And the word is... Sand

So while updating my profile (because I know you all want to know even more about me... yyyyeah), I was asked the question "What's the most amount of sand you've ever had in your swimming trunks?" I tried to answer, but then it tells me, after I go through the entire story, that I am only allowed 400 characters. Hm. So, here is my answer!

I don't know about sand, but one time I went to the beach with my brother and sister, right? We knew something was up when all the guys there were jumping out of the water, itching themselves and scooting around like dogs, but the women weren't even fazed. After a little while of watching, we figured they must be goofing off (most of the guys doing it were in one big group anyhow.) and decided to go ahead and get in. Well, as it turns out, it was breeding time for hundreds...... and thousands of....... jellyfish. So, going into the ocean where millions of iddy biddy baby jellyfish are floating around was not the best idea.

Why did the girls not have a problem? Their bathing suits were tight enough the baby jellies didn't get trapped. Unfortunately, it isn't a social norm for dudes to wear bikinis. So, hundreds of baby jelly fish were getting trapped in the guys' board shorts. And you know how a lot of bathing suits have the built in mesh (that never really made sense to me to be honest)? It was awful. Then, after we scurried out of the water, the little rascals still hung on! Even after we were out and tried rolling in the sand and everything, they were still stinging!! It was so bad I wanted to cry. I had to pretty much zone out and lay there in the sun until the little boogers dried out and died. Mild discomfort? I think not. No, it was more like... excruciating torture by being pricked with hundreds of alcohol-soaked, burning hot needles that have microscopic teeth on them in your... umm... yeah.

It kind of felt like this was in my swimming trunks

When I got home and shed my garments in order that I may cleanse my body of the sea salts etc, hundreds of little tiny things that very much resembled sand fell all over the floor. I literally had to get a hand broom and dustpan to clean it all up. The whole time, I just kept reliving those few minutes of agony. So sand in my pants? I would much rather have pants full of sand and risk pooping a pearl than have to go through those baby jellies again....

And the word is... Fish

"Just keep swimmin'! Just keep swimmin'! Just keep swimmin' swimmin' swimmin'!!"

Another little tid bit about me: I have an aquarium.... and one fish. I have a blue Africa cichlid named April. Why? Well, I'm glad you asked!


So I used to have three cichlids: yellow, orange, and blue. I like to name my fish based on appareance, personality, or in this case, as a group. So, I have April, May, and June. How original, huh? The pictures below aren't my fish... but in case you wanted a visual:

April

May

June

Anyways, I had these fish right? Well, this one time, I went to Brazil... actually, that has happened 4 times - I'll tell you about those trips some other day soon... and left my dearest mother in charge of feeding said fish while I spent the summer down there. I come back a month or two later... to find I now only had April and June... May was no longer on the calendar. I cut my losses and got over it. "It's only a fish" I told myself, "It's only one fish."

That's about the time my best friend called and said that her family was headed down to South Carolina to visit some family and asked if I would like to join. Who wouldn't want to go down for a long summer's weekend to stay with people they have never met in strange homes that happen to be surrounded by water and thus creating an atmosphere similar to... oh I don't know... the Atlantic Ocean? Seriously, down there, you have to wear scuba gear just to get to your car in the mornings. Anyways, like I said, who wouldn't want to go? So, not 24 hours after landing on US soil after about 2 months in Brazil, I packed a little bag and was headed down to South Carolina. The trip, let's just say, was unforgettable and will also be given a blog entry soon. But now, back to fish.

I come home a few days later and I walk into my room. What do my eyes behold? A single, blue Cichlid swimming around my tank. Only a blue one. "But you had a blue and orange fish when you left!", you say. Yes. I had two... at this pont, standing in my room after a summer of travelling, I now had only one. April. The reason?

As you may recall, my dear mother was charged with feeding my fish whilst I was traveling. Unfortunately, there was something that kept her from being able to carry out this task: my room decorations. You see, back home, I had a sweet overhang that was over top of my desk. It was a frame of bamboo with greens and flowers and all kinds of mess. I even had a few fake animals in it, like dragonflies and birds, and .....snakes. I had two rubber snakes from the Dollar Tree mixed into the bunch. I don't have a good pic, but for illustration purposes, here it is:

Even though it doesn't jive with my layout, I made this pic extra large... just so you may possibly perhaps be able to make out the snakes...

Mom is so terrified of snakes that, apparently, she couldn't force herself to go underneath the overhang in fear that one.. OR BOTH!... of the fake, rubber, $1.00 snakes would drop down and get her. So... to protect herself from harm, she had to make the decision to forget about my fish. Now, in her defense, she says she told my little brother to feed them for her/me. Well... do you have a little brother? Right.

So now, it is just April and I. Unfortuantely what inspired this extrememly brief (har har) blog is that while a legitamte phobia of fake snakes was the underlying reason for my fish deaths, the employees at the Wal-Mart on Route 29 in Charlottesville, Va do not have the same excuse. I checked and there were no snakes, fake or otherwise, dangling over the fish tanks to warrant my ability to take these pictures. Be warned, though  not in good resolution, they are extremely graphic and rather disturbing.





My! What a pretty skeleton you have!

One plus? Fish like this one get a nonstop buffet.

Excuse me, sir? I'd like to buy that one. Oh he's dead?

One of the most disturbing. See that dirt stuff under the 4 or 5 living fish? Not dirt. Nope. That'd be disolving fish! Yeah... it's like mud... just made of fish... and bones... and guts... and scales.

An entire school of ghostfish...er I mean goldfish.

 Now, I understand that at times, fish die and when you are the largest company, with the most employees, in the world, it is hard to find workers to do their jobs. I understand, Wal-Mart! I really do! However, just so you know, I not only talked 7 customers (three different groups) out of purchasing your fish, I am also writing to corporate to be sure they know how you treat your living merchandise and the customers wanting to buy those products. I, along with numerous shoppers were mortified to see that every tank had at least 5-10 dead fish. Something is wrong with that...

And the Bettas? I understand they are stocked on shelves in every store. I know about them, and how they live. I owned one (until my father killed it... Dang. Why do my mommy and daddy keep killing my aminals???) when I was in middle school. However, I can't help but get sooo irritated when I walk in a store and see those poor fish trapped in tuppaware dishes, stocked on a shelf like cereal, or lightbulbs. Not cool.




So there, it is. Some of my experiences with fish. The good and the bad. I also just thought about the time that a pet store's infected fish killed off my entire tank... oh boy.... there's another blog idea!! Heyo!

Well, until next time, just keep swimmin', swimmin, swimmin'!!

And the word is... Flowers

So in Granny's tribute blog, I was going to post pictures of the flowers I did for the funeral, but decided not to take away from the good stories of Elvis, her life, my love for her, and my love for that mmmm mmm mmm rice pudding!!

Well, I may not have that dang rice pudding recipe down yet, but one thing I can do is arrange flowers. It was always a tradition that for every holiday and birthday, or any other gathering for that matter, I would make Granny a special arrangement of flowers. And since my family members, especially Granny, like/liked to take frequent trips to this little resort called the hospital, I would also bring flowers there too, just to brighten up the room a little. Unfortunately, Granny was in ICU and couldn't have them this time... but I did draw her a nice bouquet of childish looking lines that resembled a bouquet. I told the nurse she wasn't allowed to erase those flowers because I had already given them to Granny. Luckily for that nurse, she was smart and listened to me. :]  I had always promised Granny that I would keep making her flowers and we even talked about what flowers I would do for her funeral. I would always joke with her that I would make a life-sized Elvis silhouette out of flowers, or make his face or something like that. She would just giggle then proceed to slap me across the arm and tell me that I better not have Elvis there or she'd come back and haunt me. But did I ever listen to her anyways? Nah! For the funeral, I made two sprays (those are the things you see that stand up on an easel-looking thing.... sorry for the florist lingo), one from us grand and great-grandkids, and one just from me. Lemme tell you about them....

The flower arrangement from us grands and greatgrands was, in my opinion, kind of standard. Even still, it had a lot of thought behind it. When I went to the wholesale floral market where I buy my flowers, they had a beautiful cross made from various Christmas greens. I got this cross and with the help of another very important grand, added to it a couple white roses, red roses, and white Fuji mums. Now, the Fuji mum may be a standard flower for funerals, but I never would have used it except a few years back, I made Granny an arrangement when she went in the hospital. Her favorite colors were blue and yellow... so I did yellow roses and white Fujis in a blue vase. She talked about that thing for the longest time and always said how much she loved those firework flowers. So I promised I'd have them at her funeral. Anyways... that was the one a few of us grands and greats went in on.

Then... there was mine. Nobody could help me. Nobody could see it. Nobody could even suggest anything. It was mine. So here's how it breaks down. When picking a shape, I finally decided on a circle. Why? Because to would represent the tens... of thousands... of broaches Granny had. She was always always dressed to the nines and 99.999% of the time wore a broach to match. Hmmm, but what flowers and colors to use? DUH! I didn't even have to think about that one. Her favorite color ever was blue. Like I said, another favorite flower was the Fuji. So here's how it went down: I used blue Delphinium, white Fujis, and white roses on a circle wreath I covered in more Christmas greens. The blue also represented two Elvis songs: 1) "Blue Suede Shoes" because it was our song and 2) "Blue Christmas" because it says "you'll be doing alright with your Christmas of white, but I'll have a blue blue blue blue Christmas". Ironically on that point, it hasn't snowed on Christmas day in years upon years back in Chesapeake. This Christmas, when I told Granny she'd get the white Christmas we always wanted, it started to snow Christmas night.... and didn't stop.... until over 13"had fallen at my house. (Of course... this also caused the visitation to be cancelled, as well as pushing back the funeral to the afternoon, and ultimately forcing us to wait over a week to bury Granny.... but as usual, I digress. Back to colors now...). So the blue and white had many different roles. Lastly, I like to personalize my work. The last arrangement I made Granny was with white Fujis painted blue, with butterflies landing on the curly willow. I took inspiration from that and decided that butterflies, symbolizing peace and tranquility, would play a pivotal role in this arrangement. Many times, you will see a ribbon or something hanging across the center of an arrangement. Well I don't do things like that... I decided I would have a flock of butterflies instead. So, I went all around town to find the blue butterflies I liked and created the illusion of them flying across the arrangement. Then, at the very top, slightly separated from the pack, I put three white ones. The many blue butterflies represented all of the family and friends who remain here on earth, without our loved ones. The three white butterflies represented my Granny, my Aunt Gloria, and Uncle Marvin, who are now our angels above. The pictures below really don't do these arrangements justice (or my photo shopping skills for that matter!), but I only have a couple quick snapshots of them. Whether the photography skill is there or not can be debated. The thing I care about it sharing with you all these two precious arrangements.

It's funny to think... I never truly planned on having an Elvis inspired arrangement for Granny... welp! There ya go! And in case you're wondering, she hasn't held up her threat and come to haunt me.... yet.

(Did I forget to mention that since the snow postponed everything, my flowers froze? Yeah... I pulled them out of the fridge to arrange them and the water was ice. Ugh)

It was so therapeutic to do these for Granny and the family... I encourage you all to remember, in times like funerals, go the extra mile, personalize things a bit. Your loved one will not know you did it, but you will. It helped me to do it, so maybe the same will happen for you.

And the word is... Granny

Today, I pay tribute to one of the most special women in my life: Anna Mae Pardue Castellow, or just simply Granny.

Can I just say that I have been sitting at the computer for over an hour now writing this blog? If you think I am mistaken on time, know that I am not. I have had about 4 'first' paragraphs. That one is too official. That one is too scattered. That one is too... wrong. I am coming to the realization that this tribute blog is going to be one of the hardest to compose, not because I am so emotional, but because it has to be just right. It has to touch on so many facets of such a complex woman without being too vague on each or too detailed to bore. Maybe I will just write and see what happens...

Tonight, today, the past month... they haven't exactly been the most joyful and merriest of days. In my update blog I mentioned that Granny was in the hospital. Well, she is no longer there. No, she took her Heavenly flight at about 6:40pm on December 21, 2010. Now, Heaven has a new, fiery redheaded angel up there. (Just a side note: God, if you decide she is too much to handle - because I know she can be - we'd be glad to take her off your hands for a little while longer. If not, then I will trust that you have it all under control!)

I was so close to my Granny. I think I was probably the only person in the world who could get away with messing with her hair, telling her she was old and decrepit, or saying "Oh shut up, old woman." And who else could manage to finagle Elvis Presley into the Castellow household?

I remember when I first found out that Granny hated Elvis Presley. When I say 'hate' I pretty much mean it literally. From his slicked back hair, to his wobbly hips, quivering lip, and sexy sound, Granny hated it all. Well, seeing as how I am also a suave, sexy singer who likes to dance while sporting sometimes unconventional hairstyles, it is only natural that I would enjoy the King. So you can imagine the fun I had threatening to call Elvis on her, hire an impersonator, or play his music. And to go the extra mile, of course, Elvis paraphernalia was in order. For a couple years now, I have gotten Granny an Elvis ornament or card or something for Christmas. Last year, I went a little crazy and got a pretty sweet Elvis figurine. When you press a button he sings "Blue Suede Shoes". Not only that, but there are some pretty sick lights that flash blue and yellow on his swinging - yes, his legs dance around - hips. When I gave it to her last year, she tried to pretend she hated it, but where did he end up sitting? On her shelf, not two feet away from her chair. Every single time I visited, the first and last thing I would do, besides hugging Granny and Granddad's necks, was press the button and sing and dance to Elvis. Now, even though he didn't sing it as well as me, I think Granny secretly developed a crush on him. Soon, family, friends, neighbors, any and every one to come over would press the button just to see the show. It was a thing... I would always sing and dance before I left. So, why should the hospital be any different? If you were anywhere in the ICU at Norfolk Sentara Heart Hospital, you may have heard a pitchy rendition of "Blue Suede Shoes". That would be me, giving one last personal, private, front-row concert to my Granny. You see, for her Christmas gift this year (really to the whole family) I was going to do a lame-o karaoke Christmas concert to include a plethora of Christmas songs... and of course some Elvis. I wasn't going to give that up. I may not have been in the mood to dance, but I sucked it up, belted it out (as much as I could without losing it), and even let my feet tap around the legs of my chair. I think Granny enjoyed it... she couldn't tell me so, but I felt her squeeze my hand a couple times... maybe that was her way of dancing with me one last time. Yeah... I like that thought. I think I'll keep it.

But, hating Elvis wasn't all Granny was good for. Boy could she cook! Mmm Mmm MMM! If you name it, Granny's was the best. Pot Roast with potatoes and carrots? Check. Macaroni and Cheese? Check. Succotash? Check. Freakingthebestever German Chocolate Cake? Triple Check. But... nothing she cooked is as much her signature as her daggon rice pudding. Now, folks, this isn't your grandma's rice pudding. No. This is like nothing you have ever seen or tasted before. IMPORTANT: If this rice pudding sounds familiar, please let me know! It is now my mission to completely revive the recipe and keep Granny's rice pudding going! So this rice pudding was unbelievable. It isn't a pudding at all... it's more of a... lemon bar? You actually pick it up and eat it with your fingers. She would cut it into squares or rectangles and you would literally pick it up with your hands. It was still custardy though, just... eaten with your hands! I don't even know how many people asked for the recipe. She never gave it away, only "I don't know how I make it. I just throw some stuff together. Throw it all in a bowl!" Well, geez, Granny! At least try to remember what goes in the bowl! Even my sister, who clearly inherited the grannyannycastellowcooking gene, hasn't gotten it right. She can make food almost as good as Granny, but this recipe has avoided being captured by anyone and everyone who tries to get it down. Just a few weeks ago, I forced her to think through the ingredients. I know there is some cooked rice (but who knows how much), a little bit of vanilla, a few eggs, maybe a dash of nutmeg, and a can of milk... whether a can of evaporated or a can of condensed has yet to be determined. Somehow, Granny managed to combine these few simple, yet unknown ingredients, and make something that would make your taste buds jump for joy!

Something else I haven't quite gotten to work is a slideshow me and my brother made for the funeral. I have tried and tried and tried for an entire month to get it copied and/or uploaded to share with the world. Unfortuantely, it refuses to work. So, until I can get it to work, here are just a few pictures of me and my Granny to close out this tribute blog. It still seems like this stupid post refuses to come together into a cohesive and truly accurate post like I wanted. But you know what, if I was doing this for you all, I would never make you completely happy. No. I am doing this for me and Granny. I can promise you that there will be more blogs to come about this woman. Her body may no longer be here among us, but her spirit, her memory, her legacy, shall continue to live in us all. So now, I leave you with a few of those pictures.....

Granny doin' her thang back in the day

 

Me, Granny, and Grandad on Thanksgiving 2010

Me and Granny after one of our many trips to Lonestar one Sunday

Mother's Day 2010. That shirt should read "Mom AND Granny like me best!"

Me and cousin Jenn celebrating Granny's birthday with her

Poor Granny... always having to deal with cracked kids!

My favorite picture of me and Granny

<3

You know why we got along? Becuase we could share clothes.

My Granny. Beautiful then, beautiful always.

Granny

June 4, 1925 - December 21, 2010



And the word is... Poe

*Please engage thick British accent in 3, 2, 1...*

Twas brought to the attention of me, that the day before today, the world as a whole forgot about poor dear Edgar Allan Poe. Tis with a great passion for this historical man that I now fry up a blog, like bacon in a pan. (I'm sorry... but I am unbelievably hungry. I reference to food was unavoidable).

At some point, we all were forced to learn about a poem or two by this, one of the original lyrical gangstas. Do you remember being afraid that a huge raven was going to swoop down and pluck you from the desk? Or that there was a lost eye looking at you... like the one doing that right now? Or have you ever heard sounds from the floorboards and wondered if it was the beating heart of a murder victim? Maybe.

But, since we all know his more famous works, here is one I had never read before:

An Enigma

      "Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,

        "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.

      Through all the flimsy things we see at once

        As easily as through a Naples bonnet-

        Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?

      Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-

      Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

        Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."

      And, veritably, Sol is right enough.

      The general tuckermanities are arrant

      Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent-

        But this is, now- you may depend upon it-

      Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint

      Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.

Pretty deep stuff, huh?

Also of note, by now you all know that I attend the University of Virginia. Can you guess who else did? That's right! The dear Edgar A. Poe himself! (Just a shameless plug :]) 

 One last little tidbit... when I was told that the Poe Toaster didn't show up again, making it two years in a row, I had to look it up. I had no idea what it meant. So, thanks to Wikipedia (Shhhh don't tell anyone I used Wikipedia), here is the info on the Poe Toaster, now MIA for two years running.....

Adding to the mystery surrounding Poe's death, an unknown visitor affectionately referred to as the "Poe Toaster" paid homage to Poe's grave annually beginning in 1949. As the tradition carried on for more than 60 years, it is likely that the "Poe Toaster" was actually several individuals, though the tribute was always the same. Every January 19, in the early hours of the morning, the person made a toast of cognac to Poe's original grave marker and left three roses. Members of the Edgar Allan Poe Society in Baltimore helped protect this tradition for decades. On August 15, 2007, Sam Porpora, a former historian at the Westminster Church in Baltimore where Poe is buried, claimed that he had started the tradition in the 1960s. Porpora said the claim that the tradition began in 1949 was a hoax in order to raise money and enhance the profile of the church. His story has not been confirmed, and some details he gave to the press have been pointed out as factually inaccurate. The Poe Toaster's last appearance was on January 19, 2009, the day of Poe's bicentennial.

So there it is. My humble remembrance of a poet, who, apparently, is nothing more than a faint memory. This blog may not be much, but it's my belated birthday gift to one of the greatest poets to ever pen. I don't have cognac and I don't have three roses, but I do have a blog. And this one is for Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849).

And the word is... Semester

So today is the first day of classes for the new semester here at UVA - Ahh school how I missed thee *gags* - and I am already counting down the days until it is over. Okay, maybe that is stretching it a bit, but here's the Gospel truth.

For anyone who has ever pursued a higher education, you have probably had some type of experience with a little thing called money. For me, my parents and grandmother have been huge blessings by being so willing to help. Another special lady who was very excited to help me, in exchange for a small fee of course, was Miss Sallie Mae.

Now, Miss Sallie Mae is a wonderful woman. She and her friend Freddie Mac are always willing to lend out money. The only thing is that they both have very specific qualifications for the recipients of their generosity. For example, I called up good ol' Sallie a few months ago when I decided to make the move to UVA. She said she would gladly help me out so long as I did well in school and always always promised to be a full time student, killing myself for at least 12 credits. I agreed.

Then, when it came time to schedule my classes for this semester, I hit a few road bumps. I couldn't get into some necessary classes that were full, the times didn't fit, you know... the usual. So I went to someone who could help and got into the three Psych classes I absolutely had to be in."Awesome" I thought, "I don't have anything to worry about now! All I have to do is sign up for one more class!!" Well, with my break being as unfortunate as it was, I didn't have the motivation to email countless Profs and search through hundreds of classes to find one to fit my schedule.

I asked around for some suggestions and settled on a Sociology class, Society and Law. Unfortunately, I was not quick enough and had to settle for being placed on the wait list. Well, I went to the class today, with all the paperwork necessary to officially enroll with the help of the professor. What was his second announcement? That he would not be overloading anyone into the class. Anyone. Into the class. You know what that meant? He wasn't going to overload anyone into the class. Great!

Did I mention that without this class, I only have 11 credits? That means, and I know for a fact because I called her and asked yesterday, that my pal Sallie won't be giving me any money because I'm not holding up my end of the deal and am only enrolled for 11 credits. "Take a yoga class" they say. "Do this easy class with us" I hear. "Just take any PE class because they are 1 credit" I am told. Yeah! Great!! ...except every single PE class overlaps with my other classes. No lie. Every one.

Here I sit, in some random building at UVA -which is actually very cozy and may become a safe haven for me this semester because they have really comfy cushy chairs and outlets on the floor here - but I digress. Anyways, here I sit, after almost 3 hours of searching the catalog and how many classes work? 1. One. Uno. Un. Jeden. Chit.... which is not a curse word, merely a shout out to my reader/s in Taiwan). And what class may that be that could work? A Sociology class about the family that I would love love love to take...... but has a waitlist of nearly 50 people. My only hope is that the Teacher's Aide, who happened to be the leader of my SOC class last semester, will remember me, have pity, and work with me on convincing the professor to overload me into this class.

OH MY GOSH! GUESS WHAT?? In the middle of writing this, I just got an email from the aforementioned Teacher's Aide. He said he cannot promise I will be into the class, but that he talked to the Prof about adding more students in my situation and he has agreed to speak to us during office hours!!! Ohhhh sweet sugar! Boy, I hope this pans out!!! I will absolutely be posting a response blog on Monday.... but until then, I like to remain consistent. Therefore, we shall return to a negative tone for the remainder of this blog. My apologies for the brief glimmer of excitement and hope. ;)

So, as I was saying, I am sitting here, hoping and praying, that I can get into just one more class for this semester. If not, Miss Mae has told me I will not be getting that precious refund. I mean, if not, it's okay. All I need that money for are little things like, food, paying my bills, buying school supplies, and rent. Eh. Nothing big.

So here's to a new semester! Uuugh

And the word is... Photo

Well, to date, my post of photography is one of the favorites. So, as promised, I'm going to keep sharing work as long as you all want it. However, I learned a valuable lesson last time: If I post all of my pictures in one post, you won't keep coming back for more! Only kidding!.....sort of.

So this photo was taken back in November 2010 up on the Blue Ridge Parkway of good ol' Virginia. It was an unplanned day trip just to check out the last bit of Fall colors. There wasn't much left at all, but I did snag this shot. It reminds me more of a barren desert than of the mountains, but either way, I like it. There is just something about the one, lonely tree that still refuses to fall. The rocks along the side...... I really don't know what it is about this picture that I like.... it just says something to me. I hope it does the same for you!

Please feel free to share your thoughts!

And the Word is... Poetry

So by now, you know I enjoy dabbling in photgraphy and singing a bit. Another hobby of mine is poetry. I haven't written anything in a while, so I figured I'd share some of my older stuff with you all.

In February 2010, life had me at a point where I was so down and out. I was at my rope's end. Fortunately for me, there were  a couple people who reminded me that even though I had no length left in it, I still had that rope. So long as I held on for dear life and gathered the strength to pull myself up a little at a time, I would be okay. That time and those people inspired this poem. It talks about a very familiar friend and/or enemy that we all share. The tear.

Oh, Tear

You could be like a mud slide
You could be a like flood.
You could come when I feel like crud,
Or when joy flows from deep inside.

Who can stop you from doing what you do?
Only the maker, that much is true.

After a days work in the sun,
You may refresh me with your run.
At night, it could be you to moisten my pillow,
To make me like a Weeping Willow.

But who is there to see your stains,
For in the morning, none of you remains.

You're not always sad though,
For this I have seen.
You often make manifest
When I feel so mean.

The steam builds up like never before,
To blow you out of that teeny pore.

Then there are times when you're a welcomed guest,
A quick glimpse into life's eternal quest,
To find happiness and joy in the things we do,
And then realize we've made it because of you.

Those are the times we like you around,
For you're here with a smile, not a frown.

Oh, Tear, from mine eye you did appear
In a time of sorrow.
Now I am stronger and here, oh Tear,
Is your invitation for tomorrow.

You are welcome to come and stop by anytime,
But never forget this life is mine.
When I say it is time to go,
You better listen and from my face, flow!

Your time is through,
This is true.
So see you some other time,
For you're guilty of a crime.

You stole my life for a little while,
And now must pay the price.
For now I have on a smile,
And you'll melt like ice.

So I will see you around, Tear from mine eye,
For now is not my time to cry.
Adios, au revoir, and अलविदा too
Because I'm all better, and not so blue.

Jason Elliott, 2010

Copywright 2011

And the word is... Socks

*Cue static and walkie-talkie voices* "All units, be on the lookout for suspect in string of burglaries. The suspect is of an unknown gender, race, age, and body type. The unsub has not been spotted in all of history, but the testimonies of witnesses remain the same: the subject covertly claims one sock from the laundry before victims can complete the chore. This suspect should be considered multi-armed and extremely dangerous to your closet and personal sanity."

That is right. The sock monster has struck again. A few weeks ago, I thought it had taken a specific and much beloved dress sock. Well, it must have been a delicate and detailed trap! Last night, I put the newly re-joined pair of socks in the wash, along with an entire wardrobe of shirts, pants, and PJ's. This morning, when I made my way down into the dark and frigid basement to reclaim my attire, I made a startling discovery: the sock monster had struck!

That little sucker took my beloved skin-toned dress sock! He didn't even have the decency to take them both! Now what will I wear with my brown dress shoes? Oh, dear.

Seriously, I am tired of being victimized. I have more single socks than I do pairs! Just in past two months or so, I have 8 socks that have been separated from their other half!! What is up with that! Also, what is up with me keeping them? I have a tote bag full of unpaired socks. I am still holding out hope that they will be reunited one day soon. Should I just give up? I think I have come to the conclusion that I will hold out hope a little while longer. Only after I am sure the sock monster will not have a change of heart and return my socks, I will pull a fast one. Ladies and gents, keep an eye out for my future couture sock dress...