The Fiery Quill

I saw an angry bee today...she wore her yellow t-shirt with righteous indignation, stretched taut over broad shoulders. Fists clenched, curls trembling, she stomped down the hallway; cartoonish in her polka-dot black stockings, pale knees peeking out below long, black shorts. Onlookers shrank in the wake of her departure.

Most people might get their wisdom and enlightenment from the Dalai Lama, or Gandhi, perhaps Martin Luther King or Buddha. Mine comes from a woman I ride the morning bus with. She unconsciously smooths her snowy white hair as she bequeaths her thoughts to me. My teacher speaks eloquently of career changes, breast cancer, negative influences, even a shiner that would make Sugar Ray proud. You see, I befriended this wise woman after she took a spill while running to catch our bus. Face + sidewalk corner = immediate bruising, followed by friendship. I work in the medical field, and I my inner "professional" kicked in as soon as she sat down beside me. I touch her rapidly swelling cheek when she asked me how it looked, and a mutual kinship began. She was shamefaced and timid that day, ego as bruised as her face. Even through her pain she was elegant and thoughtful. Every time I've seen her since that first encounter, I learned something new about myself and humankind. Her ane...

Today I came across a poem I wrote when I first discovered jazz. I was a junior in college, a dreamer, and a sensitive girl. Jazz was something that attracted all parts of my complicated self. At this point, no other art form had ever had that much of an impression on me. Almost ten years have passed since I put pen to paper for this poem. And even as I cast my dusted off poem into cyberspace, John Coltrane lights my way... Night Falls on the dusky swing of the music, as the lone horn heats my blood like the finest bourbon. The golden tune strokes my fears and loneliness into submission. The intoxicating voice offers me a dance, and I accept as we sway with the moonbeams...far away from people and responsibilities outside my door. Sultry heat weaves into the music, casting a spell over the dimly lit room. I lean my head back, closing languid eyes, seeing nothing...hearing only the bass drum of my heart in time with the lush tunes I am breathing in and out. The night and the soft music ...

There I was, minding my own business and spending time with a friend. We were at a local coffee shop, enjoy mochas and conversation. I was showing her something on my laptop when....sniff, snarf, gulp, followed by uncontrollable crying. Like the embarrassing kind where the face is red, wiping nose and tears with a sleeve (how delicate). Also included in this display were several bouts of shallow breathing and that creepy high-pitched squeal. C'mon, stop lying....you know you've done it too. Just usually in the privacy of your own bedroom, followed by hiccups, a cold splash of water, and a stiff drink. The young lass causing all this commotion might have been quite pretty had it not been for the sleeve-as-snot rag and howling in a public place. And in the other corner, we have the bitter, bespectacled twenty-something...who was reducing her boyfriend to a meek, quivering pile of Jell-O. One could hear every whining word out of her pursed lips, yet only a dim grunt every now and ...

My dream machine was blue and white, complete with matching streamers and a banana seat. It was my first bike, and certainly the one I remember with the most fondness. For what seemed like a long time, my sleek friend had training wheels attached to the back, clattering around the cul-de-sac and back to our driveway. I had more than one spill from that sacred banana seat, but my Dad always managed to convince me to get back on. I persisted, dreaming of the day I would coast past my house like all the other big kids...sans training wheels. Dad was my guide during the learning process. His was the hand steadying my bike, the voice of encouragement when I doubted myself, and the smiling face when I reached my childhood goal. It must have been a spring day, warm and carefree. This was the day that I was going to cast my training wheels aside and be a BIG KID. After a few quick turns of a screwdriver, my pride and joy had graduated to two-wheel status. Dad and I did a practice run around th...

Bruised elbows, banged-up shins, achy back...home sweet home. All these things and more, encompass the love/hate struggle that is moving. Nobody really wants to shoulder a queen mattress up several flights of stairs, but the end result is satisfying. A place of my own set up exactly how I want it. Moving day is never without it's mishaps: chasing the rogue freight elevator between floors, getting cracked in the head with a dresser, having to put my bed together with a warped spoon because I don't have a screw driver. But with the down side of moving is always an up side. I adore my mini-me apartment, with it's freakishly high ceilings, but pint-sized stove and counter top. I'm also learning and accepting the quirks that come with living in an old building. The bathroom door is cantankerous, requiring a shimmy to the right then left, before it deigns to close. There is the squeaky kitchen drawer, as well as the cabinet door that always hangs open. But the space is always...

Pardon me, sir....would you mind turning down your porn just a notch. Ok, I digress. The story began (once again)at my favorite local gawking ground, which goes unnamed in this entry;) Mom, Dad, cover your eyes! One evening, I was quietly working on my laptop, enjoy a decaf latte...out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement. So naturally I turned my head to follow my gaze. This unsuspecting girl was then assaulted with images unsavory enough to make my hair curl...oh wait, it already is...but, if possible, it curled even more. Because I like my blog to have as little offensive material as possible, I won't tell you what was streaming on the screen of this grey-haired, fifty-something, ponytail-wearing, ball cap-sporting...man. Needless to say, my concentration for blogging was shot. I made like a baby and headed on out as soon as possible. What people view on the internet in the privacy of their own space is entirely up to them. And while occasions like this one make great fod...