Saturday, February 28, 2015

End of February....Whooshhhhhh!

Eeek, where did this month go?

One place it didn't go was to my hips! Still on my 5:2 Diet, and currently down 15 lbs. Five more pounds to make my 2015 goal. But I think I'm going to set a new 5 lb. goal after that, just to get rid of the belly fat. Yeah, yeah, I know, but I just would like a little wiggle room on the Maintenance diet.

The memoir is also puffing along, not quite as fast as February, but getting there....thanks to the help of the Writer's Group who continues to be stellar!

I only have three weeks of bowling left, so looks like my average will not reach 150, alas. I missed last week, due to a luncheon/fashion show I attended with friends. Ohmigod, nothing like a crowded room full of women's voices, over-50 style polyester outfits modeled by way over-50 models, and of course they ran out of chicken salad before our table got served. Would I ever miss bowling again for this? Make book on it!

My friends in Massachusetts are still getting snow. I must count my blessings. It's been a cold winter in Florida...but nothing like the winter up north this year. I would rather put needles in my eyes than live in that stuff again.

and I guess it's past time to put up my lame old February poem -- but here we go anyway: (Hope you had a sweet Valentines)


A buncha malarkey; a terrific load of Mad Ave crap,
Valentine’s Day is a great big scam. I wasn’t born
with an arrow in my chest, and if I see red, it isn’t edged

with lace. My mama didn’t raise no Whitman Sampler boxes,
with empty brown papers for brains. BonBons are no substitute
for the smell of sweat on a man’s work shirt in the hamper,

or his paycheck in my clenched fist on rent day. I remember looking
into his chocolate colored eyes, wanting to dissolve, dive into the silky shine.
I longed to sit liquid, yearned to swim like a marischino cherry in them.

Oh sweet Jesus, I am here to tell you, without all the intricate macrame
of Love, I have woven a life where promises are always kept, tears are few;
Eyes opened, heart closed. If you show me a Man then I’ll show you the door.

Forget that face with the craggy lines, his blue eye fire incandescent in my groin,
No, sweet Sanity has struck me cold, made me stone That is not for me
Not for me, by Golly. Not for me. Not on your sweet life. You can bet your bippy,

I’m just fine. But.dammit!

In February, floating in the vapor of memory’s clouds,
misting my resolve, are the shimmering spangles that gleam sweet,
tiny spaceships of passion, hovering, looking for a port.

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