The drowning man calls for help
Do not ask me to stretch out my hand
I’m on shore and you’re too far from land
Above the waves I hear your water choked cry
Your voice is fading like the sun from the sky
You beg my aid but my promised help’s a lie
The water’s rough and I’m too afraid to die
My advice is to move toward the strand
I’ve lost sight of you from where I stand
The drowning man calls for help

This poem is called a Symetrelle. It was created by Julie Moeller. It is a syllabic form with a specific rhyme scheme. The poem starts and ends with a single 7 syllable subject line. The next two lines are a rhyming couplet of 9 syllables per line. They are followed by a quatrain of 11 syllables per line written in a monorhyme. Followed by another rhyming couplet of 9 syllables per line with the catch that they must rhyme with the first couplet! It concludes with the repeat of the 7 syllable subject line. It sounds more difficult than it really is.

This poem is a continuation of yesterday's post topic. Just to put your minds at ease, I am not dying nor are any of my close friends or family. This is about watching that long good-bye and being reluctant as well as helpless to render any assistance. Often the drowning person will pull their rescuer under and inadvertently cause the death of the person coming to their assistance. So I struggle with guilt in not having the power to change the situation and not having the courage to attempt the rescue - even though I know it is too late and the water is too deep.

I don't know what is better - the sudden unexpected end or the slow, agonizing waiting for the eventual demise. The quick way prevents any anxiety and distress from building while waiting. For those left behind, the shock and surprise can be overwhelming. They have to search for closure. Often there is guilt because if they had known they would have done things differently, said things, reconciled and found closure and peace. When the end is protracted, there is the opportunity to grieve ahead of time, to make peace with the dying and death, things can be planned and promises kept. It is not just the final good-bye. We say farewell throughout our lives. From that first flush of the toilet to putting away the dolls and childish toys. We bid adieu to homes and cities, schools and friends, and parents and jobs. We are in a constant state of change that requires letting go.

Some people can't let go. They are hoarders that are unable to say good-bye to yesterday's newspaper, the empty cereal box or that pair of unwearable shoes. You would think that by the time we are adults that we'd become professionals at saying good-bye. Still we hold on tightly while karma or fate or luck grabs hold of something and rips it from our grasp. Often we tenaciously hang on only to delay the inevitable. I am currently watching a long good-bye. It is heartbreaking to see the struggle to accept the future, to make bargains, to vow retribution, to plan for the end, and even to try to wrestle away that which is being taken. And the plea to aid in the fight to keep what is being removed must by decree fall on my deaf ears. It has been written. There is no recourse. In the words of the Borg, "Resistance is futile."

With the cold weather I question my desire to remain in the Midwest. My siblings are located in Georgia/Florida and in Pennsylvania. Among Sparky's siblings, five of six live in our town. The eldest lives in Montana having just this summer relocated from Maryland. She speaks of stunning vistas of snow capped mountains, forested valleys and starry skies so clear that you can count each and every point of light. But the thing is, and I think most of Sparky's siblings have realized it, where you live is not decided by the weather or the view out the kitchen window. It really is all about where your heart is located. I toy with the idea of moving to a warmer locale and then I realize that both of my sons live less that 5 minutes away. Almost all of Sparky's immediate family live close enough to gather on Sunday evenings for ice cream and jigsaw puzzles. We have very close friends that live around the corner - literally and figuratively. There are people we love who if we were to move to Arizona, Nevada, Texas or Florida we might not see more than once a year if we were lucky.

Every time I list the pros and cons of living through another winter in Michiana I come out with a lopsided list. There are so many reasons to move to a warm place but that one reason not to leave tips the scales and we stay. The old saying "home is where your heart is" is oh so true. I can't leave until there is no one left here that I hold in my heart. Looks like I'm going to be remaining locally for a long time. Not so bad really. I've got a thick bath robe, fuzzy slippers, flannel pajamas, fleece sheets, multiple thermal comforters, space heaters, hand warmers, and my family. I think I'll be warm enough to survive another Michiana winter! Lake effect snow or not!

Before Advent began, I had my "game plan" prepared. This year I was going to have all my shopping done. I was going to decorate and leisurely bake cookies. There would be time for reflection, devotions, sacred scripture reading, and quiet prayer and meditation. It started out so well. All things falling into place. Christmas cards were addressed and mailed, the gifts were purchased and even wrapped. The house was decorated. I had my Bible at hand. John has 21 chapters making it a chapter a day... I felt that everything was flowing along smoothly. Then life happened. The messy business of living intruded into my well ordered and neatly organized agenda. I suppose it was to be expected. Humans are unpredictable and for the most part chaos magnets. I've been fighting off a cold ever since my dentist visit. Work turmoil has put a damper on my spirit. And it snowed. Somehow my snow boots disappeared and it took both Sparky and me a half day to find them. With all the fancy parties I have been trying to put together festive outfits that are not only fashionable but warm - not an easy task. So with my immune system in rebellion and my stress levels rising to a critical point I realized that I've stopped watching for that "star of wonder" and I've grown weary of waiting for the "sweet Saviors birth".

So I'm taking a moment to breathe deep. I'm letting go of the tension. Christmas is coming and I've got to get ready. Of course the best way to do that has nothing to do with cookies and wrapping paper. With my eyes closed I'll open my heart. There is a sign there that says "Vacancy".

Don’t lie
Lies unravel
The liar is found out
Trust destroyed cannot be rebuilt
Liars can’t be trusted
Take care of truth
Speak truth

This is an Eintou. The Eintou is one of the truly African-American poetry forms. Eintou is West African for "pearl" which is a description of the poetry form. It is a cyclical form, round like a pearl, and attempts to impart a "pearl" of wisdom. It is a syllabic form with 7 lines. The number of syllables per line is: 2-4-6-8-6-4-2.

Although it seems too obvious to even mention it, speaking truth is a must. I've noticed lately that truth is not being held in very high regard - not in the media, not by politicians, not by companies, and not by individuals. Just recently I heard someone speak. They spoke a truth. They were nearly destroyed during discussion. Those who disagreed had no basis for their accusations that what was said was inaccurate. Time will prove the speaker was correct. In the meantime some folks will believe what they will believe and refuse to believe the truth, "The emperor has no clothes!"

There are lots of articles in magazines and on the web addressing the need for work/home balance. My professional publications contain pieces on "compassion fatigue" and "burn-out" and other syndromes or conditions brought on by a lack of stress coping skills and an imbalance between work and leisure. Which brings me to today's blog. I can't really tell you what is happening in detail and I can't point fingers and name names. However I can talk in general terms and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I love what I do. I love the animals and I like many of my coworkers. I have deliberately kept my work and my social life separated. There has been a building tension at work. There are deadlines with dire consequences attached for failing to complete the tasks in the allotted time period. The end of the year contains a few additional time sensitive tasks that are not on the radar for my superiors. Things like making the CE calendar for 2017, updating the online learning assignments, developing a schedule for the professional education registry, writing the newsletter, and the end of the year database cleanup. All that on top of the usual end of the month stuff - Word of the Day lists, Word of the Day quizzes, updating the website among others. I just endured our safety inspection and we'll get our final 2 year certification if today's follow-up visit goes well. To say I'm feeling the pressure is a gross understatement.

This month has been filled with numerous occasions for social interactions with the work crew beyond the normal work day. So many in fact that I'm feeling disinclined to look at my coworkers let alone make small talk. We have two more parties to go before the Christmas break. I am not looking forward to them. I need to get away from the noise. I want to NOT think about how I'm going to accomplish the tasks I've been assigned when road blocks are thrown up. There has to be balance. I used to be able to find it - that sweet spot between home and work that was just for me. Ceramics is on break until the second week of January so I don't have that creative outlet. All I've got right now is xanga and the anticipation of Christmas. So perhaps by writing all this out and sharing it with you I can put it out of my mind for a little while and find that balance before I find my tipping point!

I like to think I'm a pretty decent cook. I've made some excellent meals. I can make gravy! I know how to cook a turkey to perfection. My pasta dishes are quite tasty and I can turn chicken into a meal fit for royalty. Every once in a blue moon I have a flop. Well, not a complete disaster as in it can't be consumed. It is more like a meal that just didn't meet expectations. When I'm making a new recipe I'll stick very close to the written instructions. I figure I need to "color in the lines" just in case there are difficulties. Like the time the instructions left out the part about stirring constantly and my flan turned out lumpy. It was still edible but the texture really detracted from the dining pleasure.

I bought dried yellow split peas intending to make split pea soup. I followed the directions. The longer I cooked it the thicker it got. I had some for dinner tonight. I could barely get a scoop of soup. I was considering getting out a knife and cutting a chunk when I came to my senses. Wielding my favorite serving spoon, I hacked on it until I chiseled off a suitable portion. It required water at a 1:1 ratio to reconstitute it to a soup consistency. I foresee freezing a portion since there is no way I'm eating on peas porridge hot or cold for 9 days!!

I have a very, um, conservative old lady Bohemian fashion sense. My fashion consultant turns her nose up at certain designer labels (even though she is generally all about the label). She sneers at Alfred Dunner and Coldwater Creek both of which I tend to gravitate toward. I'm not a huge fan of many of Alfred Dunner's clothes since they favor elastic hems on many tops and blouses. However, my man Alfred seems to have a color palate that screams for my attention! So much mint green and peach, paisley prints and brocade jackets - they make me swoon. And if you are at all familiar with the Coldwater Creek line you know they feed my jacket addiction. So when I shop with my fashion consultant she steers me away from my comfort zone and into a more Boho chic/ retro hippie look. It is thanks to her that I've discovered fleece lined leggings and have the perfect thing to wear with them! Anyway I'm getting off topic.

In an effort to look less like a nearly 60 year old, my friend suggested I try to find some more "youthful" styles that could meld with my current wardrobe. She has pointed out the big bulky sweaters with interesting applique details. She pointed me toward the long tee worn under a jacket. Her suggestion of "skinny" jeans was rejected after trying on several pair and getting hysterical. But on the whole her fashion mojo works.

She likes Juicy Couture, Sleeping on Snow, Burning Torch, Banana Republic, Free People... you get the idea. Anyway, Sparky and I were at Goodwill on half price day checking out some the deals when I came across a coat that made me burst into laughter. I was holding this coat and laughing my head off. It was just so bizarre that I had to show Sparky. He insisted I try it on just for fun. Well, his sister happened to be at Goodwill too so she got to see the coat. We got a good laugh out of it. Her comment was that it was just strange enough to be cool. Sparky said I looked like a denim yeti.

I though I looked like I had on a ghille suit.

I looked up the designer, Alfredo's Wife, and decided this was just the right touch of eccentric to add to my wardrobe - for $3.50...

This is the coat on a hanger. When I wear it, it literally comes down to the floor. There are no buttons so you have to hold it closed. I'm considering belting it.

It has about 4 layers of denim and weighs a ton - well maybe not an actual ton but maybe 15 pounds. It is the kind of coat that if it got wet you would be incapacitated. The fringe in a close-up shows the slightly frayed edges which gives it a nice feel.

I haven't had a rant in awhile so I figured this would be a good time - early enough in the month that I can redeem myself to get back on Santa's "Good" list.

I love a bargain. As for brand loyalty, I'm not a big proponent. I'll buy most any brand for most any product. Now there are a few and I mean FEW products that I insist on name brand. Dawn dish washing liquid is the best hands down. Safeguard deodorant soap is far superior to any generics. Covergirl foundation is the only kind I'll use. For most other items I will purchase whatever is cheapest. I have no qualms about generic pasta, canned goods, shampoo, toothpaste, laundry soap, even yogurt! However I have my limits. We bought some cornbread mix on sale. Now generally speaking Jiffy Cornbread mix is really cheap and it is reliable. It has a great flavor, is light and fluffy, and makes a solid 6 muffins.

The sale stuff was half the price of Jiffy. Although I'd never heard of Southeastern Mills, it seemed a good brand. I was wrong. It is made in Georgia. There are a couple of things a Georgia housewife would never do. One would be to buy refrigerator biscuits. My sister lives in Atlanta and when she moved to the south she had to learn how to make biscuits lest she be shunned and shamed by her co-workers and neighbors. The second thing is that the true southerner would never be caught dead making cornbread from a box. It was painfully obvious the cornbread mix I bought was designed to sucker the gullible Yankee into thinking they could make cornbread like they do in the south. I should have known since you only needed to add water.

My cornbread was pale and sickly looking. It failed to rise. If it hadn't been so salty it would have been tasteless. So I'm adding Jiffy cornbread mix to the "must get this brand and only this brand" list. You live and you learn!

As an early Christmas gift, my coworker Mr. Fudd, gifted me with some venison. I was excited but Sparky was ecstatic!

As soon as the Thanksgiving leftovers were reduced to a size that left room in the refrigerator, I made a pot of venison chili. Like all venison, it was very lean meat.

It was so nice not to have to hunt up an empty can to collect the grease from browned beef. However because there isn't any fat, you have to tend to the meat by stirring and monitor the stove heat so that it doesn't stick or burn!

I didn't take any photos of the chili - it looks like any other chili. The taste however is delightful! It is really good but Sparky insists on adding some salsa to his. He didn't even taste it first!