Tag Archives: postaday2011

Love Affair

I love writing and I write for a living.  Yet, I still find myself compelled to use words to channel whatever muses are flirting with me at the moment.  I have an on-going love affair with. . .words.  So, really, I write to live and live to write.  My life force cannot be divorced from getting down onto paper whatever must be there.  It’s pure survival for me.  If I’m not near my laptop, I’m scribbling thoughts onto paper.  If no paper is present, I improvise and write on my hand.  I have sat on a beach with the beautiful, soflo sun shining overhead and, having forgotten my pen, used my phone to text myself bits of prose that popped into my head.  If there was a way to write while in the shower, I’d do so.  Then there would be no need to try and remember what it was that came to me while shampooing my hair.  Blogging is relatively new to me and I like it.  It’s nice to occupy a piece of cyber space and express oneself.  It is weird knowing anyone can read whatever is written (since I know some off the wall people) but those people do not mean anything to me (therefore, who cares)!  There is much more I would like to write but am unable to because of life’s circumstances.  This currently unpublished material should land me a gig as a script writer for Lifetime.  In the meantime, some of the words I tap, scratch, and text into existence get published through this venue.  Others do not.  Blog world, readers, friends, and loved ones, welcome.  I’m honored and happy you came.  Do stay for a bit.  Kick off your shoes, settle yourself on my couch, and enjoy a great cup of coffee.   Sugar or creamer, anyone?

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Monday Memory

Everyone has a memorable picture that brings a smile to their face.   Monday Memory occurs the last Monday of each month and allows us to share that favorite photo and story.   If you choose to participate this month, please remember to drop your link in the comments section of each Memory you visit, so that we may come and visit your site.  This idea was hijacked from my friend, Mary!

My story is cute, funny, and brief.  My dad has always been the treasured “Granpy.”  Part of his obtaining  this status involved many introductory rites (such as the event pictured below).   My parents have been actively engaged with my children since I gave birth.  They have helped out and loved watching their grandchildren grow.  Dad came over to stay with my children while I went to the store and when I came home that is what I found.  Biker Granpy tattooed with Crayola washable markers!  While this was the first (and only) time Granpy was “decorated,”  I could not stop laughing!  Soon after this picture, I almost lost my dad to a heart attack (thank God I didn’t).  I’m not sure what we’d do without him.  He’s irreplaceable!  When I see this picture, I remember good times!  My children were also known to “style” dad’s hair (wonder where they got that from?) gel and hairspray included!  Lucky Granpy!  My kids are grown now and those fun days of young childhood are gone. . .time the ever selfish bandit continues to hoard precious hours, seconds, minutes.  I, however, was so grateful to snatch some of those passed moments from time’s clutches and enjoy them today! Love you dad!  xo

 


Loving Legacy

sometimes tucked
arms entwined hers
looped through his
crook a lady and
gentleman sauntered

other moments
gentle hands held
her right his left a
living bridge built
spanning 64 years

once in a while her
shoulder brushed his
while they traipsed
side by side a secure
distance between them

always for richer or
poorer in good times or
bad sickness or health
loved and cherished not
even in death did they part

~Pamela



Portfolio

she was liquid convertible
bought then sold “securities”
a word not recognized in
her metaphysical vocabulary

terms tossed about like
paper airplanes aimed here
there nose diving into sharp
dips and crumpled equities

result of losses maybe wobbles
in her investor’s confidence or
possibly sheer panic either way
equilibrium shoved off kilter

she was left to question her
worth she realized she was an
asset her price immeasurable
by Wall Street’s standards

he was hit hard when he traded
stock privatized that plummeted
her market value though
rose to astronomical heights

~Pamela 

B.S. Meter

Meter reader guy:  “I inspected your service line and nothing’s been tampered with.”

Me:   “Thank God, I was worried for a minute.”

Meter reader guy:  “I went ahead with the maintenance and you should be good to go.”

Me:  “What do I owe you?”

Meter reader guy:  “Nothing.  Says here you’ve paid in full.”

Me:  “Awesome!”

I am happy to announce (no, not that, what the heck were you thinking?) that my B.S. meter is fully operational.  It is so sensitive that it picks up the slightest B.S. kilowatt.  Then the small hand moves.  Fortunately, I am not charged for B.S. read.  I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble.  However, I am developing a portable, handheld system that may be purchased for a reasonable price for those of you whose meters are not working properly.  I have many people to thank for my highly, specialized meter but I will reserve my accolades for another time and place (the B.S. Oscars 2011).  In the mean time, you know who you are.  I do, however, have my speech worked out.

Me (accepting my award):  “Thank-you.  I am so honored.  I would like to thank my family and friends for supporting me during times of high stress  B.S.  Next, I thank those red hands for spinning out of control and saving me from unnecessary naivety. I will treasure you always.  For those of you who have fine tuned my meter because of the spoonfuls truckloads of B.S. you have dumped my way, my future appreciates it (bowing)!”

Friday Moment

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing moments from the week. Simple, special, extraordinary moments. Moments you want to pause, savour and remember. “This Moment” is a ritual found on  Life inspired by the Wee Man which I then kidnapped from Almost there by Sarah-Jane.
If you have a Moment just leave your link in the comments section so we can all have a peek!

Home

bases loaded two outs
on deck switch hitter
swinging the air seasoned
with spicy yellow mustard
and tangy sauerkraut
clay disturbed rising as
cleats ready themselves
hamstrings taut calves
tensed oxygen gulped
next up pawing then the
pitch cracking contact ball
sprouts wings flies out of the
park crowd kinetic screaming
energy he runs rounding
bases 1st 2nd 3rd home

Pamela A. Rossow

Graham

 

 

 

 

 

crucifix gleamed round your

neck spoke without words of

pain wounds that couldn’t be

loved away

you knew what it felt like to be

lanced cut hurt you smiled and

suffered that couldn’t be

taken away

stitched together you were an

exploding fast ball let loose to

test life’s velocity until you were

taken away

crucifix gleams round my

neck speaks without words of

pain memories that can’t be

loved away

Pamela A. Rossow



Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: Well, two Turtle Doves. I’ll tell you what you do: you keep one, and you give the other one to a very special person. You see, Turtle Doves are a symbol of friendship and love. And as long as each of you has your Turtle Dove, you’ll be friends forever.
Kevin McCallister: Wow. I never knew that. I thought they were just part of a song.
Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: They are. And for that very special reason.

(Quote from Home Alone 2)

 

The Brownings

Okay, I know love letter fest is technically over.  HOWEVER, I could not resist posting two, short letters exchanged between one of the most romantic, literary couples  (Robert and Elizabeth Browning) ever  (in my book THE most romantic, literary couple).  Of course, Elizabeth wrote my favorite poetry collection, Sonnets from the Portuguese, for her husband Robert Browning and I believe them to be the most beautiful poems (especially numbers I, XIV, XX, and the best, XLIII).  So enjoy and keep that passion alive every day, not just on Valentine’s Day!!!!

To Elizabeth Barrett Browning:                                                       

…would I,  if I could,  supplant one of any of the affections that I know to have taken root in you – that great and solemn one, for instance.
I feel that if I could get myself remade,  as if turned to gold,
I WOULD not even then desire to become more than the mere setting to that diamond you must always wear.

The regard and esteem you now give me,  in this letter,  and which I press to my heart and bow my head upon,  is all I can take and all too embarrassing,  using all my gratitude.

– Robert Browning
(1812-1889)


To Robert Browning:

And now listen to me in turn.
You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me – my heart was full when you came here today.
Henceforward I am yours for everything.

– Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(1806-1861)

Symphony of Saws

I’m sitting here working and loud sounds may be heard outside (despite the Cat. 5 rated hurricane, impact resistant, glass windows in my bedroom). By loud, I mean very loud since if the sounds were softer, I wouldn’t hear them at all.  To many people, these sounds would be considered “noises.”  If my ears don’t deceive me, a heavy duty concrete saw is being utilized as well as a tile saw.  These sounds should irritate me but they don’t.  Years of growing up with a dad, who worked around the clock as a full-time firefighter and part-time carpenter, have provided me with enough “audio memories” that, instead of aggravation, I experience contentment when hearing the sounds.  Must have something to do with the association of loud sounds with progress (my dad was, and is, the type man to finish projects). So, I’ll keep writing to the symphony of concrete, tile, and hydraulic saws and know that my neighbor will soon be enjoying a beautiful pool patio.