Import Important, by JulesPaige

Import Important
(99 syllables, Double Ennead Ekphrastic Acrostic
of the split words of Import Important)

I employ the rake to
manage the fall leaves
piling them high at the curb for picking up
or some are for my trees
raked round their bases

tender protection for
inclement weather
might damage the roots that are near the surface
perhaps when snow piles high
over the back yard…

rest well with slow sap, my
trees that shed their leaves
and know that I look for budding health come spring
now though brace for winter;
time for dreamings’ nigh

***

If I too could sleep the winter through,
could I would I sleep thusly
under warm leaf quilts

©2021 JulesPaige

Jules is a poetmaster, weaving words expertly whenever she wishes.

Here’s to You, Mrs. Wilson

Chelsea hadn’t called in several months. As usual, her first thought was to check through the obituaries.

No, that Mrs. Wilson wasn’t old enough. That one was too old, and had lived in Newark. And that wasn’t an obituary -but was the Excellence in Education Award winners from twenty years ago.

She’d contributed a quote for that: “In all my years of school, including high school and college, I’ve never learned as much as I did in Mrs. Wilson’s class.”

Chelsea was a better writer now. She was also a mother of six boys. In Mrs. Wilson’s class, however, she’d been a bit of a trouble-maker. She’d written her own spelling lists, vowed to read the entire classroom library, built skyscrapers of the hand-me-down Lego sets, and nearly kicked Stupid Sally in the face after first chucking sand in it. Sally had grabbed Chelsea’s foot during a biased slide game; everyone ganging up to remove her from the top.

Not all recesses ran that way. No -Mrs. Wilson spent those special times with only her class, teaching jacks and double-dutch and kickball.

Ah, kickball. Chelsea remembered. Mrs. Wilson, blue-veined, bumpy legs in socks and long shorts, out there running and kicking with the best. They’d even held a teachers v. students game. The score had been close.

“Well, hello.” Mrs. Wilson sounded much the same as she had thirty years before. “I’m always surprised when a call comes through. I’m in Arizona.” Nearly blind and still traveling.

Chelsea smiled, remembering other calls; answered from England, Yellowstone, Las Vegas, California. She had a postcard from Antarctica and another from Nepal.

Of course, Arizona was as far as Mrs. Wilson went these days. The rest of her year Mrs. Wilson passed in her one-bedroom apartment with Alexa and the television for company. Chelsea knew, because they’d had conversations where Mrs. Wilson spelled Alexa’s name when she referred to it. No sense activating the eavesdropping electronic wonder during a discussion that didn’t include it.

“I’ve had my baby,” Chelsea said. “He’s another dark-haired, dark-eyed model.”

“Oh, wonderful. And how old is he? How do his brothers like him?”

Of all the things to talk about: seeing the Himalayas in person, flying across the Atlantic near-annually, or achieving Mrs. Wilson’s life goal of standing on the southernmost continent on Earth -she only ever asked after people. Amazingly, Mrs. Wilson also remembered everyone.

“How if your brother doing? Is he finished with medical school? How are the triplets?” Give Mrs. Wilson any name and she’d remember. Give her a Christmas and she had gifts lined up based on interests. “I found these darling carved bears one year, and Gunner loves bears so I decided to get them for him and his brothers.” Gunner, naturally, was one of Mrs. Wilson’s growing collection of great-grandchildren and great-great nephews and nieces.

As they spoke, Chelsea pictured Mrs. Wilson. Today, the backdrop was a ranchhouse in the middle of a Sedona nowhere. Well -that would be the view if Mrs. Wilson hadn’t lost most of her vision. Ten acres rested barely within range of a cell phone call.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I’m packed and will be back home by next week.”

Back home, Mrs. Wilson sat amongst her life. It was an apartment Chelsea loved visiting and pictured herself retiring to, when she could retire like Mrs. Wilson. A small couch and recliner huddled amongst myriad books, a bison skull, petrified wood, Moqui marbles, Indonesian masks, a silk-paper calendar, unique dice, a lovespoon, and hand-carved Mancala boards. It was a simple place for a simple life, one that revolved around teaching, family, and travel.

“That sounds good,” Chelsea told her former teacher. “Travel safely.”

“Take care of those boys.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

Chelsea held the cell phone in her hand, a device that hadn’t existed in her elementary years. How many more conversations would she have with Mrs. Wilson? How many more trips? How many visits?

She looked at her newborn son. Really, she knew, it was the conversations they’d already had that mattered. The real question was, what would the next thirty years look like for Chelsea and her growing family? Would she make it to Antarctica?

Photo by ArtHouse Studio on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

Oh My Loki! I Think I’m Obsessed.

I love the wrong kind of character.

Besides often falling for the villain, I’m not the sort to drool after Chris Hemsworth, stalk Dwayne Johnson, or slip my number to Brad Pitt. I mean, who cares? All they’ve got is a body.

I’m also not a big watcher-of-series. Before we moved, I’d catch Walking Dead or Lost or Breaking Bad from over Kevin‘s shoulder while I washed the dishes in the evening. Without sound. The problem is children. We can either watch something with them or something once they’re all (supposedly) in bed.

Enter Disney+. After a few Avengers films (trying to mute all the swears), we tried Wandavision. ‘Not bad,’ we said. ‘What’s next,’ we said. ‘Ah, one about Loki…’

Of all the Avengers not counting Hawkeye, Loki is my favorite. Then they went and filmed his series with a Fallout/Portal/Matrix feel to it and cinched the deal.

I love it.

Like, LOVE it.

Granted, the story has its plot holes. Some of the dialogue delivery needed work, including the initial exchange between Mobius and Loki. But… Have you ever read the last page of a book and wanted to stay in that world? Have you finished a series or a film and wanted another hour of content? That’s exactly how I felt at the abrupt ending of Loki‘s first season.

…and I wanted Sylvie to drop through a time gap, but that’s a side issue…

Yeah; she’s not my favorite. Thanks, GIPHY.

Have any of you seen it? What did you think? Where do you think the story will go? Will Sophia Di Martino and Tom Hiddleston ever learn how to have chemistry? Do I need to join a support group just to disseminate the plot?

Now, THAT is a face you can trust… (Thanks again, GIPHY)

©2021 Chel Owens

Playground Rules

The class all took the lesson of Hamilton too well;

For, Tom and Brucie vowed to meet -outside- after the bell.

Yet on the way past Foursquare, Sue and Pete each swung a limb;

Tommy had to knock them out before they knocked out him.

Then, at the place of meeting, Bruce deloped and hit the tree;

Tommy cried, “He meant to strike!” and punched him in the spleen.

……

While Sue and Pete and Brucie all sat in with the nurse;

The other kids were singing tales, each with a diff’rent verse.

Said Principal, “These playground fights are such a mixed-up mess.

“Our outside cam’ra’s blurry and the fighters won’t confess.”

All went home to fam’lies, and those fam’lies up and called:

Singing like the children, diff’rent verses one and all.

Photo from Unsplash.

©2021 Chel Owens

Rebooted TV Series are just like cheating husbands: a TV Review – Dexter: Next Blood (2021) – Season 1, Episode 1 — Bookshelf Battle

I’ve been a fan of Bookshelf Battler’s reviews for years. He’s hilarious and often says exactly why I didn’t like a film or show but couldn’t figure out why…

He’s baaaack. BQB here with a review of the sequel series about America’s favorite serial killer with a code. I’ve often said being a fan of a cable TV show is a lot like being the long suffering wife of a husband going through a bad mid-life crisis. There we stand at the doorway in […]

TV Review – Dexter: Next Blood (2021) – Season 1, Episode 1 — Bookshelf Battle

Chelsea, Thy Name is …Aimee?

I’m in a mental crisis. For years, I knew my parents planned to name me something different than the one they switched to. They’d told me. But only yesterday did I learn that they’d intended to also NOT. USE. ITS. PROPER. SPELLING.

*Deep breaths* *Deeeep breaths*

See, a little-known fact about me is that I’m bothered by grammar and spelling errors. I certainly won’t return your birthday present over it, but I can’t help but notice. I can’t help but correct the problem.

A little-known fact about Utah Mormons* is that they are guilty of unique name spellings -including Jaxcon, Danieell, and Stephenie. Yes, these are names I’ve literally seen applied to people. I hate it.

So, naturally, upon learning that I might have not just been an Amy but might have been an Aimee, I’ve been reflecting on how my whole life would be different:

  1. I would be blonde. If not, I’m sure I’d have curls and blue eyes. At the least, I’d be cuter.
  2. If something were funny, I’d legitimately giggle.
  3. My pants size would be …well, at this point, about where it’s at. I would’ve had kids as an (*shudder*) Aimee, too.
  4. My husband would be named Michael.
  5. I’d be interested in “The Bachelor.” Heck; I’d know who The Sexiest Man Alive was instead of needing to Google it every time. Not only that, but I would actually know who he is and would likely fantasize about his running away with me on the back of …an oversized ant.
  6. I would get weekly mani-pedi‘s instead of one in my entire life.
  7. My favorite book would be the latest Eat, Pray, Love sort.
  8. I’d be a frequent shopper at that place that sells scented stuff.
  9. My children would also have unique names. I’m thinking Cashe or Leeder.
  10. Most of all, I would NOT vomit a little in my mouth every time someone spelled my name aloud.

And don’t say I’m overreacting. That would be a Karen thing to do, not an Aimee.

©2021 Chel Owens

*Mormons are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.