Monday, March 30, 2020


Gentle Readers  . . . and Maxwell,

Jennie-o of Procrastinating Donkeparticipates in Poetry Monday. She and her poetry pals choose a topic each week. This week's topic is writing. I hope you'll visit Jenny-o to read her poem and enjoy the funnies she posts.

I have shared a poem on Poetry Monday once or twice. I am too tired to try to come up with a poem (Did you notice to try to? To try and is incorrect.).  Jenny-o took writing and managed to come up with a poem about handwriting. I want to take the topic in another direction, so my not-a-poem is  writing, as in writing words that we read. For some reason, after copying and pasting ANOTHER SPACE, ANOTHER PLACE, I could not find it again (I'm holding my eyes open with toothpicks); therefore, I can't tell you when I wrote it. Probably during 2010.

If you're very kind, perhaps you will think that my writing is lyrical enough to be a type of poetry. Here's ANOTHER SPACE, ANOTHER PLACE:

Recently I was standing on line in a coffee shop behind a lovely young man in the uniform of the United States Army. He turned and asked me how I was, and I replied that all was well, so I in turn asked how he was.

He said, "It's always a good day when I'm not in Afghanistan or Iraq."

We chatted for awhile about the military and my own family history with members of the armed forces. Then I told him about my parents' trip to Hawaii and their visit to the USS Arizona Memorial.

My mother told me that soon after they arrived at the memorial, my father became extremely upset over the Japanese tourists smiling and laughing and taking pictures and they had to leave.

The young man told me that when you visit that memorial, it's an awe inspiring experience, that you're surrounded by a special feeling.

I brought up the Vietnam Memorial (The Wall) in Washington, D.C. He said, Yes, it's like that.

Every time I've been to The Wall, at least one veteran in uniform has been leaning against it, sobbing. When you visit The Wall, you're in Another Space, Another Place. It's a holy feeling. It surrounds you the moment you come close to The Wall.

I recommend reading "My Losing Season" by Pat Conroy. The entire book is excellent, but I am especially moved by his description of his visits to The Wall.

Quite a few years ago, my husband and middle-school aged child and I went to Washington, D.C. for an art exhibit. We couldn't get in. We got within six people of the door and that was it - everybody who was getting in for the day was in. I'm glad we did not make the cut because when we returned a few weeks later and were among the first six admitted, I learned that the last people to get inside had to stand on line for hours before actually getting into the exhibit.

So there we were in lovely D.C., and what to do for the day. Said Child wanted to visit the Holocaust Museum. I did not want to go. I have seen enough images of the Holocaust and they frighten me.

Said Child really wanted to go, and I gave in. It's important for us to teach our children about the Holocaust, about Cambodia and Pol Pot, about genocide everywhere.

We went in the museum and I found it to be awe-inspiring. It is beautiful in a way that defies my feeble words.

The most amazing moment of the visit for me came when we entered an area with some actual wooden bunks from Auschwitz. Once upon a time, real people, barely surviving human beings, were packed into those bunks to sleep.

A Woman was leaning against one of the bunks, crying and patting the wood. A tour guide? security person? told her, Ma'am, You can't touch those.

She said in her heavily accented English, You don't understand. I used to sleep in these.

We were in Another Space, Another Place.

For a fleeting second, I was with her in Auschwitz.

My husband left me many, many times, but he always came back. And every time he left, a little more of me died.

Finally, he left me for another woman. I went into shock. I was in Another Space, Another Place, and it wasn't good. It wasn't solemn and holy. It was terrifying and sickening.

He came back, but nothing could ever be right again. I was a fool to take him back, but he was sick and I was in it For Better or For Worse. I'm glad he finally left for good.

Now I'm in a safe space, a safe place. Away from him.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Friday, March 27, 2020

Thursday, March 26, 2020


Favorite Young Man has a birthday this month: his 40th. I wrote this poem for him when he was in high school


Boy, don't you fly so high.
Your daddy done warned you.
It ain't safe up close to the sun.

You gotta learn to listen.
You don't clean up the left-over wax and feathers like you told to.
You get too close to that ugly ole Minotaur.

Minotaur, he eat you up, boy.
And it because you don't listen.
Don't do like you told.

You a good boy though.
Don't complain livin' in the Labyrinth.
You good to Theseus.

You just gotta remember to listen to your daddy.
He smart -- he the one called Artificer.
He say keep low, keep low and close to the water.

Yeah, but I know.
I know you.
You do what you want.

Don't listen.
Get ready to swim because you goin' down.
Gonna fall.

It's o.k.
I see you -- I find you again some good day.
You gotta fly your way.

Sky's yours.

Wednesday, March 25, 2020


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

As I prepare this message to you, I'm waiting to see my doctor. Sore throat, body aches, fever and chills--none of it guarantees that I have COVID.

I found a chart that shows symptoms of COVID v. flu v. a cold. My symptoms line up well with the flu and yes I had a flu shot. Or maybe I feel crummy because I had a flood in my house on Sunday. It's not all cleaned up yet. I'll probably write a post about The Great Kitchen & Laundry Room Flood of 2020.

I'll get back to you with my diagnosis after the plumber deals with the cause of the flood.

And, by the way, will someone please explain to me why we're supposed to bump elbows instead of shaking hands (except for the orange catastrophe in Washington, D.C.) when we've been told to sneeze and cough into the crooks of our elbows. Does this protocol make sense to you? The virus can't spread from the elbow to the crook of the elbow?

I haven't elbow bumped anyone and don't intend to do so.

Something else ridiculous, but it's too serious to be funny or silly: No one is going to stop his Royal Assness from saying China Virus. I swear he spits up this crap and it's a not-so-secret code telling his followers to go out to attack Asian people.

I'm tired. Chris Mann, will you please sing us out?

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Tuesday, March 24, 2020


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I came across the phrase semantic satiation and thought it was interesting enough to share with you. I'd never heard of it before.

Semantic satiation is a psychological phenomenon in which repetition causes a word or phrase to temporarily lose meaning for the listener,[1] who then perceives the speech as repeated meaningless sounds. Extended inspection or analysis (staring at the word or phrase for a lengthy period of time) in place of repetition also produces the same effect.

If you'd like to learn more about this odd circumstance, then hop on over to my source, Wikipedia.

My mother used to repeat the same words repeatedly and repeatedly repeat things she heard on the news.

Her speech often sounded as if she were an "adult" on the Charlie Brown/Peanuts TV specials. Wah Wah Wah Wah Wah: she was convinced she was using words but I only heard noise.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Monday, March 16, 2020


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm always looking for ways to cut back on the use of plastic. Plast-icky dependence is a big problem for our beautiful Earth.

Carol taught me something new a few days ago (actually, she teaches me something new pretty much everyday).

She bought some pulled pork. We used part of it and it was delicious. We had quite a bit left over, so Carol said we should cover it. I went to get the plastic wrap from the cabinet.

Cling Wrap pretty much clings to itself in my clumsy hands, but before I could get out the box, Carol showed me a better, re-usable solution.

A shower cap!

No problem with clinging to itself. The elastic edges stay on perfectly.  And we can wash it out and re-use it when we're done with the pulled pork.

Brava, Carol!

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Monday, March 9, 2020


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It's been a while since we had a Movie Weekend, so start the popcorn. I'm happy to report I'm glad I spent time on Once Upon a Time . . . In Hollywood, although it's two hours and 41 minutes (2019, Rated R, I got the DVD from Netflix but I'm sure it's streaming in more than one place).

We never know what we'll get from Quentin Tarantino other than an interesting story, violence that's as carefully choreographed as a ballet, and cool characters. I'd say that the overarching theme of Once Upon a Time . . . In Hollywood is Old Hollywood merges with New Hollywood (New Hollywood is 1969). *Note: If you've seen this movie, please don't reveal the conclusion in your comment. It would ruin the movie for potential viewers.. However, if you want to tell us that you liked or disliked the movie, feel free.

Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), along with his stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), represent Old Hollywood. The TV show Dalton starred in is over. He looks for parts in other shows and even sings on Hullabaloo––anything to stay in the public's view and keep working.

No wonder we have doubts about Dalton's ability to have a successful career. But then a number of incidents bring Rick Dalton and his best buddy Booth into New Hollywood. I'll mention only one of these events because this is a movie that should be allowed to unfold before you without a lot of information about the plot.

One evening Dalton and Booth head out and we note they live on Cielo Drive in Los Angeles. They see the "neighbors" in their car: Roman Polanski and his beautiful, budding-actress wife Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). Dalton hopes to meet Polanski so he might get a part in a movie.

Margot Robbie
Sharon Tate

That's it. That's everything I have to tell you about the plot, other than the end of the movie gave me hope. I also want to mention that when Brad Pitt took off his shirt, I drooled. He's as gorgeous as ever at age 55.

Let me know if you like the movie. I'm always curious. I understand, though, that some people won't watch a Tarantino movie for any reason.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Sunday, March 8, 2020


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Congratulations on waking up to celebrate 

International Women's Day!  hint: Did you change your clocks last night? Please remember that it's Daylight Saving Time, not Savings Time and not Saving's Time and not parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

I feel a bit militant.

But not in a bad way.

In a productive way.

I wish you a beautiful Sunday!

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug