“At least in Russia, you cannot just go and tap into someone’s phone conversation without a warrant issued by court. That’s more or less the way a civilized society should go about fighting terrorism.” — Vladimir Putin
This makes me go:
via Conversation
Narrated by Cono Dennis:
I listened to those summer bugs, the cicadas, the ones that sound like sandpaper being rubbed together. Aunt Nolie’s radio started to crackle. We knew we were getting close.
Finally, we heard the announcer, Clem McCarthy, saying that the fight was about to start right there in New York’s Yankee Stadium. I tried to picture Yankee Stadium, but I hadno reference for it. Instead, I pictured a crowd a whole lot bigger than the carnival tent in Ranger.
“In the red corner, Max Schmelling weighing in at one hundred and ninety-three pounds. In the black corner, Joe, the Brown Bomber, Louis, weighing in at one hundred ninety-eight and three-quarter pounds.”
The crowd on the radio roared. We sat real quiet, listening to every sound that came through Aunt Nolie’s brown box. Even Dad sat there with us, leaning forward with his hands folded under his chin like he was really there.
Joe had Max up against the ropes and then knocked him down three times. In two minutes and four seconds, Schmelling got in only two punches. The fight was over.
Joe Louis, the man that says, “He can run but he can’t hide” and “Everyone has a plan until they’ve been hit,” had marched right into that ring in front of thousands of people—heard by a million more—and showed us a thing or two about how to get things done.
Boxing’s not my career; it’s more like a survival skill that keeps me alive. I’ll use those skills when I need to, like when I arrive in Temple in a couple of hours, stare into my dad’s eyes and say, “Ding, ding, round one.”
via Finally
excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
When I lay dying upon my bed
when only past then lays ahead
With only farewell’s left to bid
I will not say, “I almost did.”
When sheets are warm but cold within
reflecting back on what has been
all the times of profound gladness
I will not say, “I almost had this.”
The ripples of my life to fade
I’ll leave a message well conveyed
as light turns dark from setting sun
I will not say, “I almost won.”
photo credit
via Almost
… her granddaughter smiles. “Mom, when will Bad Ass Grandma come back from her vacation?”
“What’s so funny?”
“Thinking about what she did. She lifted one leg over something I couldn’t see then ran round and round while bouncing up and down.”
“Why …”
“She sang,
‘Round and round up and down
on the carousel horses.
Up and down, round and round
as the music plays.
The lights on top they shine so bright
as we go round and round
use your hands to hold on tight
as we go up and down.’
Then she sang it over and over again.”
“Yes, your grandmother is quite extravagant with her imagination. Was she still wearing a pony tail?”
Granddaughter laughed and trotted back to her room, saying, “I hope she’ll be home soon. She promised me the moon.”
via Extravagant
Note: From the last post, you may have gathered that Bad Ass Grandma needed a break from the holiday hoopla. As a result, she has packed her bag and is beginning her travels. After receiving her letters, I gather her first stop is the art museum.
She’s much too serious and no fun at all
and the man? Well, besides being skinny and tall,
he carries a weapon perhaps out of fear
I confess –
there’s no way in hell that I’d want to stay here.
via Confess
There is no proclivity for cleaning the house
at least not for bad ass grandma
she’d rather spend time making a mess
it’s something she fervently plans on.
via Proclivity
He was mild in his manner
and sound in his ways?
Perhaps, but
‘Twas his creative spirit
that was worthy of praise
from my “Ben” series
via Mild
The vastness of the wheat in field
rich soil lays beneath?
No, Layer upon layers splay
To cover up the heath.
Who knows the truth I ask of you
Profound, I tell you this!
Uncovered, unexpected,
Lies a masquerade of bliss.
-CDW
(if these words sound familiar it’s because I posted it a while back and not because it’s a famous poem 🙂 )
photo credit
via Bliss
A meager end of one’s desires
Helpless, falls within the fires
Softly heard the silent pleas
For targets reached with greater ease.
Bemoan the loss of relinquished goals
That lay defeated upon the coals
As sparks take flight and seconds clash
They cruelly wither and turn to ash.
Rising yet above the flame
Release of who or what to blame
To plant again a seed accrued
From hopes of life and dreams renewed.
-CDW
via Meager
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 
