Me, Myself and Irene Christmas Edition

Just for fun. I was not in the mood for Christmas as 2020 has presented itself as one pathetic miserable bitchy year and I didn’t see the need to reward it but as life dictates, we should always count our blessings, take the good, the bad and make an omelet out of it. I mean, we need the bad sometimes to shake our bun-buns, teach us lessons as our life depends on it but not the dump that was thrown at us like an hot pot on the oven. 2020 has officially been canceled and we saw it in real time.

I made the decision to pick and follow, not to choose but follow, embrace the present. The Lord is my Sheppard I shall not want. I decided to take the good the year has offered, ditch the horrible, put it on a pile of manure and bury it somewhere on the curbside. Pumped I became and as much life has been one bowl of tomato soup, He restored my soul, leading me in the paths of righteousness, I was not about to turn it into a mash potato.

I moved in, decorated the house, sprinkled a few scent of pine here and there on something that resembles a Christmas tree, (my tree is too big and I was not in the mood to deal with it. I got the one on the corner and spruced it, add some light to it and it is standing tall and pretty, smiling right back at me), put up the lights and made it feel like the holiday that it is for two grateful soul dwellers. Yup, not going anywhere but my home. Ms Rona said so and I am ok.

2020 has been one puking year, for the books that no even the bookkeepers could have foreseen, forget the make believe horoscope card readers psychics, they were out to lunch on this twenty twenty and riding on my parade one more time it wasn’t, in the Christmas spirit I was going to be. I put my foot down and declared that life is for the living and living I was going to and elected to finding goodness, joy, the bright light in the pile of hay, grab it and make it my umbrella du jour. Yeah Christmas, bring it on!

Joy. Love. Ride.

To the safari I want to go, to visit with the animals, talk and run with them, tell them stories, sing them lullabies and play some kind nut games that none of us can explain; boring it won’t be for sure but edgy it will. So, I dream. Yeah, I want to go out in the wild, run free like a butterfly, jump ropes with the kangaroos and scream joy to the world where no one can hear and reply back but feel good, bust up some moves and dance to the groove, inhale fresh air, sit and breathe the sound of nature, let it all out, let it all in and calling it love. Love of thyself. Love of you. Love of others. Just Love. Joy. Love. Life. Living. Cheers!

© Angela Aguiar

Running Out of Script

Dear God, I am trying to navigate, learn to trust, be patient, confident, have faith in tomorrow as you have prescribed but I seem to often ran out of script and straight to that peculiar box. Time and again, I find myself in the river swimming, fighting against the large ocean currents that only a truck full of cockroaches can deliver. It has been a challenge, I may add. I thought I was brave, built like The Rock but like a clock, wound up caving in, flipping at sign of a hot burning pot when the pump kept going, screaming my lungs out for the world to hear, to no avail. So I wave, do the hockey pokey dance like a dog with a tail in between its legs, put the mascara on but half way through the walking machine defeat parade, I wake up from the rubble to clap an Alleluia give me something fuerte, I am still alive, can you hear me?! The road is a tad narrow, crowded, with endless curves and adjacent noisy streets but I urge you to be a wee bit understanding as I plod through the gravels, leaving a black patch on my wounded foot. Sitting at curbside, I felt the wind going by, blowing the seat cover that has been my existence, emerging from the ashes I left behind. Signed, the birdman!