The Wrong Pants

My pants slipped down a few inches again.
I tugged at the waistband again.
I knew I hadn't lost weight because
I had been eating like a pig lately.
I wasn't completely awake
because it was only eight in the morning.
I start working in my library
every morning at seven
but I wake up at nine.
I can do several functions efficiently
sleep-working, like setting up student folders
and laying out name tags.
I finished using the restroom
and noticed that the waistband on
these black slacks seemed wider than
what I remembered.
I put on my glasses and looked at it.
There were two thin yellow strips of
some sort of non-skid cord running around it.
I'd seen that before.
When I was doing laundry.
Not MY laundry.
I was wearing Troy's Safeway slacks!
That explained everything.
I hope no one noticed the girly girl
Gloria Vanderbilt embroidery on
the back of what he must wearing at work!

My Lucky Couch

"This is Jennifer with Lazy-Boy,
may I speak with Gretchen Nixon?"
The phone tingled in my fingertips
as I listened to the soft pleasant voice.
"This is she."
Jen said, "We can deliver your new couch this
Thursday, Friday or Saturday,
do you have a preference?
I told her Saturday would be perfect
since I'd be off work.
I started roaming
from calendar to calendar with my
favorite blue Flair pen.
"What is the date Saturday?"
I asked her.
"It's February first."
I froze.
"Do you know what Sunday is?"
I asked her.
She laughed and said she knew what Sunday was.
Just in case she was at a call center in India
I asked her where she was located and felt
relieved when she said she was in Kent.
Kent Washington not Kent England.
I said,"We'll have it for the you know what then."
"You sure will." Said Jen.

My Finest Moment

"Hi Gina, here are your books on outer space,
where do you want them?"
I unloaded the two dozen heavy books
on the front table she indicated.
As I turned to go Annette and Marian
rushed at me and hugged me.
They looked up at me with adoring eyes
and proclaimed,
"I want to be a librarian when I grow up!"
Franklin dashed over and chimed in
and we shared a tender moment
before they went out to join their
classmates for recess.
As I enjoyed our quick love-in,
I looked over the top of their
little third grade heads
over at Matt six feet away.
"Hey Mark! Don't you want to be
a librarian when you grow up?"
He looked at me seriously,
tilted up his tiny chin and proclaimed,
"Oh no Mrs. Nixon,
I want to be an author!"

Seahawk Beast Mode

People from other places that
wonder why we are in the beastmode,
would have to live here to understand.
In a land of perpetual gloom,
the Seahawks are our sunshine.
I admit to being a fair-weather fan,
only caught up in the excitement
by being surrounded by rabid beasts
in town, at work and at home.
After a lost game,
my husband will pout for
THREE DAYS.
I'd cook him his favorite meal
to cheer him up,
but I quit cooking years ago.
To substantiate my claim that the
Seahawks are our life-giving sunshine
I can quote a recent poll.
When our largest demographic group,
vampires, was asked the following
statement, five out of five
strongly agreed.
"I find I can live normally in
Washington state."

The Bonus of Chronic Sinusitis 1/11/14

The steam rising from the iron
made my face feel warm.
The gusting winds and rain
and dark clouds outside my window
made me feel happy to
delay the inevitable.
My day off bike ride to Bot-hell
and back.
Three miles up and three miles back.
I don't have to like it I just have to do it.
I've had a runny nose since I was a little girl
whenever the weather is cold or windy,
or in Seattle,
both.
The bonus of having chronic sinusitis
is not smelling the three huge giants I live with
or the decaying rat carcases in my walls.
I looked down at the thirty-five new used
handkerchiefs from E-Bay and felt slightly disgruntled.
I don't wear pastels much now that I'm older
and wouldn't be caught dead in orange, purple or turquoise,
so naturally,
those were the predominate borders.
Cute designs on the flowers though.
They smelled like sizing when I opened them
and I knew I'd have to iron them.
pressing the sections into sixteen pie-piece shapes.
With determined imprecision, so that the
scallops of twelve sides would show,
I pressed and ironed.
I would only give Brenda her cut
of new handkerchiefs,
IF she promised not to unfold them in front of me.
She DOES NOT iron her handkerchiefs!

Ribbon-dancing Whales

"Look darling, it says here that Haro Straight
is 900 feet deep in places."
We were reading the signs at Lime Kiln state park
that we had read hundreds of time before
but it didn't stop us from the excitement
of reading them again.
Terry strolled over and read the sign again.
We milled around in the early morning with
a few other orca fans around the viewing area waiting.
The only thing that teaches you more patience
than waiting for the whales is probably the
Department of Motor Vehicles.
We watched as the other couple hiked over to the point
at the little lighthouse and contemplated
going over there.
"I'm going down to the rocks now." I said.
I clambered carefully down the jagged,
slippery boulders and found my favorite spot under the
viewing platform. I pulled my jacket around
my neck against the chill and sat on my little backpack.
I could hear voices as more people arrived
and picked out Terry's voice as
they swapped whale stories.
The pitch of all their voices went up and
I strained to see the orcas.
I picked out a fin and waited.
And waited and waited and waited.
The large male was some distance out
but at last I could pick out the females coming
closer and closer and closer.
My heart started pounding and I made sure I
was sitting securely, lest I topple
over in my excitement and fall in.
My eyes widened as the lead female rose at my feet.
I exclaimed my orca greeting and watched.
Staring down into the dark water I watched
as she began to rotate at my feet.
Long strands of green kelp wrapped around her
shiny white tummy in a shocking contrast.
Her long, sleek black back was so inviting
and I longed to jump in and pet her.
Twirling and swirling and showing off.
That's how they are!
My beauty was followed by four more darling whales.
Swirling and twirling and showing off.
Because, that's how they are!
Ribbon-dancing whales.

Cougars Snack on the Meatiest Ones

"See that moss hanging down honey?"
I starred at the trees engulfing either side
of the damp trail.
"That's the kind I want to grow at home
but it looks exactly what we have at home
only it drapes down like that."
I stopped and turned around to look
at my husband.
As usual his expression was blank
because he hadn't heard a word I said.
Nothing new there.
So I continued my slow pace down the winding trail
and admired the moss hanging down from the trees.
I admired the thick moss covering the downed logs
all along the sides of the trail
with their baby hemlocks
and huckleberry bushes popping out occasionally.
I admired the moss under my feet and
wondered if the person who invented olive green
shag carpeting had hiked through the
Olympic National Park rainforest.
"Oh look Terry, there's a trail going
down to the creek. Let's go down there."
I started down the steep deer trail,
careful not to fall or twist an ankle.
Half walking and half sliding and clinging
to a wimpy tree branch, I landed on the
flat, muddy ground and looked at the tiny
brook that I needed to leap over to
get to the pebbly beach. I backed up, ran,
and leaped to the other side and then
turned around to watch Terry.
He annoyingly took one big step to
come up next to me.
"Pretty." He said.
We walked a dozen feet to a nice big mossy log
and sat down side by side
and listened to the sounds of the swirling water
and birds singing.
It was early afternoon and the sun played through
the trees along the under-forest and dirt
and pebbles and finally sand.
I looked at the sand beneath my feet
and noticed all the deer prints.
My hand slid over to Terry's thigh
and I thought maybe a kiss would be nice.
Just as I was gathering steam for
some romance he answered me.
"Not that one. That's a cougar track."
I dimly remembered the handwritten sign
that I had seen taped to the front of the
sign in desk at Kalaloch Lodge that said
"Cougar sighted 6/8."
I stared down at the print that looked exactly
like it was made by the paws of Troy's cat Cloudy.
Only about a hundred times bigger.
I got up abruptly and said,
"Let's go."
I was so grateful for Terry.
I knew for certain that
cougars snack on the meatiest ones.