eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
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If wishes were horses this beggar would drown. Wait no - scratch that - if pennies were horses this beggar would ride. Though upon further recollection that’s the wrong proverb entirely.

A penny for your thoughts.

A wishing well to toss pennies or for golden balls to fall into.

A penny saved is a penny earned.

Are any of these true? Adages and habits like these are the unseen losses of inflation.


The Frog Prince was performed at my wedding. A puppet show to entertain the guests before we met on the stage to exchange our vows. The self-centered princess dropped her ball down, down, down until a frog brought it back to her and traded it for a kiss. There is more to the story, a moral of being true to your word and how wishes sometimes come true in a roundabout manner. The bauble of a princess; So much more than a penny. Is the death of the penny going to ruin wishing wells; making sure only the 1% have wishes; Only those of us with golden ball baubles to throw into watery deep? Will I have to throw my grandmother’s wedding ring into the mall fountain in hopes of world peace, pain free days, and health for all people? Will piggy banks across America go out of use?

The dollar bill seems to be on the line, too. Inflation stealing it’s ability to buy a candy bar. Will the grade 3 and under set turn to Apple Pay and Google Wallet; being given their allowance and birthday dollars from grandma via email and smartphone? Email our Sunday Schools folded up bills once a week to teach us giving and support our churches? What excuse will college students and lonely hearts have to come within kissing distance of a dancer… a dollar poorer and lonelier still?

What will we do? What will we do?

Well, for sure, we should nix the penny. The truth is out there and it’s not in favor of our copper-plated friend. It costs more than it’s worth, literally, to manufacture. People hoard them in bottles and closets without spending them. We drop them into wishing wells by the handful… wishing for more money to pay our bills, magical houses, and love. But somehow we don’t spend our pennies. We, as general rule, don’t even think these coins are worth the energy it takes to bend down and pick them up from the sidewalk as we rush this way and that. Even if there are several in the same place, strewn across our path, we just continue on.

The penny has seen it’s last days. Or, rather, it should have. This country has enough monetary issues without sinking into a well of debt where we continue to romanticize this coin because we remember our childhood wishes and savings so fondly. My dreams and hopes are worth more; maybe I should pay face value -- childhood dreams adjusted for inflation.

For now I stand strong for the dollar bill. We can still gather enough bills to make a realistic purchase without bogging our purses and pockets down so much that we can’t walk under the weight of the load. One dollar tips at the Starbucks counter still add up to enough for baristas to divvy and buy lunch or put in a wallet until it is time to buy gas or groceries.

A nickel for your thoughts? Will a Snickers bar be as satisfying for five dollars? Will our wishes finally be free?
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
I opted for a broken toe. Like, I actually CHOSE for this to be done. The story is simple and medical - I had a bunion. I’d always heard about bunions and how they hurt, but I had never really thought about them. Apparently, I also never really knew what they were or how they were dealt with.

My big toe was crooked and pushing into its neighbor. This push caused its root to push out and that caused a bump and nerve pain and swelling. While walking I would suddenly have quick, intense pain that would often cause me to yelp and stop moving.

I found a podiatrist. The fix was not particularly easy: he could break my toe. Yup, elective surgery that involved my doctor shaving off part of my bone, breaking my toe, and putting titanium in there to hold it back together and in the correct angle while it fuses.

It’s been just shy of two weeks. I can put weight on my foot again, gently and slowly, preferably with a cane to steady and help. I’ve barely left the house since the surgery. I love my house, but am going a bit stir-crazy. What is wonderful is that I have friends who are utterly awesome! My husband has been walking the kidlet to school each morning. He took over almost all of my household tasks and chores while I have been healing. A couple of friends have been picking up our son from school and bringing him home or to swim class. Another has brought me lunch with leftovers while my husband works.

I may hurt, but I am so blessed to be given the time and resources to heal. Who am I? Grateful, loved, and ready to write!
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)

There are a million different types of mistakes to be made. Mistakes of a dire nature, crimes of passion or planned thought, unprotected sex, words spoken that should have been kept in, or trying to be popular because someone said you should. Don’t forget maxing out the credit card as soon as you get it, or taking out a payday loan that you know is bad business, but it seemed better than defaulting on your car loan, that ended up repossessed anyway. Opening that second bottle of wine when, really, one is more than enough.

Don’t forget mistakes in love...but are they mistakes? Are loves loved and lost mistakes, road bumps, or just what it takes to make the real one, the right one, take?


Tanya was the air I breathed, the blood in my veins, the … well you get the idea, she was all the clichés. From our first tipsy admission of attraction and sneaking that first kiss in a dingy college bar bathroom to morning’s afterglow.

We did it all the right way. Falling like a love poem into the ocean, or some other overdone mixed-metaphor that doesn’t quite work. We did it all wrong. Over time we loved. We lusted. We cheated. We cried. We talked. We did it all. Not necessarily in that order, and in only the way people finding newness at twenty-one can manage. All those hormones and freedom. Graduation right around the corner. The big scary adult world ahead of us. It was a love unique in my life, a love unique in the world, it was a love doomed and poorly timed.

In the end she was all wrong for me in the most vital of ways, she was still so very closeted, refusing to hold hands in Greenwich Village, blocks from Stonewall, in 1996. A time and place where our safety was fairly certain. Nevermind telling her family. She was the golden girl and refused to break their stereotypes of her.

She called me when I moved across the state; We tried to make it last, make it a future. She called with a man in her bed, lonely and missing me. She called me out on things I said and words I didn’t. She wanted forever but refused to admit to me now. She threw my weaknesses back at me one night as dark gave in to the never ending battle with daylight. She hurt me with my own words. She’s a therapist, she knew what she was doing. She knew the power of manipulation. She knew the power of words over sticks and stones.

I moved without a forwarding address.

How much do I miss Tanya? A fair bit, to be honest. She was smart as a whip, fun, and I did love her. We were all wrong for each other, or maybe it was just the wrong time? Maybe she wasn’t a mistake after all, who can tell at the time? And hindsight is sometimes blurry, but I wish her well. I wish her health. I wish her honesty. I wish her love.

Read more: I'll post a link to the vote page when it happens.

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September 2017



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