Le Meltdown

Do you see the alligator head?

This is hard to write, embarrassing, and perhaps necessary, because it's a narrative of failure.

There seems to be another metastasis, in my right humerus (already have one in the left, and in the right f inemur). It's extremely painful, limits movement, and limits life even more than it's constrained now. It feels just like a broken bone, only a bit worse.

Added to the other growths, the chest, leg, and abdominal pain, shortness of breath, and frequent vomiting, it seems a bit hard.

And I let it get to me. Got snappish with Barb and hurt her feelings, and was unkind to the dogs.

Round and round, ruined an evening, and when I was done I was in exactly the same place, which I had made through my actions more bleak.

It'll heal. But I don't trust myself, and that may be the most positive outcome, because vigilance is the necessary protector of joy, faith, and good manners.

There is something I have found,

and it left me scarred and sore,

that anger leads you round and round

and leaves you were you were before.

Yes, it might well be a right,

a way to cope with devastation,

but it doesn't lead to light,

and can birth an alienation

from the ones we truly need,

the ones we dare not drive away.

To rant and rage is merely greed,

desire for a former day

far away from fear and pain

that can never come again.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is OWE.

My culture says I owe this life

the passing of a simple test,

and that would be to treat my wife

as a greatly honoured guest

whose presence is a privilege,

whose smile is a bright noble gift;

to be casual is sacrilege,

and so each day I'm bound to lift

my efforts to a higher plane,

my courtesy to raise

ever to a better name,

and never to neglect the praise

for all kindnesses shown, for such

is she to whom I owe so much.

Four minutes and a bit.

Music from Daniel Powter, with Bad Day.

Sylvia doesn't like bad days. They make ice cream taste funny.

Spotlight Of Grace

 

I was out with Belle the Wolf this morning, and saw a patch of mesa spot-lit by the rising sun. Kinda cool.

I stand upon a darkened stage;

the audience have all gone home.

I didn't know that this script-page

said I would be here alone

with the ghosts of broken dreams

and memory of past delights

floating 'midst the shadowed beams,

but Someone still is on the lights

and I hear closing of a switch;

from on high, light-beam comes down

and in its brightness there's grace which

heartens this bruised tired clown,

whose days have come so misbegotten,

with the knowing that he's not forgotten.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is CHAPTER. Sounds kinda booky.

Chapters come and chapters pass,

some are taut and some are slack,

and some are a pain in the donkey,

but what the heck, you can't go back,

so count the rosebuds while you may,

watch the lizards dash around,

cherish every given day

even if beaten to the ground,

for what you were makes what you are,

a thing of beauty built by God,

and do not think that any scar

makes you ruined, broken, flawed,

'cause great God hath designed you

for repairs with His Own Krazy Glue.

Well, that went somewhere other than planned, but, hey, just under four minutes. Yeah

Music from Mercy Me, with Greater.

Sylvia hopes there's ice cream at the end of that sunray.

The Preciousness Of Me

 Let them go, let idols shatter,
strike the chains off and be free.

Know the truth, it doesn't matter,

the cloying preciousness of Me.

Become the clay on Potter's Wheel,

let Him shape with practised hand

into what will be more real,

and then, my friend, please understand

that you are destined for the flame,

the kiln that will refine your heart,

and on your base imprints His Name,

and you'll be fit then to take part

in His Heaven on this Earth,

in moulded fire-formed rebirth.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is DELIBERATE.

I wanna have de liberation

from the yoke of my own ego,

and happily take on the station

of a bouncing happy beagle,

ears a-flappin' in the breeze,

tongue a-lolling, wet with drool

that sprays around each time I sneeze;

man, that would be really cool.

Chase a stick or chase a ball,

dig an 'Oh, you DIDN'T!' hole,

jump to see beyond the wall

with no worries for my soul

because my faith need not be awed,

'cause backward spell of dog is GOD!

It wasn't what I expected to write, but at three minutes thirty, why not?

Music from U2 (opening in a new window), with I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For .

Watch for Bono trying to break-dance late in the video. It's a hoot.

Sylvia found what she's looking for. McDonald's vanilla ice cream!

Barb's Got Nickname

Hard days. Time for fun.

I really have no sense of shame

(not that it would be relevant),

and thus, Barb has a new nickname,

'Shazaam! The Golden Elephant'.

There is something I have hinted

for her church-y congregation,

getting pachyderm-y t-shirts printed

so they might rise unto occasion

that when she comes up front to sing

all will get unto their feet,

and a joyous noise they'll bring 

as my bride they gaily greet

with arms raised trunk-like (as each can),

and a mighty shout, 'SHAZAAM!'

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is SOON. Better than late, I guess.

The doctor walked into the room,

and in sorrow looked at me,

and then he went and told me soon

I would simply cease to be,

which is quite a funny thing,

but really not a source of pride

that soon he heard death angel's wing,

and while I live, the poor dude died.

It's kind of a cliche'd joke

to live to bury one's physician,

'specially when he said I'd croak

before too long, given my position,

and now I'm gonna pause to cry

because I truly loved the guy.

Three minutes thirty, and yes, tears in my eyes.

Music from The Beatles, with the lovely song and charming video, Here, There, And Everywhere.

Sylvia feels that she's her own nickname.