Infinity and beyond…

“We react to what is in front of our eyes, not what the other possibilities may be. Our survival mechanisms are designed that way perhaps, taking in and processing what needs to be dealt with in the waking world of the moment.

“Yet we are also designed in such a way that we can at least conceive of those greater realities. Curiosity, imagination, thoughts, hopes and dreams… through these we touch a different reality every day that has its own inner life for us…”

Just a snippet from the wonderful perspective of Sue Vincent.

The Silent Eye

Yet, if one could ignore space and time and be everywhere and every-when at once it would, theoretically at least, be possible to count them. Even taking all future snowfalls for the projected lifetime of our planet into consideration, it would be a finite number. There was, once upon a time, a very first snowflake to fall. There will be a last. There would come a point where there were no…

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Our Dreams, a poem

When are dreams
just dreams –
Cotton candy clouds above our
wondering eyes,
Entirely magical and beyond human touch?

When are they
substantial –
Sand or clay or peanut butter sandwiches,
Taken in hand
and formed to what we wish?

When do they
get taken –
Envied, criticized by
abusing fingers
Whose dreams left long ago?

When are dreams
– just dreams –
Substantial
Taken

Missed

And when do we

dream

again?

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com


©2020 Chel Owens

Hey! It’s a Blog (and Life) Update

After crawling through pregnancy and limping through the newborn stage, I have emerged to be a whole, new Chelsea! This model is …a bit more overweight, a lot more tired, and barely has time to read and write.

She’s also taken up employment.

I work in a cafeteria. I applied for a cashier job and was hired at my son’s school. I don’t do much cashiering currently because every child gets free school lunch in America. The job has many perks: free food, free exercise, limited exposure to people, and unlimited latex-free work gloves.

I’ve taken the time I normally laid around the house; irresponsibly folding clothes, washing dishes, getting the baby out of the potted plants, finding shoes, reprimanding children, getting the baby out of the cleaning cupboard, picking up towels, washing pans, getting the baby off of the stairs, planning meals, balancing the budget, getting things out of the baby’s mouth, helping in the dice store, and cleaning cleaning cleaning- and put it to good use doing similar things in a more commercial environment that doesn’t have a baby crawling around.

After paying for day care, I bring home about $10 each day. I haven’t even learned what portion of that Uncle Sam will take; I don’t get my first paycheck till Thanksgiving. Maybe.

But, if you’re still reading, I doubt you clicked on this to learn about the intricacies of folding a towel after lunchlady work while using your foot to push the baby away from the stove dials as a timer goes off and dinner burns. The blog update part of this is that I need to cut back on posting. Frankly, I’ve gotten burned out by the dead-end that writing is for me anyway.

I’ve mentioned this before, I know. I need writing and I NEED this community. I also need sleep.

Here are the blog changes I will implement:

  1. The weekly A Mused Poetry Contest will take place once a month.
  2. I will occasionally answer prompts like Deb’s 42-word story, Girlieontheedge’s Six Sentence story, Carrot Ranch‘s 99-word flash, Colleen Chesebro‘s Tanka Tuesday, Esther Chilton‘s limericks, and maybe a Blog Battle or d’Verse.
    I recommend you check them out and enter, too!
  3. I’ll post COVID-19/Coronavirus updates if you’re interested. We’re now on a statewide mask mandate and all extracurricular school activities are cancelled for two weeks.
  4. Most importantly, I will read my friends’ posts whenever I get a chance.
  5. Even more most importantly, please know that I always mean the very best when I comment or write. I do not look to offend.
  6. I support President Donald J. Trump as I have our other elected leaders, and I dislike people saying offensive things about him (or any other political figure). Be civil.

If you’re still around after those announcements, here’s some cake:

Photo by Marta Dzedyshko on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Bring on the Rain

“I am in control!” She screams, gripping fists of invisibility so hard she feels what’s left of fingernails digging against her palms. Forget the past; forget what Steve or Phil or Jack or even James -if that was his name- said. “I am in control!”

Forces more powerful than any touched by man answer, without words. Pushing, tearing, whipping the lake’s edge against her -her, a small, insignificant figure to challenge God’s great breath.

“I am -” she gasps, “in control!” Spray and tears stream down her face;
wipe clean
spray
clear

Till, beckoned by her challenge, the sky-fall comes.

Inspired by Carrot Ranch‘s prompt, high winds:

September 3, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about high winds. It can be on land, sea or in outer space. Who is facing the wind or protected from it? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by September 8, 2020. Use the comment section [on the site] to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

What I Hear

Conversation. Voices that are not mine or my children’s or the creaking moaning ageing of the house -voices from others are talking. And laughing. We have friends over, and we are visiting without fear.

As we talk about their move from out of state, we hear an airplane fly over. We hear a click-clunk of scooter on sidewalk coupled with happy child-talk, from outside. As the night darkens, the child-talk becomes teenage squeals as our older neighbors begin night games in the street.

Do you remember these things?

Music -I hear music. There’s an impromptu outdoor concert a few blocks away. There’s a neighbor cleaning his house with the radio playing. My husband sings to our baby; he grins, entranced, as he watches the slow notes move his father’s lips.

The hose, outside, is on. I hear the rush of water that used to send me running to scold, “Turn that off this instant!” Now, I open our blinds to summer sky; glance down to muddy children, laughing in the hose-rain. I wave.

I remember these things.

As sounds filter in where once they were not, I remember. I feel my soul shudder thaw stretch unfurl. I feel. I hope. I smile.

Photo by Marcus Cramer on Unsplash

In response to Rethinking Scripture’s post, “Summer 2020 – What I Don’t Hear.”

©2020 Chel Owens

“Life is too short to wake up in the morning with regrets. So, love the people who treat you right, forgive the ones who don’t and believe that everything happens for a reason.

“If you get the chance, take it.

“If it changes your life, let it.

“Nobody said it would be easy, they just promised it would be worth it.”

Harvey Mackay, though often attributed to Dr. Seuss

A Tribute to Gary of Bereaved Single Dad Blog

It’s been a while since I wrote a tribute piece; all the more reason to cobble one together.

Tonight, I wish to honor Gary of A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent. Real, authentic, and (in his son’s words) a muppet; Gary mixes relatable humanity with life lessons and heartwarming morals.

I fall flat, I’m certain, but here is my effort to replicate his style and pay tribute to his daily blog posts.

Meal Plans

close up photo of man cooking meat

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Had to use a photo from the free media library as I didn’t think to take my own today. Was too busy putting out flames.

“So, last time I used the grill, I noticed it was really dirty. I pushed all the burned stuff into the bottom through little holes, but then saw I couldn’t get it out without taking the grill apart…”

My husband and I were between work and night, between school for the boys and free time on the computers, between dinner and eating it.

Evening had come without meal plans, as usual. I’d searched the freezer for what meat might be hiding and discovered chicken breasts from the mad rush to stockup last March. Surely if I could defrost them enough we could grill them the rest of the way, I thought.

“…Well, when I closed the grill cover, those old pieces all caught fire…”

Hm, my husband said, I wondered why I smelled smoke.

He hadn’t seen the entire grill in flames. Thankfully.

While the fire died down so the gauge didn’t read 750 degrees I mixed up a sauce for the well-done chicken. Oil’s good for a sauce, and vinegar, and this bottle called Pizza Seasoning and salt and pepper… Turns out oil’s also good for a second round of incineration.

So, dinner was also between: between raw and burnt black.

It’s not bad if you put barbecue sauce all over it, one son said at dinner. His piece of chicken was more sauce than bird but he ate it.

Life doesn’t always turn out how you plan either. Sometimes you plan a wonderful dinner. Sometimes it’s a good idea to get takeout. Most times, at the between times, you make do with what you’ve got.

And perhaps pull out the barbecue sauce.

——

If you’d like a better representation of Gary, visit his site. The poor guy’s only got a few thousand adoring fans.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

“And what do I hope for? Health and happiness, mostly.

“I hope scientists find a cure for a virus that feeds upon human organs, drowning the lungs and clotting the bloodstream. I hope that as scary as circumstances might get, we all learn new ways to be. I hope for learning from the stillness. I hope for gifts in the silence. I hope to hug again, to travel, and be unmasked from every mask I’ve ever worn. I hope to pet my neighbor’s new puppy, to gather friends around the campfire we’re building in the potager, to hunt for agates and run from black flies again. I hope to have guests and readings and workshops in my new home. I hope no one has to fear losing their home. I hope people find their passion in their work and community. I hope simply to live as fully as I can.”

Charli Mills, Founder of Carrot Ranch