For Patsy

 

 

She played in a world where the stakes were high,

Low numbers, no faces, her cards as dealt.

Others held hands with Kings and Queens.

Good thing she didn’t know the odds.

 

She learned of when to hold and fold.

And sometimes used a bit of slight.

She always donned her poker face.

Ne’re losing hope of drawing wild.

 

Dressing Room Drama

My mission was to take her shopping and to buy her a sweet little church dress.  Visions of Lilly Pulitzer danced in my head and she tried desperately to co-operate  with my expectations.  I noticed her resolve quickly breaking down as dress after dress brought her nothing but despair.  We left in search of a much-needed ice cream cone.

Relieved to be the grandmother and not the mother, I resolved to salvage the experience. I hated to disappoint my daughter, but I knew that my granddaughter and I could find joy in something we both have less than average interest in doing, shopping for clothes.  I found out that all she really wanted was fun, funky play-clothes from a store called Justice.  We headed to the mall.

She picked out arm-loads of cut off shorts with studded pockets, glittery shirts, colorful tanks, pink baseball caps, and bangles.  The dressing room over-flowethed.  The one dress she did choose had an army camouflage print  (we put that back).  She was so happy with her purchases that she begged to wear one outfit out of the store.  I let her, of course.

Now I know that she still does not have a cute little church dress.  Her mom will have to use her wits do make that happen.  I want her to have the nice things that define a well-groomed little girl and I want her to keep her awesome self-image.  She lives in a world in which the style of one’s clothes can define who people think she is. It’s a tension that in time she will ultimately work at and resolve.  For now, she’s dazzlingly happy!

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My husband remarked that my granddaughter reminded him of somebody else he knows and I remembered a poem that I wrote 8 years ago.  The dressing room drama continues.

Burberry Scarf

I’d rather have a tattoo,

Then wear a Burberry scarf.

I’d rather drink a beer with my housekeeper,

Than sip wine with a fancy senator.

Once I thought I was special,

Really thought I’d make a difference.

Still my yearbook post beckons,

“When I finally get myself together

I’m gonna get down to that sunny, southern weather”

In the end, do we all 

Go back to where we started?

Perhaps.

In the mean time,

I will dine with senators

But, I won’t wear a Burberry scarf

 

This post is part of the Word Press Daily Prompt –http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/04/29/daily-prompt-dickinson/

In an Instagram

(Weekly Writing Challenge)

I’m safe in here, but outside a storm rages.

I hear the heavy spray and the sloshing, slapping of soggy tentacles.

The window, now kaleidoscope projects a sliding, melting, morphing image.

Before I am ready it’s over.

Over but captured in an instagram.

I am thrust out into the sunshine.  Spic and span.

*******************

Where am I?