Getting Old


When you’re young you sometimes ache, but shrug it off,
It’s from running, or dancing or simply having fun!

When you’re old you worry, you stress, you dwell,
On the pain, is it my heart, an aneurysm, will I die?

When you’re young tiredness sets in and you sleep,
Your body repairs itself, your brain renews, reborn each day.

When you’r old, it’s extreme fatigue, your whole body tires,
You lie awake and worry that every breath is your last.

How long does it take to get old?
The blink of an eye, two shakes of a lambs tail!

Enjoy your young days, live life to the full, because,
You’re getting older and soon today will be a beautiful memory!


Fried Pickle?


I’m sixty-one, where did the years go?
There were things I used to do that I can’t anymore.
I can’t stay awake late!
I can’t sleep through the night!

There are many things I don’t have to worry about.
Like the pain of getting my bikini line waxed.
Don’t do that anymore!
I don’t have to worry about making myself look good for the young men at work.
They don’t care!
I do have a better friendship with them though.
They look after this old girl!

I don’t worry about my figure so much.
You can’t fight gravity.
No need to worry about the latest fashions.
Walking became easier.
No more heels!

Don’t have to worry about getting my bottom pinched in Italy anymore.
Or getting hit on at the bar.
An old guy at the bar did take a shine to me a couple of years ago.
Sent me a fried pickle???
Didn’t eat it!

Getting old isn’t all bad, you just have to embrace it, and remember its better than what comes next. Won’t be able to blog about that!!!!!

(Or maybe I will)

Ode to Ethel

A single mum for years, you made my clothes,
You were a newly wed at fifty, I came on your honeymoon,
I was a teenager of the sixties, you didn’t understand,
But you tried,

When I was fifteen I persuaded you to take me to Italy, what fun we had,
When I was seventeen you taught me to drive, not an easy task.
You taught me to cook, to love and to forgive,
I was a handful mam, a new generation,

You came and stayed with me in Germany, when I had my child,
How you loved Joanna, and nursed her to let me sleep,
You crossed the Atlantic when we moved to America, you were in your eighties,
I never saw you again alive, but I tried,

In 2002 I flew to England, you hadn’t long to go,
Alzheimer’s had you in its grip, and you weren’t well,
I missed you by a couple of hours, but I’m sure you knew I was there,
I still miss you mam,








A Politically Correct Christmas (I don’t think so)


A Politically Correct Christmas
~ Anon

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck…
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”,
“Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the North Pole,
were alleged by the union, to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,
released to the wilds, by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear,
that Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his beautiful sleigh,
because the ruts were deemed dangerous by the EPA,
And millions of people were calling the Cops,
when they heard sled noises upon their roof tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe, had his workers quite frightened,
and his fur trimmed red suit was called “unenlightened”.

To show you the strangeness of today’s ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.
He went to Geraldo, in front of the Nation,
demanding millions in over-due workers compensation.

So…half of the reindeer were gone, and his wife
who suddenly said she’d had enough of this life,
joined a self help group, packed and left in a whiz,
demanding from now on that her title was Ms.

And as for gifts…why, he’d never had the notion
that making a choice could cause such commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur…
Which meant nothing for him or nothing for her.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot,
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls and nothing for just boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,
Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets…they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish upon the truth.
And fairy tales…while not yet forbidden,
were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden,
for they raised the hackles of those psychological,
who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football…someone might get hurt,
besides – playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.
and Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled and perplexed,
he just couldn’t figure out what to do next?
He tried to be merry he tried to be gay,
but you must have to admit he was having a very bad day.
His sack was quite empty, it was flat on the ground,
nothing fully acceptable was anywhere to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might,
give to us all, without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy – with no indecision,
each group of people in every religion.
Every race, every hue,
everyone, everywhere…even you!
So here is that gift, it’s price beyond worth…
“May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on Earth.”

Packing for an Italian Vacation!

Dresses, one two-three four,

OK, maybe a couple more?

Shoes, five, six, seven eight,

Maybe seven, think of the weight!

Shorts, tops, swimwear, smiles…

Family, friends, and miles and miles,

Of sunshine, memories, love and laughter,

To treasure now, and forever after.

Ode to the Blanchland Daffodils



Easter approaches and I remember my youth and the way we spent Easter Sunday. We would picnic in beautiful places around England. Sometimes we’d travel for a couple of hours just to find the perfect spot. One my dad’s favorite places to sit and eat his Easter Sunday picnic was Blanchland. We’d spread out a ‘picnic blanket’ and enjoy our ham sandwiches while we watched the sea of Daffodils moving in the breeze. England isn’t renowned for warmth at Easter, so a steaming thermos of tea was a welcome accompaniment. I wish my mam and dad were still around, I’d love to share one more Easter with them. This is for them.

My Journey through the Week. TGISaturday

crazy-computer-womanDid you ever have a week where every day was worse than the one before? I just did.

I started the week tired after a weekend long fiction writers conference. A great conference, but exhausting none the less. Busy time at work with a large deal closing. I’m also remodelling my bathroom, which meant running around in my lunch times, as well as after work to choose and match tile, granite, cabinets etc. I’m not quite as young as I used to be, and it’s catching up with me. Yesterday I could barely get out of bed, but it was Friday, I made it.

At last the weekend is here, all be it crammed full with things that have to get done, but I can do them in MY OWN TIME. Who knows, I may even find time to write.


My work week was a little wild

I made it though to my surprise

The weekends here and I’m alive

For now anyway!

Check out my first novel Dead of July – a German Ghost Story

Maybe I’ll find time today to work on my second one.

Stop Talking to Me

Too Tired!

Oh I’ve been so tired this week,

Too tired to blog, just needed sleep,

My brain too full, too much to do,

I know this must have happened to you!

Frustrated because I need to write,

I need to edit a chapter tonight,

Instead I’ll wait, admit defeat,

Tomorrow’s another day!




A June Wedding!

I sit here this morning, tired but with a smile,

I’ve had no time to myself for quite a long while,

The date approaches when my daughter will be wed,

RSVP’s and caterers are running around in my head,

The day will be perfect, I know that’s the case,

But these last few weeks feel like a desperate race,

The day approaches when guests will arrive,

By air, by bus, and some may just drive,

In Estes Park my daughter will stand with her groom,

Like the flowers, their love will continue to bloom.

Della Terra

Ode to the Cricket



The evening is alive with the sounds of nature.

A competition between insect and bird.

Who will win?

The sun slides slowly down behind the beautiful Rocky Mountains.

A sign for the birds to sleep.

A bat flaps overhead

Hunting for food.

I shiver, I don’t like bats.

The noise of the night changes, as the crickets come to life.

Time to find a partner, time to mate.

Their call overpowers the silence of the night.

It’s a good night to be a cricket.

Dead of July (Small)


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