Halloween Haikus 2013

Autumn dusk settles;

     Dark, resting souls awakened;

haunting, to and fro. 

Restless souls, waiting

     for darkness to fall upon

the day; sweet rewards.

                                                   Lock your windows, bolt

                                                       the door; ‘Tis the night of the  

                                                  zombies, best beware!

Darkness looms; scary

     creatures wandering, lurking,

hankering . . . yearning. 

One., two, ghost says, “Boo!”

     Three, four, a knock at the door;

Five, six, “Treats, or . . . tricks?”

                                                              On this Hallows Eve,

                                                                 who wears a disguise, and who

                                                               dares stand in the light?

Mortals, be wary -

     be ready with sweets; tonight,

they come, craving treats.

http://monkeypickles.com/author/leslie-m/

"Tis the Season . . . for PUMPKINS (Apparently)!

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/17/tis-the-season-for-pumpkins-apparently/ 

I went to my favorite, local market, the other day, to pick up a few items for dinner. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, it resembled a Saturday morning.

I, actually, had a moment where I questioned my brain about what day I was in. 

Tuesday. 

Definitely Tuesday. 

NOT Saturday. 

They must be giving something away.

After spending ten minutes, circling the compact parking lot (testing my patience, as I was confronted by every type of “driver-challenged” label one could possibly come up with - for fear of hate mail, I will let your imagination do the talking),

. . . I finally found a spot.         

Taking my life into my own hands (visual of me walking side-by-side, with myself), I dared to walk through the parking lot of driver-challenged individuals, and safely (yet, barely) made it to the sidewalk.

I walked through the automatic doors and . . .

BAND playing!  LEIS (not lays) flying!  FACES grinning! 

I’m thinking, they are definitely giving something away,

     but I don’t think it is something they normally sell in the store. 

“It’s CUSTOMER APPRECIATION DAY!!!” someone hollered out. 

“OHHhhhh, YAY!” was my response, as I saw my “quick trip” to the store,

                         suddenly extended. 

And, there were pumpkins - EVERYWHERE.

Pumpkins in every size, shape, and color (apparently, orange pumpkins are going out of style). 

And, pumpkin FLAVORED . . .  everything.        

 

“Would you like to try a sample of pumpkin biscotti?” said one,

                         as he shoved a tray under my nose. 

“Pumpkin ravioli, over here!” said another. 

“Try a sample of our pumpkin coffee!” announced (yet) another. 

“Pumpkin pound cake?  Pumpkin waffles?  Pumpkin chips?  Pumpkin ale?”

Hmmmmm . . .

Amongst all the chaos, I tried to remember what I had come for.    

By the time I left (with my leis, around my neck), I had a new appreciation for pumpkins,

      and (in my head) I was doing a pumpkin appreciation dance. 

That night, for dessert, I served up Pumpkin Bread Pudding. 

OH, YUM!   

As I thought back to my trip to the market, I was still convinced they were giving something away,

  as I had never before seen such enthusiasm . . . over pumpkins.

And, I think, whatever it was (that they were giving away), 

     it may have been in the pumpkin-flavored coffee.  

That might explain my “pumpkin appreciation” dance.    

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/17/tis-the-season-for-pumpkins-apparently/ 

Navigating Back-to-School Night

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/09/navigating-back-to-school-night/

Somehow, I managed to get through four years of high school,
     without getting lost in the hallways.

When I walked through the doors of my youngest son’s school,
     I was handed a “map”. 

When I say “map”, I mean one that was intended for a tiny little mouse,
     with tiny little eyes, and tiny little reading glasses. 

The numbers and letters were SO small,
     that I had to strain my eyes to make sense of them. 

And, the hallways did not make any sense. 

A runs into H, and B runs into K . . .
     I wasn’t even going to begin to try to understand.

With the help of several red-shirted student volunteers, I made it on time.

On to second period (or, so I thought).

     “Everyone in here should be in their child’s fifth period classroom, right?”
informed the teacher.

Me: Gulp. No.

If there was a tiny little mouse hole 

     to hide in . . .

Instead, I just smiled, and (quiet as a mouse) I slinked out of my chair,
     and out the door.

I looked at the map, and was able to read it well enough
                              to recognize that my son’s fifth period class was 

ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE 

of the building. 

The meetings were only ten minutes long – I wasn’t going to make it. 

But, I decided to go for it, asking my red-shirted friends, along the way.

“Take this hallway ALL THE WAY down,
             then turn left, and go ALL THE WAY down,”said one.

Then, he added,”That last hallway is REALLY, REALLY long,
                                                                    so don’t let it discourage you.”

Don’t let it discourage me, I laughed to myself.

     Good advice.

Especially, coming from a fifteen year-old.

I was not so positive at his age.

     "YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT !!!" is what I would have said.  

I finally DID make it to the gym (which was never my favorite class, anyways).

I had just missed a powerpoint presentation.

                             OH, darn.

Somehow, for the rest of the evening (2 hours and 20 minutes), 

I was able to find my way to each of my son’s classes, AND in the proper order. 

I did receive a few battle wounds, along the way (not including my ego). 

I got bumped into, stepped on, and I twisted my ankle (going down the stairs). 

     I really AM very coordinated (just to let you know).

AT the end of the night, when my son’s teacher asked if there were any final questions, 

I raised my hand and asked,

“Can you give me directions 

                              to the parking lot??!”

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/09/navigating-back-to-school-night/

How About Gout?

Gout:  a disease in which defective metabolism of uric acid causes arthritis, esp. in the smaller bones 
           of the feet, deposition of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain (Google).

2. 
   

I went to the doctor, yesterday.

Nothing major; just a follow-up appointment.

The bad news is that I gained two pounds.

The good news is that I am still eight pounds down from where I was
     six months ago.

When I made myself comfortable on the paper covered "bed",
     the nurse sat down at the computer to update my records.

Nurse:  It says here you have seasonal allergies, asthma . . . and gout.

Me:  Um, NO on the "gout".

Nurse:  Huh (fingers, typing on the keyboard).

Nurse:  And it says here your are on . . .
                 (some sort of medication I've never heard of).

Me:  No.

Nurse:  Oh.  That medication is for gout. 

Nurse: (fingers, typing on the keyboard)

Nurse:  Are you sure you don't have gout?

The voice in my head:  It sounds really tempting.  I mean,
                                          I have never had gout,
                                         but it sounds like something I wish I could have.
                                         Even the sound of the word, itself - GOUT,
                                           is so pleasant,
                                                                  but . . .

Me:  "NO", I do not have gout.

Nurse: Huh (fingers, typing on the keyboard).

The voice in my head
     (with a smile on my face):  If you'd like, you can provide me
                                                   with a checklist
                                                   of cool sounding illnesses,
                                                   and I can check off which ones I think
                                                    I would like to have.  

The nurse looked at me, and smiled back.

To Be a Guest

Guest (noun): a person who is invited to visit the home of or take part in a function
                                   organized by another.    

 “Be our GUEST, be our GUEST, put our SER-vice to the test . . .”

You know the tune.  

                                                              

UnFORtunately,
     guests do not get PAID to visit. 

(Well, maybe SOME of you PAY your guests, but that’s an entirely different story . . . )

I have been invited to be a guest writer for this 
UNIQUE, QUIRKY, RANDOM, FUN! 
     and ALL AROUND AWESOME website.

While I do NOT get paid, I DO get incentives if I receive the most views and "likes". 

So, I wouldn't mind at all, NOT AT ALL (is there an echo?)

     if you would view and “like” my stories,

EVEN IF YOU DON’T LIKE THEM. 

Well, no, you shouldn't do that.  
That wouldn't be right.  

YES, YOU SHOULD!

Did I say that?

http://monkeypickles.com/author/leslie-m

                              

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/09/10/ignorance-and-an-hour-at-the-nail-salon/

Ignorance (and an Hour at the Nail Salon)

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/09/10/ignorance-and-an-hour-at-the-nail-salon/

I stared down at my toenails. 

They were beginning to resemble chipped paint, from an old, rusty automobile,

only, one might describe that as “vintage” or “classic”, or even . . . “charming”.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I had an hour to spare – time for an overhaul. 

I went to my “regular” place, where the nail technicians speak very little English.

BUT, I am not there to have a discussion about world politics,

     and small talk bores me, so that suits me just fine.

I, once, read an online review by a customer who could speak Vietnamese. 

She indicated that the nail technicians were all taking trash about the customers.

I asked myself if that bothered me. 

     “NO,” was my response.

As long as they do a good job, I don’t care what they have to say about my

     “charming” toenails (or, any other part of my body, for that matter).

I just stick my feet in the warm, bubbly, non-judgmental water, press the “seat recline” button on the remote control, close my eyes, and tune everything out.

Sometimes, I do get caught up in the sound of the language.

And, sometimes, I am AMAZED at how MUCH these ladies can talk!

I am not a big talker (in ANY language), but what could they possibly be talking about?  For THAT long??! 

     I wonder . . .

Then, I laugh to myself. 

They are talking about my “charming” feet.

That may be so, I think, but this calf massage feels REALLY good. 

Sometimes, I look at the other customers,

     and try to imagine what the nail technicians might be saying about THEM.

OH, I can have a good time with that . . .

 And, wouldn’t it be great if I COULD speak Vietnamese???

I could spontaneously chime-in on their conversation.

Can you imagine the looks on their faces?

I wonder how you say “Oh, shit!” in Vietnamese??!

Language, in general, fascinates me. 

I always wonder what American English sounds like to foreigners.

I, once, asked a Dutch speaking friend what he thought.

     (Now, DUTCH is a funny sounding language).

With one eyebrow raised, and a semi-frown, he tilted his hand side-to-side,

     and said, “Nothing special,”

which is exactly what I would have guessed. 

    

After my nails were painted (the color of the day),

     and I sat with my feet under the “toenail dryer” for ten minutes,

I went to the counter to pay my bill.

With a smile and a tip, I said “thank-you” to my nail technician, Aya.

And, maybe she did talk trash about my “charming” toes,

  but when she smiled back at me, I chose to believe that it was sincere,

for ignorance (and an hour at the nail salon)

                                                               . . . is bliss. 

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/09/10/ignorance-and-an-hour-at-the-nail-salon/

     

"A Tree is NEVER Just a Tree"

The tree arborist came out to confirm its death.
I knew it was dead, but . . .  still, I needed to hear the words.
 
     "What do you think caused it?" I asked, as he stood and stared at the tree.

He looked up at its brittle, lifeless branches.
He rubbed his hands across its smooth bark with its rough edges.    
He placed his foot upon its roots, still grounded.     

Taking a step back, he paused, as if waiting for an answer.

     "For the life of me," he said, finally, shaking his head,
          "I have no idea. Must be something underground that we can't see."

The following week, the tree was gone.

     A few months later . . . . . .

I received a notice on my door from the Department of Utilities.
The reading on my meter indicated that there was a possible water leak.
The next day, I noticed that there was water leaking from my front yard,
     spilling onto the sidewalk.
The day after that, a plumbing company came out to look at the problem.

Diagnosis:  a crack (somewhere) in the underground pipes,
                         probably due to age.

Then, I thought about the tree.

Could the removal of the tree have caused the crack in the pipe? 

     "Highly doubtful," said the plumber.   

I thought about the tree, again.

The water had most likely been leaking from the pipe
     well before there were visual signs.

I remembered the words of the tree arborist:

"Must be something underground that we can't see."  

     It was a slow leak.

A slow, undetectable leak . . .  that, most likely, killed the tree.

A slow, undetectable leak.

A friend of mine made a comment that "a tree is never JUST a tree."

He has no idea how true those words really are.

A tree is NEVER just a tree.