


widdle and friggled -a debate that is spit into the wind
stargulling - stupid arguement
hoturious - hot and furious
chirpadiatists-know it alls
burgeomythiacs - silly arguments
mockinomia-circular argument
tornadic - circling winds
bloviational -  bragging...pompous

Bunny's Corner

When I was a boy of ten or eleven I used to make some spending money by delivering newspapers. My route consisted of fifty-two customers. The paper was an evening paper except for Sundays. My papers were dropped off at Bunny's Corner where I picked them up, loaded them in my paper bag and made my deliveries.

Bunny's Corner was a small soda shop on a corner one block down the street from the high school and the grade school where I was taught my ABC's.  Now those days seem like they were hundreds of years ago but I am not that old so maybe it would be more truthful to say sixty or seventy years ago.

However, I guarantee you that to those of us that can look back and remember those days to talk about,  they are truly days of yore. Our aching bones can attest to that.

On cold rainy or snowy days Bunny would let me fold my papers inside her shop and somehow always managed to give me a cup of hot cocoa with those tiny little white marshmallows on top. At first I tried to explain that I didn't have any money to pay for the cocoa but she would have none of that.

She was a short lady with her gray hair done up in a bun and she wore rimless glasses. When she needed to see farther than the counter, she would pull her glassed down to the tip of her nose and look over the top of them.

Well she looked over the top of her glasses at me and said, "Young man, you need to respect your elders. If say you need a cup of cocoa and I'm paying for it all you need to say is, 'thank you, ma'am'."

So, I would always smile and tell her thank you and, of course refer, to her as ma'am. Well on one rainy day my older brother was helping me and we both received that nice hot cup of cocoa and we were both polite.

However, when we got back home he told our mom how Bunny had given us that hot cocoa. My mom said how everyone knew how nice Bunny was and how they all thought the world of her. Well one thing led to another and my mom soon realized that I had been getting free hot cocoa for quite sometime.

The next day she took me on the paper route and when we stopped at Bunny's to pick up the papers my mom said we needed to talk to Bunny. My mom wasn't a person to make a scene or cause anyone any trouble so when we sat down at the counter she told Bunny that is wasn't fair for me to get free cocoa.

Bunny protested that it was okay because she had given it to me and I had not asked for it. That didn't matter to my mom because she didn't want any children of hers thinking it was right to accept without giving and she tried to give Bunny some money that I had earned from the route.

Well, Bunny was just as stubborn as my mom and wouldn't accept the money but she said that maybe I could do some chores to earn the cocoa. It was agreed by both women and naturally I had no choice.
So from that day on I would get to Bunny's early and take out garbage or sweep the floor and when I was done there would be a hot cup of cocoa with little marshmallows waiting for me.

                                                                                                               written for Two Shoes Tuesday

He will not die

He sat cross-legged
under a blanket of stars
slumped in the slump of good bye

a small sage brush fire
spoke to him
of all the days that had come and gone

a soft midnight breeze
caressed his ears
with the music of his life

his weary aged soul
called to the moon
beneath the wispy clouds

the black of the night
wrapped his body
in a cocoon of life

he had spun his world
his time had come
but he knew he would not die

but only evolve
and his soul would merely fly away
like a butterfly landing on a star

gs batty for "mindlovemisery"

favourite things

We all have favorite things, people, vacations and we think of them as positives. They are what makes us feel good.

But, what about the other side of the coin. What about those things that bring an "oh oh, I don't want to go there" feeling.

One of my "oh oh's" is dolls. That's right...dolls! I know it sounds strange but it's true. It started when I was in basic training some years ago. Of course I was lonely and missed my girl friend. Her solution was to send me a sexy picture and small Barbie Doll to remind me of her. Stupidly, very stupidly, I put the doll in the back of the top shelf of my locker thinking that it was real nice gesture. I didn't want any of the "guys" to see I had a doll but, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.

I should have thrown it away because my barracks sergeant found it on a surprise inspection. I could write a book on the harassment I took for the next six weeks.

I was "gay".  I "played with dolls". I "played with myself". I did extra KP duty, one hell of a lot of extra KP duty. I had dish pan hands and  I didn't have that wonderful detergent that fixes dish pan hands.

It's not a memory that is my favorite.

However, one of my neighbors has some kind of things for dolls. He has them all over his back yard and in his yard next to the street. They are in trees, hiding in bushes, and he has a three foot barbie doll
in the middle of his roses he calls his "scare-ho".

No, he is not weird. It is just something he thinks is cute and funny. However, whenever I see one of those dolls, the military harassment runs through my mind.

I have always thought that it's his house and he can do whatever the hell he wants too as long as he's not some kind of pervert and he's not. He's a great neighbor and his yard is the nicest in the neighborhood and has been written up in the local paper.

He just sold the house so he could get a place near the beach and a photographer that stopped in for a yard sale went nuts over the dolls. It seems that the dolls had been weathered by the sun and the rain so well that they were perfect for a photo shoot he was planning.

He gave my neighbor a lot of money (he didn't say how much, but it was "a lot") for the dolls and told my neighbor that he was headed out to the desert for his photo shoot.

Maybe I was to quick to throw that doll away. Now, I'm off to "Toys R Us". I understand they have dolls on sale this weekend. I let you know what my favorite doll turns out to be.

written  for Carry on Tuesday