Docent Tour 2mrw? Help.

[STUMPED how an entry written in / posted to this blog nutrinoed instead to my other one; then, exotic expletives when 'blogger' prevents access to desktop images.]

Time to close
Another day
Before I start
And end some study

Intended way much earlier
To open notes and to refer
To stamens, species, and to
Spurge.

But all delayed.
Instead I pruned,
washed some dishes,
cleaned a room;

Swept some,
Laundered,
Didn't iron; weeded
Times three

Never tired.

Until thank you
Notes, and mail run,
Then
Workout at our newFit gym.

So, the whole day
Spent and flew.
(Don't forget to
mention GOO:

Carmel, Pecan
Chocolate Rune,
Leftover favor
From BD holdover.

OK, so, mention too
That wholesome bowl of
fresh picked rue,
goatmilk yogurt and PILED ON
Fruit...

...Oh! My Holy LORD and Savior,
How to 'splay this?! 
(eats and savors.)
ThankYou ThankYou for
Such favor!

C? Forgive me for taking all your pomegranate seeds.

Weeds 'A Plenty

It's a pitiful thing to be labeled a prude, but my long term peeve is public undress.  I love to offer hearty feedback to newspaper's about their ads, Victoria's Secret about their window displays, and merchant's about their catalogs.

It's a fact of life, this urge to letter-write; less than a duty, more than a calling; or maybe just a fancy that, like pulling weeds in a garden, inconvenient acts might change the world one sacrifice at a time. OCD? Insanity? Instability? To believe you can change the world one weed at a time? One un-read letter at a time?

Pulling weeds used to be drudgery, but now, in spite of knowing twelve more will just pop up when I'm finished, I nevertheless find it satisfying. And, while I used to get all formal with high end stationery to write my diatribes, post it notes will suffice these days. Twelve more weeds just sprouted? Whatever.  My letter gets trashed for looking unprofessional? Whatever. It's the hope that prevails: Do what you can, and leave the results to God.

So, I add prayer to my zeal, and that gives me hope that, like with Wilberforce's life-long dream of ousting slavery from England, God might have mercy on this century; this country; this people. Imagine. He might well inaugurate a return to 1940's dignity, swim suits that don't require one to shave her privates, and underwear worn as outerwear no longer.

They used to call such inaugurations "revivals." I like Wilberforce's terminolgoy: a restoration of manners and civility.  Whatever you call it, it all starts with a supernatural return to a Christ-centric notion of modesty for His sake; identity in His image. And a well weeded garden.

I can dream.

It only takes a minute

PS: This morning's first assignment confirmed The Call.  DH pushes the newly subscribed-to morning paper over to my side of the breakfast bar and says, "here's your next letter..." It was a block of massage parlor ads. While more tasteful than the demonic Beachcomber strip club layouts, I still winced. Legal massage parlors adverising, not sex, but "exotic ecstasy with 8 young asian girls..."   

 I am not a journalist. I'll need to pray for one to come along... 

50th Birthday Wish

Eaton Canyon Falls. Altadena, CA

Just one hope:

To get thee gone

Semi-far

From my home;

With this certain

Expectation

(rooted not in

revelation),

That the further

I should roam,

The fewer ills

My chromosomes

Might have to own.

I am alone

In my adherance

To such balone'...

...Upon return from

Church/Hike/Lunch

Triple treats

For all to munch,

But the bigger

Treat by far

Was Osama's

"Head-in-jar."

And Obama's

Jar-Head spar.

Heftiest

May Day

Gift

By far:

(Web boots TV,  earth's ajar! )

Easter Con

We drove no points,
We read few verses,
Heard no diatribes,
Made few fusses.

Had no readings, prayer* or talks;
Just a crippled Lenten walk.

Fighter Verses are in need:
How to supplant lazy greed**, or,
Move the soul to feel the burn,
of knowing weakness isn't spurned;

Stake a claim on vision plans
Transforming flesh
into Real Men?

In 2012,
Reject 'again.'

(*That's not entirely true... I now recall some quality prayer times; just minus one or two of us. And, well, once I finally figured out what I was giving up for Lent, it was 2/3rds over.  Is giving up 'pants in church' a serious sacrifice? Well, YEAH.)

((** HoneyBaked Ham
So overrated,
Mem'ries of cash
In Gramp's eggs,
Jaded.

Music played
At this piano
Rarely sacred,
More like Shallow.))

This I Will

Ponder dirt
And stow my worms,
Make you some fresh
forked n turned;

Compost's best
After it rests.

--LBUrban Hackney