Now THIS is the way to get your Christmas shopping done!
my life has been spent having
endless conversations with people
who are not there
redoing real conversations that
went wrong
rehearsing future conversations that
won’t happen
at least not with those particular words
futilely expecting others to say words
I have put on their lips
making up both sides
as I do when writing fiction
where outcomes are almost always
in favor of the protagonist
that fascinating character who is
some better version of me
fearful of real conversations
the shy five-year-old inside
still trembling in fear
in a corner of my PhD mind
trying to make life
turn out my way
believing I can control others by
my thoughts
just as nuts as those meth addicts I saw
who thought the FBI was talking to them on
their television
and I’m the helper
the sane one?
what if I refuse to have these
conversations with people
who are not there
I feel as though a big sink hole will
open at my feet
making life even more
treacherous
tentative
troubled
some of these conversations are filled with
dread or desperation
some are flights of fantasy
those even worse because
my “reel” life
will never measure up to
my “real” life
stop bingeing on junk thoughts
build courage to have
real conversations with
real people
keep the “reel” conversations
in the can
just for today
no conversations with people
who are not there
Amid these troubled times, I found my spirits lifted as our family’s traditional Christmas decorations went up on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Sharing a home this year with my daughter, son-in-law, and two little granddaughters made it a gala event. Sadly, five hours of unpacking boxes and decking the halls did little to counteract the excesses of turkey day since the leftovers were brought out midway. But out came the family collection of ornaments, each with its own particular history. And only one glass bauble hit the deck and cut one little bare toe.
Paris is remembered, unicorns displayed, and favorite handmade ornaments are unveiled once more, grouped in clusters by little helpers.
The Buddy L train with real steam coming out of its smokestack is patiently brought to life by my son-in-law and hides behind the tree out of reach of toddler hands. 
The little ones help Mimi (moi!) reconstruct the Dickens Village and delight again to the miniature ice skaters gliding around the ice rink. 
The advent calendar is hung to remind the children and adults to keep Christ at the center of Christmas, the One who can bring this world a much sought after peace. 
And, of course, downstairs in Mimi’s quarters, Doc Flamingo’s pink feathered friends are hung from the fronds of their very own Christmas palm tree. 
So a Merry Christmas to all from Flamingo Santa
And Happy New Year from this fancifully feathered duo.
And Mimi can now take a short rest and look forward to a visit with her son, daughter-in-law and two big boy grandsons up in Oregon in 3 weeks to celebrate more family holiday traditions.
A beautiful statement of what justice can mean
O Paris, how thy sorrow wounds my heart!
Homer did speak of love and hate,
as being attested to thy name in myth,
but woe am I, to witness such parallels in life,
where hordes have gathered to bring
vile terror upon thy beloved shores;
as did pass in ancient tales,
they come to rob you of true beauty –
spurred on by a warped sense of justice,
chosen to mask their true intent!
O Paris, let not vengeful voices deceive you
with their weighted rage to tarnish thy gallant heart.
Thy honour is worth more than
what now transpires in thy name.
If thy suffering must inspire others to rise in rage,
direct them to fall upon only those that didst wrong you
and to strike forth in a most discriminate way and spare the innocent,
so as to retain thy righteous place as a pillar of equality and justice
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riding the my-will train to a
destination of my own creation
located nowhere on reality’s map
rocketing down the wrong track
hoping to pull a magical switch and
end up where I want to be
what I need to do is pull the emergency cord
bring this insanity to a lurching stop
would I ride a real train to the
wrong destination
again and again
year after year
bewildered when I arrive
finding no welcoming arms
no expected outcomes
yank on that red cord
tell the conductor I want off
run to the station master
ask for direction from the one in charge
who knows all the best routes
including the one created just for me
take a few short trips at
his suggestion
regard it as an adventure not a
chore
get off the train to self-destruction
head safely in a new direction
even if I have to wait in the station
be patient and let that
smoky false desire chug on by
read the wisdom of ancient passengers
scratched upon the walls
plato’s advice that
time will change and even
reverse many of your present opinions
refrain, therefore, awhile from
setting yourself up as a judge of the
highest matters
or elizabeth barrett browning
whom you greatly admire
a woman of letters and love who scribbled
God’s gifts put a man’s best dreams to shame
This gallery contains 22 photos.
Favorite photos from my many journeys to Paris. Nothing can destroy its beauty, history and the courage of its citizens.
An absolutely haunting and very touching poetic description of losing a loved one to Alzheimer’s.
Cruelty has been given a new definition –
When a mind so capable and so beautiful,
Dies agonizingly slowly and piece by piece.
What was a source for inspiration atrophies,
Memories dim and eventually disappear,
The once vital, vibrant now needy, immobile,
Revered patriarch forced into second childhood.
One by one, loved ones receive bitter rejection,
They’ve become forgotten strangers to the stricken.
Relentless march across the mind shows no respect,
As it steals not just all mental capacity,
But the very essence of its latest victim,
Who they are and all that has ever made them them,
Slowly fades to be hidden behind a blank mask.
Long before the end can arrive to grant relief,
The light, signs of life have completely left their eyes.
An ending could surely not come too quickly now,
The mind has ceased and the body is following,
All that is left now is…
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Beautifully and tragically done
come, conceal away
dark mist, I dare not gaze on
the ills of this world
This is very thoughtful piece 💔
I weep for tranquility,
the hard-won peace
that came, but was
wastefully swept away.
I weep for the trust
and friendships of yesteryears,
now careless abandoned
by contempt.
I weep for the respect,
now lost in time,
that might never again
see light of day.
I weep for shared aspirations
laid waste, by piled up
hatred, that refuse to
stay buried.
I weep for rigid ideologies
in conflict, that fear
compromise more
than the finality of death.
I weep for what was
shamelessly squandered,
by reckless hands, so
filled with arrogant pride.
What I weep for most
are for the children
who will never see the peace
that others took for granted.
Dr. Karen Stephen aka Doc Flamingo 