We have family friends that are from Nepal.
A sweet young couple, whose little daughter calls my dad baje baje, which apparently means grandfather in Nepali.
Times two.
Their immediate family is safe, but there are so many others that aren’t.
* Prayers *
The title says it all.
These are just some of the ways my kids have left their toys lying around our house. And yard.
Some of these situations I couldn’t believe and some were just plain funny.
There is some plastic, Made in China kind of slightly risque humor here. If you are easily offended and rush to label everything inappropriate or haram, then please proceed no further.
If you can see humor in simple, everyday situations, then please have a look.
Ready? On we go.
What used to be some poor stuffed animal’s tail apparently turned into this guy’s….
I believe the picture is self explanatory.
That poor Elsa doll. Someone is obviously out to get her.
And she has armpit hair.
These two just happened to be…
right across from each other.
Never pick on someone that’s twice your width and can easily beat you up in the toy box.
I believe he’s stuck.
These guys were my patients over the weekend.
A nearly decapitated Bowser and a penguin in desperate need of a nose job.
Apparently Mario and Luigi have turned homicidal since my Nintendo days.
Bowser and Penguin paid a visit to the stuffed animal hospital and I took them into the operating room,
where my pathetic patching skills met my even more pathetic sewing skills.
But they aren’t complaining.
I’m the only doctor covered by their insurance plan.
And they told their friends about me, too. My fame has spread amongst injured toys and their owners.
I now have a waiting room.
To live on in time.
In the wind, amongst the trees.
The moment, now, isn’t for me.
To live on, whether broken.
In a half, or a token.
In words held, unspoken.
The moment, now, isn’t meant to be.
Life in motion
is of rare devotion.
Too quickly the days will melt.
And the memory past
will seldom last
beyond words, unfelt.
There is a place,
beyond all trace
of repetitive motion, activity.
Where lingers the grace
of love, enlaced
with the perfume of fidelity.
Traffic and construction on the first warm weekend of the year.
My husband wonders if the city of Chicago is really just a massive experiment on how much misery the average human being can handle.
If the winter doesn’t kill you, the taxes will.
Hope everyone is enjoying the wonderful weather!
When left without sense.
When despair flows intense.
When love leads to ache.
To bend and break.
When the darkness stands, moves to take.
Take it all, in one sweep.
When duplicity lies deep.
Behind the shadows it sneaks.
Then there must be something of divinity.
When we can’t claim for infinity.
Glass of the most fragile, humanity.
To breathe, to live, to risk calamity.
Mind or matter, how easily it goes.
At the turn of the wind, at the intensity of the blow.
Perhaps we’re able to still.
The going of the body, the dying of the will.
To stitch the cut,
to replenish the spill.
But to heal the spirit, to undo the kill.
To fix the soul.
Tis the godliest of skills.
Sunday night.
The next morning.
Instant diarrhea in a bag.
They don’t fade easily.
Those worn memories.
Silent daggers,
piercing reverie.
Drops in the ocean
of never meant to be.
How is it done, by the world, the rest?
To treat them as strangers.
They, that were once guests.
In the most tempestuous of courts.
The longing of mind,
the desire of hearts.
The View Through The Window 