Still Sexy at Sixty

We celebrated Darling Deborah with all her favorite foods;
She's had a really rough year, so we wanted to lift her mood.
We made the most chocolatey chocolate dessert we could find
And pulled a devilishly delicious shrimp pasta recipe from my mind.

JJ, Billy, Eugene, and Cassie with her school girlfriend
Created a birthday pageant that was really the living end.
They crowned Deborah Birthday Queen and draped her with a cape,
Presenting gifts and flowers and, of course, that chocolate cake.

All sang happy birthday before we settled down to feast.
The musicians were in fine fettle, so Deborah's joy increased.
When we saw her last she was smiling like a little pixie;
She's the first of my friends who is still sexy at sixty.

From Hell to Here

Sometimes to save souls, one has to go to hell to get them,
Accepting on faith that their friends will provide a saving limb.
Many times, many people have seemed to lose sight of The Path,
Taking a detour to wait for those who may otherwise finish last.

When we were children, we were taught that the only way to salvation
Was to swear eternal allegiance to the Christian God and to our fair nation.
Back then we had bomb alerts and hid under our desks,
Because the Russians were coming with bombs and arrests.

We were told that they would torture us to denounce our beliefs;
The fact that Jesus forgave Peter's denial gave me great relief.
I figured I could lie to those heathen communists;
The Holy Spirit knew my heart, so I may still make God's list.

Many have stood at the gates of hell to keep my soul from dying,
While I insisted that I wouldn't leave while I heard my family crying.
Now I feel my fight is over; it is time for me to rest and pray.
The little me feels safe and clean again, so my soul can come out and play.

A Few Quick Questions

When I ask a question, I mean no disrespect;
I just don't accept all the dogma from those that we elect.
I don't believe that any guru, shaman, preacher, or priest
Has any more line to holiness than those we honor least.

I love the faith of little children, and the joy they find within,
Until someone convinces them that they were born in sin.
What is a small child to do to erase the parental taints?
Aren't even those who died before birth already little saints?

Why would Our Creator continue making pagan babes
If there is no way that their souls can be saved?
I believe that if we give our lives over to loving ways,
The spirit of holiness will spread to all who for it pray.

More Muscadines

All the grapes seem to grow under the vines and leaves;
I have to crawl on the ground, the fruit to retrieve.
I never met Mamie's man, but he couldn't have been too tall,
Our maybe he sent his kids to pick whenever they started to squall.

I really need a toddler next time that we pick grapes,
Or maybe I could try to train a family of apes.
The only thing that may be a problem with that plan,
Is I doubt that very many grapes would end up as jam.

The toddlers would drop them on the ground and not pick them up.
The apes would sit down on the job and on the fruit they'd sup.
Last year's batch of muscadine jam was a sight to behold;
It was a rather shocking green instead of a burnished gold.

Muscadine Madness was a sad joke of a jelly;
Even Santa wouldn't put that stuff in his belly.
This year I'll know better than to add any color magic;
The green hue of last year's jam was quite literally tragic.

Free-Falling Fruit

Mountain Mama Mamie was in fine fettle today;
She called to say the muscadines are ready to be put away.
She had been feeling poorly the last time we came by;
She had sleep-over company, so we knew she wouldn't cry
While we were in the city with our widowed friend.
But her company and aches and pains had come to an end.
It was time to come pick grapes for jams, jellies and wine;
I told her we'd be over as soon as we found the time.

Greta had already informed me that her pears were ready for me;
She was tired of the crows getting all that fell from her tree.
I had told myself we were finished with canning for this year,
But I can't resist the gifts of new fruits as they appear.
Last year we had no pears for our cran-pear-ginger chutney,
And my godchild Gary has asked for pear butter from me.
A garden is God's way of keeping us from having too much pride;
The people who guaranteed success obviously lied.

We have to bow to God's whims regarding the bad weather,
And we must push ourselves to gather when things are better.
God lets many other creatures feast upon our soil;
There are times when we have no reward, no matter how hard we toil.
Of course the old-timers always have theories about what went wrong;
Something to do differently next year is their favorite song.
Sometimes I think hunter-gatherers were smarter than we are;
They simply enjoyed Nature's gifts from places near and far.

Traveling with the seasons, following the beasts,
Like manna from heaven, they acquired their feasts.
Now, here we are attempting to control the land,
Convincing ourselves that Nature needs a hand.
We sweat, and plow, and fertilize with chemicals,
Never paying much attention to Nature's rules.
I'm sure that we could live on what occurs naturally,
But we'd have to be content with what we're given for free.

Movable Memories

Some call them senior moments,
But that doesn't apply to me.
I never could remember anything;
I went from ADD to senility.

I like to say that the mind
Is like a computer's CPU,
But when our brains get too full,
There's little we can do.

There should be an external drive
Where we could download the overflow;
When we needed this information
To our jump drives we would go.

Our ear canals could serve as
Our data retrieval ports.
We'd simply plug in external drives
For information of all sorts.

What would even be better
Is we could trade memories,
My trip to the dentist
For your vacation overseas.

Wouldn't the world be lovely
If we could walk in each other's shoes,
By simply plugging into another's memories,
And replacing ours when we choose?

Ladies of Love and Laughter

The ladies were lovely and a whole lot of fun.
They may be with churches, but not just one.
The quilts they make are not for UT;
They're made for Children's Hopital, you see.
These gals have hearts as big as the earth;
Each one giving whatever she's worth.
Pastor Lynda is very good at recruiting;
For community efforts she has everyone rooting.

Eda is sewing a border by hand,
While her daughter Anita by the ironing board stands.
Tina makes yo-yos that will become keychains;
Jessica is piecing, so no two quilts are the same.
Gayle sits and sews a fine seam;
Joyce is helping with several teams.
They make tissue box covers and coasters, too
For Christmas gifts, I may buy a few

Donna and Delight are comparing their thoughts
About which items will be most readily bought
By folks attending the Autumn Gold Fest.
I couldn't decide which things I like best.
I got great stories of their efforts;
I took their pictures; they were great sports.
The cookies were eaten with great gusto;
They laughed at my stories, then I had to go.