Looking at Feet

I was trained to be observant. It was part of my college experience. Because I work with animals, keen observational skills are essential. Noticing the minutia of life is one of my claims to fame, though I'm not as good as the main character on Psyche. So as I walk through my life, I notice things. The 3 males in my life are generally oblivious - they don't see dirt, disorder, or odd fashions. On numerous occasions I'll ask if they noticed a fashion, a figure, or a fad. It goes like this - 

"Did you see that woman wearing the belly button ring connected to her nose with the gold chain?!!" 

One or all will reply, "Nose ring? No." 

"She was wearing purple stripped hip huggers and a yellow halter top."

"Mmmm, no I don't recall anyone like that."

"She had blonde hair."

"Oh, there was a blonde that we passed."

“You didn’t see the big gold chain running from her nose to her navel?”

“No. Was I supposed to?”

We went to some rummage sales and I noticed a woman with a pedicure. Not just painted toenails. Oh, no. This was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. She had long toenails. Very long toenails. There was no way she could wear anything except sandals on her feet. I was fascinated and repulsed. Now there are women, and I work with one, that have elaborate nails. They are long and acrylic. Personally, I find long nails unattractive. Short, well kept nails are what I strive for since I have to donn surgical gloves. In fact, I've only had long nails just before my wedding (and by long I mean more than 1 mm of length). The thought that long nails are more feminine or that men find them more attractive seems a myth that begs to be debunked. Nonetheless, it is a popular fashion to have the fake nails painted in checker board patterns with the favorite NASCAR driver's number applied to the thumb nail. Young girls' first introduction to cosmetics is usually fingernail polish. But I have to know, are the long toenails done with a french pedicure really the latest craze? Do men notice and find it alluring? Or is this just one crazy woman's fetish? I'm hoping it was a manifestation of a mental abberation and not a new style....

Looking at my ADT Heart Security

We always talk about stealing kisses or stealing hearts. Love tends to take people by surprise. They spend so much time earnestly searching for it only to have it tap them on the shoulder from behind. Sadly for some, love is a hit and run. They are victims of accidental love or unfaithful love, and sometimes love is a thief. Hopefully the stolen kiss won't be missed and they leave the heart ransacked but unbroken. The unscrupulous lover steals it all and never looks back - a kind of Bernie Madoff lack of remorse. Sorry only that they couldn't get a better price...

Walking on crepe soles cat quiet

No breath sounds to warn of silent approach

No time to sound the alarm

Stealthy and pickpocket quick

Calculating, cold, cunning, clever

True thief but not heartless

            Anymore

Watching the Mint Harvest

Indiana has contributed a higher than average percent of young men and women to military service. The recruiters swarm like locust through the high schools. They are aided and abetted by the counselors, who steer them toward students that are easy pickings. The promises of education, vocational training, a steady pay check, and 3 squares a day comprise an offer they can't refuse. A number of boys had no greater dream than working the family farm. When the farm was foreclosed and the equipment auctioned their dreams died. They joined the Marines. Some decided that they would like to see the world. They enlisted in the Navy. Others when deprived of the joy of driving the combine, decided a tank would do as well and found a place in the Army. And then they came home. Some were quietly delivered, almost secretly, to funeral homes. Others were transported to hospitals and then to VA rehabilitation centers before they made their way home to their families. Then there were the ones that walked off planes and through terminals into the embrace of mothers, brothers, sisters and fathers. It reminds me of the mint fields that are scattered on the outskirts of town. There is a distinctive aroma when the plants are harvested, caused by the unavoidable damage to the fragile leaves. The returning soldiers give off a smell.  Many are saturated with it and it remains on their breath and in their dreams. The farm boys seem especially damaged. The land that was watered with the tears and sweat of their fathers calls to them but they have forgotten how to answer it.  

Fertile is the land

Farmers plant for fall harvest

Crops of earnest sons

Forces destroy tender shoots

Fighting wars devours lives

Soil dark and blood soaked

Spilled like seed from a weak seam

Gleaned from field and farm

Small green sprouts cut down too soon

Seeds unripe forever sterile

Bruised stem and leaves ooze

Breathe mint scent on summer night

Red blood makes rich dirt

Brokenness betrays beauty

Black loam begs bounty

Looking at Old Technology

This last week I had a scare. My aging palm pilot (m500) refused to write, then it refused to go back to the menu, then it wouldn't charge. I did everything I could think of including resetting it. My ministrations appeared to bring it back to functionality. Now it has happened again. It won't let me erase a note. The screen is not responding to the stylus or the buttons. The situation is grim. I love my palm pilot. I know that it has been made obsolete by the fancier color screens and the internet capable units. The beauty was in the simplicity. Mr. Spock had his ever ready Tricorder. He took readings, determined environmental parameters, and used it as a GPS. The Doctor had a sonic screwdriver. He could lock and unlock any door and more. As for protection there is nothing better than a Jedi light sabre. Of course it won't do you much good unless you know how to use it. All of them had the technology that allowed them to not only function but to excel in their missions. I'm no different. Take away their technology and they become stranded, defenseless, and lost. I too am feeling lost without my Palm Pilot. I could record data and then sync it with my computer. I could communicate effortlessly with the supervisors by beaming forms, documents, and even calendar events.  I feel a little behind the times but don't want to give up the ease and utility of my palm. *SIGH* Perhaps the boss still has his palm and I can use that one?! He never did get the hang of it and I bet it is in "like new" condition...

Watching for Tornados

I remember summer storms. We lived in a one-story ranch built on a concrete slab - no basement. The prospect of a severe storm would make my Grandmother nervous and we would often travel the short distance to her house in the city. There we would amuse ourselves. On the other hand there were plenty of storms that were weathered at home. We all knew that the place to be was the bathroom in the tub. Thankfully we never had to take refuge there. The soil was mostly clay in our subdivision and the drainage was poor. (Probably why the farmer sold it to be developed - out in the middle of the countryside) After a good storm, the ditches that ran the length of the street through every front yard would be knee deep in rain water. The grass in our yard was never very lush except in the side yard down to the ditch. There it would grow green and soft. Since my father was not fond of mowing, he would wait until the majority of the yard was ready to mow before tackling the job. The side yard grass was always much longer than the rest of the yard. It became our version of the 'slip and slide' when the storm had passed and the water was high. The sharp tang of ozone in our nostrils and the peculiar smell of  wet earth would lure us outside in swimsuits. The sun would come out as would all the neighbor kids - barefoot and ready to play in the impromptu swimming holes. The storm fear dissipated with the first touch of toe to water. Forgotten was the thunder, lightening, high winds and the lurking danger of tornado.

Tossed high on the wind

The last remnants of autumn

Herald a summer storm

Leaves flip up in gusts

Like skirts revealing petticoats

In a paler shade of green

The warmth of the ground

Meets cold northern air

Clouds like rams in rut collide

Percussion rain pelts down

Buckshot raindrops pepper the ground

Parched, it drinks and petrichor releases

The twisting feather flutter

Of dried out leaves

Carried away in black cloud

Rises and falls, wheels and returns

Wind chased, hurried then caught

And driven this detritus and debris

Dips low to meet the muddied ground

Fingers form, a claw scratches the earth itch

Before rising to stab the sky in howling fury

Brown mulched leaves plastered

Against trunks made wet black