Cutting Up

Current car commercials 

complain of cookie cutters.

“Munching motorists

Might miss me,”

my gingerbread man mutters

Something sweet still sends

Sugary shudders

So many must mutter

“Keep em coming, cookie cutter.”

Me And Walt

I’m working through whitman’s song of myself

More than once I have sat reading all that I could

On  and on as it flew ‘til I finally stood

Trying to hold it all, at one time in my mind,

Not as walt did, I tried not to leave it behind

But it washes on through, and so, becomes me.
Is that what he wanted us all to behold?

Or is it that self seldom seen with the eye

Hmm, I wonder 'bout whitman as the days unfold,

Not alone, of course, but with me, myself and I. 

Solar Tribute

At sunset (and at dawn perhaps,

I really would not know),

The clouds, their rules are know to lapse

They get to choose their colors, though

What they were when it begins you see

Must limit some just what their choices be.

The white clouds turn to yellow and pink,

Or some shade of gold, but always bright.

Dark clouds sometimes look like crimson ink

Or purple veins which underpin that light.

In any case the clouds they do transform

Their daytime roles displaying wind or storm.

Instead they bear glorious witness to the sun

The source of life, ‘round which the earth does run. 

Dis-Solving Problems

Ever have one of those days?  You know, you wake up with several crises looming and a list of steps you expect will address each of them?  To deal with the first, look up the tracking  number on that letter you sent and you'll know they are taking care of it.  For the second, call the service center line, wait your turn and they will clear up the confusion.  And the third, all you need to do is track down that original email with the information you seem to have lost.

Well, today, I tracked the letter to confirm it was delivered, called the service center and asked the question, and found the email I received with the original information.

The results--the letter was signed for by the wrong person, who held it for three days before handing it to the addressee.  When I asked my question at the service center, after putting me on hold three times, she took my number, promised to call back and didn't.  The email had an attachment, just not the one I was looking for.  Oh for three.

Tomorrow, I will have answers from all three.    

Dogs and Their People

Recently, I moved from one doggy community, to one even more profoundly so.  I mean mine had been a vacationers’ paradise, but with a twist that took a while for me to notice.   Many who travel to this part of the world (Hilton Head Island, SC) do so because their dogs are also welcome here.  On countless mornings, strangers walking the beaches in the morning hours (before 10 AM and after 5 PM) meet and greet with the help of their dogs. 

In the off-season (between Labor Day of one year and Memorial Day of the next), dogs are welcome on the beach all day long.  It is almost as common here for people to bring their dogs to restaurants as it seemed in Europe when I visited there.  Everyone is looking for a restaurant with outdoor seating, which implies to many that pets will be permitted.  But the clincher is when you see water bowls conveniently located around the eatery.  Dogs are welcome, and their people, too.

But now, I see people taking dogs for walks in strollers, and in golf carts.  One good thing I have observed is about the golf carts, they stopped and walked their dogs—actually leaving the cart.  Have I seen anyone take their dogs out of their strollers?  Not that I can recall.  People, do you remember what you are walking your dog for?

Today I watched three people who appeared to be walking their dog together.  It was a man with two girlfriends

Don’t get the wrong idea here; he and the dog shared a leash, that’s true. 

But being behind him meant nothing at all to the other two.

As was easy to see, the girlfriends paid him no mind.

They were talking and walking many paces behind.

I think they were friends, though they could have been neighbors

But clearly just one of them carried the fruits of their labors,

I’m sure one was getting the straightest of poop,

I just couldn’t tell which had provided the scoop,

Two bags she did carry, with what had been scooped,

Each with a fresh load that the dog had just pooped.

During the walk filled with startings and stoppings

The man with the leash wasn’t leading at all,

Nor were the two girlfriends, who carried the droppings,

Of that hound, their real leader, the king standing tall.

(It happens sometimes, I just break out in rhyme
I’ll soon be over it, just a matter of time)