Dogs in Strollers Signal the End of Times

A repost. Because I just watched John Mulaney’s new Netflix special Kid Gorgeous and he talks about his dog stroller. I’ve lost all respect for you, John. Sigh. But you still make my whole family laugh. So. You got that goin’ for ya.


Do you suppose that at the height of any advanced civilization, pets were carted around in small chariots and worshipped? And then the civilization collapsed due to economic and political disaster? Egyptians, Romans, Mayans. America?? The sign of the end is animal worship IMO. LOL

I don’t know if it’s Florida, old people or Wal-mart, but the amount of small dogs in strollers is increasing. I just saw two Shih Tzus being walked in a stroller on our street on the way home this morning. I saw a Yorkie in a stroller at Wal-mart last week. North Korea has missile capability. The end is nigh. (Please remind me to never go to Wal-mart ever again. Even if they have the cheapest aprons for high school ceramic students in town.)

Seriously though, why stroll a dog? Isn’t the purpose of walking a dog that the dog actually gets exercise? God have mercy on our confused nation. I mean, I love dogs, but a baby stroller?? Please euthanize your dog if they are unable to walk any more. For God’s sake. If you are offended by this advice, you might be a dog-strolling Wal-mart shopper. Or from Florida.

For years I have openly laughed at neighbors standing in small, sad patches of grass behind their dog, watching said dog poop, relaxed with total apathy except for their anxious blue-gloved hand in permanent claw pose, waiting to scoop said poop. The dog always has a smirk or a smile, “I got this human to pick up my shit for free just because I lick his face when he walks in the door.” Or the dog looks totally strained or confused. “Why do I have to poop in front of everyone??”

Who’s in charge? Someone once famously said, “If aliens came to our planet, they would think dogs were in charge because we are picking up their poop!” Aliens would definitely think dogs are in charge if they saw us carting them around in a baby buggy. Gah!

Flooding in Texas. Increased earthquakes. Global climate change. Start prepping now. Actually it’s probably too late. Watch Red Dawn and buy a bottle of Tequila.

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Present Tense is 99 cents today. Check it out. I can’t always offer these on sale, but it is right now, so go grab it.

My game play manual is FREE!!! right now, so check that out! Updo Salon & Spa It’s cheap at $2.99, otherwise. It’s a whole night of fun with your galfriends! Fun to just read, you don’t even have to throw the party, but you’ll want to.

Then I have my newest pub, House Full of Hope, a play. 99 cents today as well! Thanks for checking me out OR just joining me in celebrating my New Addition. LOL Bad joke, I know.

Writing a book or blog article or play is very much like giving birth. There is immediate joy after the delivery and you forget how bad you felt in labor. But even in the tears, even in the pain, there is joy to be found and pleasure to be experienced.

Forgive me if I’m the mom who is making you look at all the cute pictures of my new spawn! LOL I’m just so excited to offer low prices (or FREE) on my babies!

Sideways

This is a repost. Still like it.


There was a tentative crab
Crawling out to sun.
Dodging surf,
Sideways and unsure.

I could barely see
Against the sea,
But once I found him,
I couldn’t lose his shiny-gray body.

My head half-buried in the sand.
Body unmoved. Just my eyes.
And the light felt silvery as the sun was falling.
And my skin felt brown and warm in the silver.

GrayCrab skittered about, back and forth,
Picking up dark blades and sea offerings.
But then, he disappeared
As quickly as the shore.

Down his hole,
Back to his underground palace
Filled with treasure, shells, spells,
Beach snail friends, and wonderful tales.

See you later.

Roundabout Okie

Hey y’all! I’s done did it now! I was cast in Grapes of Wrath here in Venice. I get to play Ma Joad. I can’t tell you how excited I am. I’m fit to be tied, I tell ya.

Grapes of Wrath is epic. Christian-themed, full of religion and tragic as hell. You could tell me it’s based on an ancient Greek play and I’d swaller that whole. I can’t wait to get started.

Hear tell, I’m an Okie. Sorta. Little bit. My kin come from all over, but my granddaddy’s daddy married a full-blooded Native American down in Oklahoma and had hisself a brood with her’n. My dad’s dad was 1/2 Chickasaw, came up from Oklahomie and put hisself thru Chiropracty schoolin’ in KC. He was a farmer, doctor of sorts and fishing lure inventor. He even patented a complicated, new-fangled, unsuccessful lure design, had a couple made, and sold a very few. My ma still has one. Ugly thing made to impress with multiple hooks, shiny plastic housing, and bright, fake insect-like bait, but in all probability, totally useless.

I am particularly proud of my tangential Okie connection. My Native American heritage. My own Missouri family history through the Dust Bowl and Great Depression. I am proud to come from a long line of working class folks. The people who work hard and do what it takes. I’m not sure how or why they (we) made it through such a terrible time, but it tells me even this minute detail:

“…we’re the people that live.” (Ma, Grapes of Wrath)

I’ve overcome terrible sickness/surgery, my own personal depression, and raging food addiction for the last 5+ years, but I am the person that lives. 🙂 I come from a long line of hellers. 😉

10-word poems

I saw a prompt today on Facebook in a writing group. 10-word poems. Feel free to leave one in the comments!


All I ever wanted was everything.
Turns out,
It’s you.


Warm room.
Foggy windows.
Red cheeks.
Big sweater.
Tired.
Loved.


Children playing with Christmas toys.
Knee-deep in shredded wrapping joys.

(Is knee-deep one word?? LOL)


Ten-word poems are tricky
When you don’t fully understand hyphens.


Please leave me a 10-word poem!! 😀 It’s fun. Write something today!

Thanks!

It’s been almost 2 years since I started my blog. January 15, 2016. Dead, Bloated Deer Carcass was my first article.

I have 480 posts (this article makes 481, and very few repeats). Over 13,000 views. And 332 followers. I’ve also lost ~172 lbs since I started! 😀

Thanks!

It hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows. It hasn’t all been publishable prose or poetry. But it’s straight from the heart. It’s my life. It’s straight-through-the-teeth truth.

Thanks for following. Thanks for reading. Thanks for your support. I don’t do this for money. I do it because I can’t stop.


Also! I would like to keep interviewing people.

If you help people, anyone, even one person, in your community on a regular basis, I would love to interview you for a series on charity. It could be anything. As simple as always giving the homeless guy on the corner your extra change. Or always donating to an organization. Cooking meals for patients. How do you help people every day or at the holidays? I would love to hear your stories and share those with my followers.

Leave a comment or message me. You can also email me at: martha.maggio@sbcglobal.net.

Christmas is Temporary

From 2014:

Christmas is fleeting. All year long, we wait in anticipation of the holidays and then we complain the whole time. It’s too crowded, cold, busy, expensive, gluttonous, hurried. I didn’t get what I wanted. I gave everyone a present and now I’m broke and alone.

The spirit. The spirit of the holidays. The joy of Christmas. What is it? Is it lights? Is it cocoa? Is it candy, presents, cookies? Is it the promise and hope of magic? But it never comes. We wait all year and it never comes. And then the lights fade and the tinsel is taken down.

Christmas is temporary.

But it’s not. What is it we are waiting for? What is it that we miss every year and chase after time and again? It’s Christ. That’s what we are really looking for and we’re looking in the wrong places. Is it in this tin of cookies? Is it in this neatly-wrapped box? Is it at the bottom of my second cup of cocoa? Is it at my 2nd, 3rd, 7th Christmas karaoke party?

An entire season is dedicated to what started out as a celebration of giving and hope. Hundreds of years have come and gone, each renewing the tradition of Christmas. But each year some family grows further apart. Each year some person grows more jaded, cynical, greedy and Scrooge-like. Each year our eyes grow more narrow and short-sighted. Each year we try to chase our pleasure, fulfillment and that indescribable magic that only caught us as children because we were bright-eyed and open.

Years ago, at the Blue Ridge Mall, they had a display. I don’t remember now if it was all the time or just at Christmas, but I remember it at Christmas. We were in line for Santa and the line snaked by a huge oil fall. It’s a waterfall except they used oil on strings. It’s like a waterfall in slow motion. It was magical, beautiful and a wondrous summation of the holiday experience for me. I lost myself in the endless strings dripping with glowing, hypnotic oil. I felt warm, silly and excited. I drank in the luxury of it all as I waited for Santa. I don’t remember Santa exactly, but I remember the strings. I wanted to reach out and grab them. But instead I swallowed my fingers and excitement over and over again at simply being near them. At that point, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I remember Mom and Dad close by. I remember my siblings there too. I remember the sounds of cheerful shoppers as they shuffled by and their muffled packages swaying back and forth in their clasped hands. I remember the soft mall lighting and the quiet aromas of furniture, leather shoes, popcorn, clothing, carpet and mall food. I remember feeling safe, happy, joyful. The mood was love. And everyone felt it.

Now, I’ve begun a tradition with my family. We try to see Longview Lake Lights. We’ve been coming off and on for a few years now. And the best part. They have a field full of trees made from lights. Those are my favorite. They remind me of the oil fall. Delicate pearls of light suspended in the darkness, soft purple and blue, hanging on invisible strings melting into the night. For the last couple of years, it’s the most peaceful and the most child-like capture of innocence and wonder I’ve known. I’m five again. I’m eight again. I’m me before all the bad. I’m in Christmas up to my neck and in love with the world.

I wish I could take that with me. I wish I could visit the lights every night. But I can’t. The lights are even closer now that we live here, but even so, I can’t see them every night. But I can look for Christ. I can look for him every day and celebrate his birth. I don’t have to wait for “the day”. And I can try to capture his joy, his love, his intention, his gift every single moment, all year long. I can look for it as I drive, shop, eat and talk. I don’t have to wait all year and miss it. I can look and find it. I just have to be bright-eyed and open. His love is hanging right in front of our faces on an invisible string of light, dripping down and mesmerizing us with the delicate, graceful fall and we just have to reach out and grab it.

Merry Xmas! Happy Holidays! May you find many joys and love.

Find the Fun

The week of Christmas.

Every year, on the Sunday before Christmas, we gather at my grandmother’s house and celebrate. Celebrate=eating and lazing about.

The house is cold and has funny smells. It’s an old, large house so the smells could be many things: the renters upstairs—smoking cigarettes and cooking on hot plates; the occupants downstairs—natural gas, human gas, perfume, stale cookies in the cookie jar, turkey, deviled eggs, homemade stuffing, unbathed elderly people, dirty children, unwashed crocheted afghans, well-worn rugs, mothballs, fake logs, fake trees, fake food. Even fake has a smell. “Guess the Smell” could have been a fun, family tradition. But it seems that fun was not the focus of these feasts. Kids, though, steal fun whenever they can.

My sister, my nephew (only a few months younger than me) and I ran from room to room, trying to find the fun. If any was to be had. Sometimes, our same-age cousins were there to horse around and magnify any fun-having. We normally played outside, played games, told jokes, made jokes or snooped around the tree room, looking for the presents with our names. I think it’s socks again. Tube socks.

I am sitting across from Cousin Julie. I was asked to sit. Otherwise, I would be swiping food or fun. I don’t know what to say. People think I’m shy, but I just really don’t know what to say. I feel uncomfortable to look at Julie. Not because she is repulsive to me, but because I am scared that I will stare and ask questions.

Julie has spina bifida. That means her spine is open. She was born that way. She has a wheelchair, which is cool. I would like to ride around in it. That seems like it would be fun, but you can’t do that when someone needs it. I want to ask, but I’m not supposed to ask those questions.

“How are you doing?” Julie asks. Julie is beautiful. No one else thinks so, but I do. She has soft, light brown hair, large eyes, large red lips and a sweet, smiling face. I’m not sure if Julie combs her own hair. I don’t know if she is capable of combing her own hair. Her shoulder-length bob is curled and shiny, but looks slightly bygone. Her mother must comb it.

She is so kind. She has on a cozy holiday sweater and plain, stiff skirt. She is slightly overweight, but so am I. She’s so different from my own family. My sister would never ask how I was. But in my mind, I can’t accept Julie. She’s different.

My family does not engage weakness, illness or difference. Julie was rolled into the family room and locked into place. The people who happened by are the only contact she has. There are older people sitting with her, talking to her, but she is not capable of finding the fun. The moments she steals are connection and kindness.
Why is Julie so happy? I am sad for her. Sad that she can’t run, play, hide, snoop. Sad that she only has old people talking at her. I am sad for Julie because I see that people treat her with sympathy. They approach her wheelchair as a casket. I do too because that is what I see. That is what I learn.

I want to play with her. These are my goals. But she doesn’t play. She can’t play. I want to know Julie, but I can’t ask any questions. But Julie is happy. I see it in her smile. She makes me feel cute. I silently squirm, answering questions when asked, until I am released to find the fun again. I want to understand how to discover Julie, but the desire fades as soon as I am freed.

I never know Julie. I never seek her out. She is gone before I graduate high school and her memories and ideas are lost. We lose her to ovarian cancer and her experiences are not shared with me. I love Julie. I am thankful for her tenderness and brief kindness. I understand now why Julie is happy. She is happy to be alive. She was taught to be nice.

This is my happy face (Bitch)!

If this were a shirt for me, I would add “Bitch” to the end! lol

I was walking introspectively the other day, into the hospital where I deliver labs, and one of the doctors (lady in a lab coat) told me, “That’s not your happy face, is it?”

Look, I have piercing gray eyes and am often lost in thought about the universe and God. Leave me alone! lol I’m a writer.

I wanted to punch her.

I’m happy. I’m downright Zen, Bitch! But then that’s not a very Zen-like response, is it?

So, I instantly forgave her stupidity and assumed she was completely insane or insecure. Doctor or no. Then I pitied her. Had empathy and compassion for the idle-chat crazy. And then, I smiled.

See? Total Zen! LOL

Even if she wanted to cheer me unnecessarily, that was a rude thing to say. What if I am happy and you’re saying I look ugly? Sour?

You’ve just hurt me, Stupid. The opposite of your goal. I’m so sorry you have a degree to wear a lab coat and still can’t function in polite society. Get a grip, Doc.

I can write funny, but often have BRF. It’s in my genes. (My mom has to deal with crazies, too.) Deal with it! 😀

I don’t think people have to go around with a Buddha-like smile all the time to reassure those who are insecure or nervous. But I often smile at strangers. It’s just not my priority to make you feel secure. Sorry. I am very friendly to my co-workers and route clients. I don’t make mean faces at people. I don’t go out of my way to scowl. I just have an internal dialogue that often involves God. Isn’t that better than waving around my negativity??

Thanks for understanding.