He never could keep his buttons on. They always seemed to dangle at the drop of a stitch… she knew that she ain’t no fancy designer, but she managed to stitch his pants real good…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mouth Drop.”
I must implore you not to laugh, snicker or snort when you read this ;), even though I struggle to keep a straight face myself as I recall my brief experience in flying without wings. I promise you, it was never my intention to take R. Kelly’s – I believe I can fly too seriously.
As was the case, it was not my mouth that dropped open, but the whole body of me!
Several months ago, I made a decision to start jogging at twilight and purchased spanking new gym outfit to give myself a boost and a rush.
Feeling all geared to go, I set off for my first run and joined by my first son, I took off as swiftly as I could.
The light evening breeze was cool, my music was on shuffle and I was generally having a good time. As my sprint quickened, out of the blues, I stumbled over a cobble stone and I literally flew a few yards in the air and landed in the brush with a heavy thud.
For several minutes, I lay there winded and all I could feel was the taste of pain that rushed from my left shoulder right into my throat. It was a metallic taste.
My son who had shot off ahead of me like a whistle, looked back and when he didn’t see my robust shadow following him, he back tracked and helped me get back on my feet.
I hobbled home and nursed my pain along with my wounded pride. My crazy desire for twilight jogging nicely nipped in the bud.
Who was your first childhood crush? What would you say to that person if you saw him/her again?
My very first crush came in the figure of a poster. I adored him from thousands of miles away, through the small handkerchief sized screen of a black and white television.
He was Thomas Sankara; Burkina Faso’s late revolutionary leader. His calendar post hung on the wall, where his imaginary words turned me into a renegade princess. Unfortunately, I was still too young when he died and I never got the chance to flutter my eyelashes at him.
Then came the second crush, who lived in the neighborhood. He was not quite as handsome but fairly manageable too.
He never knew I had a teen crush on him and when I ran into him several years ago, not a missed heartbeat or flutter did my heart suffer. For some reason, I kept staring at the balding shiny patch of his head, since I stood several good inches taller, trying to figure out what it was that had kept my young heart crushing. I couldn’t remember.
We exchanged pleasantries and went our merry ways. Me and my brood of kids and him with his bulging briefcase to do what it was that he did.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Your Number One.”Number one
My late dad adored music so much that now when I think of music and him, I think that he might have had a secret desire to be an artist or a maestro.
He played a plethora of tracks from diverse artists that right from my toddling days I grew up to appreciate and have an ear for all kinds of music. What I fail to understand is why I cannot carry a tune to match my love for music 😦
When I use the word diverse, this ranged from classics such as: Hallelujah from Handel’s Messiah, music from Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, James Brown, Bob Marley, The Jackson 5, Miriam Makeba, Fela Anikulap-Kuti, Sonny Okosun Elvis Presley, James Last, Don Williams, Dixie Chicks, John Lennon, Elton John, Paul McCartney, Ray Charles, Diana Ross, Donna Summer and a host of others
I think the music that sticks in my heart, the track that evokes bitter-sweet reminisce of my childhood and which makes my heart swell in gratitude to the man that nurtured me is the Jim Reeves classic “We Thank Thee”.
This was played in our house very early in the mornings and almost served as our waking call. Whenever I hear this track play anywhere, it transports me right back to our old family living room. To the smell of Sunday breakfast of fried eggs and plantain.
My dad helped to form the love that I have for music and dance today.
To you daddy, I say thank you and I love you always. May perpetual light continue to shine upon you as you rest in peace.
Please take a moment and listen to Jim Reeves, We thank thee and Halleujah from Handel’s Messiah.
I love spontaneity, which I try to limit to my shopping,writing and other fluffy things of life. In such times, my guts have stood the test of time.
However, in contradiction, I don’t like guessing games when it gets to the crunch time of making a serious decision.
I sit down wherever I find myself, with my note pad and pencil (never too far from me) I run the pros and cons, think and rethink before making a decision.
If I don’t have my writing material handy, who knows, I might resort to reciting Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe on my fingers and thinking the decision to death.
Eeny: Decisions, decisions
Meeny: weigh Pros on fingers
Miny: weigh Cons on fingers
Moe: Catch the Tiger by the Tail (and hope it doesn’t bite me).
He never could keep his buttons on. They always seemed to dangle at the drop of a stitch… she knew that she ain’t no fancy designer, but she managed to stitch his pants real good…
I must implore you not to laugh, snicker or snort when you read this ;), even though I struggle to keep a straight face myself as I recall my brief experience in flying without wings. I promise you, it was never my intention to take R. Kelly’s – I believe I can fly too seriously.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 