Sunday, September 27, 2009

Ode to the Cool Side of the Pillow

Ode to the Cool Side of the Pillow

Sleep, blissful sleep
Stretching across the miles
With only one way to get the rest that you need
In this twenty four hours

Uncomfortable warmth nags at my brain
Keeping me from relaxing my best
I wonder at the meaning of this rude interruption
Until I remember the magical release

Flip it over, fluff it up
Sinking into the tingles of sensation
Why doesn’t it last, why do I keep flipping
To enjoy this cooling embrace

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Mantis Praying

Mantis Praying

Femme fatale
perfect killing machine
eager for destiny.
Reborn from a paper sack,
escaping 400 pea pods,
to seek a fortune.
Glistening eyes with a 360 degree view,
looking for a perfect mate
to seduce
and devour on demand -
A neutral eating predator.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Discover the Autumn Days

Discover the Autumn Days

Discover the pears that litter the ground, wilted and aging - calling to the Pear Gods, "Please turn me into butter or jam."

Discover the goldenrod, way past its bloom - but still it stands tall, waving in the breeze, calling to birds and to bees.

Discover the spiderweb daintily dangling from each window eaves - delicate patterns of exquisite taste, built by the orb masters of every late fall.

Discover the frost asters dancing above the fields of grain - looking like snowflakes from far away, but mimicking a daisy when each bloom is held close.

Discover the pumpkins - fat, round and orange - delighting the fancies of all young and old.

Discover the cider, all spicy and warm - it touches that something deep down in our souls.

Discover the autumn leaves - broadcasting on trees and littering the ground - Mother Nature's own firework display.

Discover the cool nip in the air - burning your lungs, but opening your senses - your breath coming out in frosty whispers.

Discover the autumn days, don't let them slip away, because in the blink of an eye they're all gone, sleeping away until another year has gone by.

Free Flowing Friday

Because I haven't felt well this week, most of my thoughts have migrated to the dark side. So, to save you from my icky mood, I thought I would highlight a few new books I've enjoyed this week.

Prophecy of the Sisters (Prophecy of the Sisters Trilogy, Book I) by Michelle Zink
Twin sisters Lia and Alice Milthorpe have just become orphans. They have also become enemies. As they discover their roles in a prophecy that has turned generations of sisters against each other, the girls find themselves entangled in a mystery that involves a tattoo-like mark, their parents' deaths, a boy, a book, and a lifetime of secrets.
This book takes place in the late 1800s and Zink has a refreshing writing style I am finding enjoyable. This easy to read book is a true page turner that has left me eagerly awaiting the next book in the trilogy.

Evermore (The Immortals Book 1) by Alyson Noel
Seventeen-year-old Ever survived the car crash that killed her parents, younger sister, and their dog. Now she lives with an aunt in Southern California, plagued not only by survivor guilt but also by a new ability to hear the thoughts of all around her. She tries to tune out all these distractions by keeping her hoodie up and her iPod cranked loud, until Damen, the cute new boy at school, convinces her to come out of her shell. Damen, however, is frighteningly clever—and has the strange ability to produce tulips from nowhere and disappear himself at critical moments.
For readers looking to fill the void left by the Twilight series, this is a different variation on the girl meets boy love story. Where Twilight has vegetarian vampires, the Immortals has immortal beings. Noel's truly captures the teenage voice. You can read my book review at: Bobbi's Book Nook.

Eli the Good by Silas House
Bicentennial fireworks burn the sky. Bob Seger growls from a transistor radio. And down by the river, girls line up on lawn chairs in pursuit of the perfect tan. Yet for ten-year-old Eli Book, the summer of 1976 is the one that threatened to tear his family apart. There is his distant mother; his traumatized Vietnam vet dad; his wild sister; his former warprotester aunt; and his tough yet troubled best friend, Edie, the only person with whom he can be himself. As tempers flare and his father’s nightmares rage, Eli watches from the sidelines, but soon even he cannot escape the current of conflict. From Silas House comes a tender look at the complexities of childhood and the realities of war — a quintessentially Southern novel filled with music, nostalgic detail, a deep respect for nature, and a powerful sense of place.
I was lucky enough to attend the national book launch of this book by one of my favorite Kentucky authors. House has an authentic Kentucky voice and his writing flows off the page in lyrical form. This is truly a beautiful book.

The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown
I'm not going to give much away about this book because many people have not had a chance to read it yet, but you can check out my book review at Bobbi's Book Nook. Let's just say that it was a real page turner for me, but I was a little disappointed. My infatuation with the fictional character of Robert Langdon is now over.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Reading with the TV On

Today's Musing Monday prompt: Do you listen to music while reading? Does this change if you’re reading in or out of your house? Do you have a preference of music for such occasions?

I rarely listen to music when I read, but I always have the television on as background noise. Typically, the TV is on MSNBC so I can listen to news updates with one ear while losing myself in a great book. I can't have the volume too loud because that gets distracting, but I like it loud enough so I can catch what is going on.

Saturday, September 19, 2009


By Bobbi Rightmyer

The world doesn’t come with clear directives
on how to co-exist as seeds of the same package
If it did, even a brief synopsis,
would destruction continue to rein
Or would we wander on in reckless abandon
left with only this lonely requiem
The seed is safe, locked away with all the vital rations
but roots and stems are susceptible to the ravages of nature
‘causing blossoms to open in finite time
And sometimes the damage is too extent
it rips the very soul
leaving butterflies and mason bees without
So too are we, safely nurtured into seedlings
then planted in the cosmic garden
to fend off the pessimistic confusion

Thursday, September 17, 2009


By Bobbi Rightmyer

The long shadows are settling across the meadow floor
Whispering the promises for the end of the day
Dodging and weaving over shrubbery and trees
As one last glance of vivid green grass is seen

What does the night hold when the shadows let go
And the darkness creeps upon the land
What undying pledge do the shadows now make
To get us through till the end

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My Heart


My heart it only beats for you
Fluttering with just your precious smile
Or gentle ribbing given in jest
My love is overwhelming

My heart sees only you
No matter what we're doing
Out in public at social events
Or cuddling at home on the couch

My heart feels love like no one else’s
You were and are my knight in shining armor
As you carry me over my present obstacles
Like you carried me over the past

My heart it hears your special voice
Even when we are both upset
It is able to pick out the loving tones
That keeps us on the right path

My heart can taste the hunger
The thought of you always brings
I lust for you as I did from youth
As our twilight fast approaches

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

Today's One-Minute Writing Prompt: Break
What responsibility would you like to forego (without any negative consequences) for one week?

I don't wanna grow up - I'd like to be free from all responsibility for one week. No work, no bills to pay. No stress, no family decisions to make. No housework, no putting off doing the laundry. No cooking, no washing the damn dishes. No bedtime, no feeling guilty for staying up all night.

I think all of us are kids at heart and would love nothing better than being able to live like a kid again - without a worry in the world. But this is the real world, so I guess I'll suck it up and just be glad I'm alive to enjoy it.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Common Sense: 101

Today's Writing Prompt: 101
Colleges offer courses like English 101 and Biology 101, teaching students the basics of those subjects. What "101" course do you think colleges should offer to help 18-year-old students learn what they really need to know?

I think they should offer "Common Sense:101." So many kids today are coming out of college with excellent degrees and "book" knowledge, but too many of them don't know how to relate this to every day life. I've always said, you have to have some common sense in order to appreciate your book sense.

Sunday, September 13, 2009


By Bobbi Rightmyer
(Photo copyright Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)

The meadow is my favorite place to be alone with my thoughts. Although it is only one acre of land - and positioned in my backyard - you would not think of this as a perfect spot, but to me it is.

From the first green life of early spring to the hot, dry days of summer, on into the golden days of autumn and the frigid cold nights of winter - my meadow is a place of solitude. Like Superman's Fortress of Solitude, I enter my meadow to rummage through my thoughts, take shape of my emotions and figure out my plans for the future.

For the past few years, I've neglected my poor little meadow - grief has overshadowed my every waking hour. But this year I have renewed hope and a renewed spirit for life, so I have grand ideas for a renewed garden.

However, upon closer inspection of my little meadow, I've noticed a curious thing. My meadow has gone on without me. Oh, it may not be as well-kept as when I'm lending a hand, but the plants have thrived and thrown themselves willy-nilly to the wind. What a wonderful surprise to see the daisies have multiplied, the asters are spreading, the sedum has grown large and the trees are persevering.

Maybe my little meadow doesn't need me as much as I need her; like my children, she has grown strong and wise. Maybe all my little meadow needs is a gentle, helping hand to lead her on the right path.

As I lounge under the fragrant blossoms of honeysuckle, I marvel at the beauty of this little slice of heaven. Even in the early throes of spring, I can see the delicate architecture of Mother Nature's handiwork.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Memory Lives On

The Memory Lives On
By Bobbi Rightmyer

I was going through a rough spot in my life
in between jobs from birthing babies to elderly care.
I finally had the day off and after seeing my family off to school and work,
I settled in to enjoy the TODAY show.
No sooner did I have my nest made when the first plane hit the first tower.
Was it a horrible accident?
Had something gone terribly wrong?
Or were we under attack from a growing terror
we’ve kept on the back burner too long?
Bomb drills and survival skills raced through the edges of my mind
as I tried to comprehend what was going on.
Never one for telephone calls, I detested using the phone,
but I needed to have some answers
so I picked up the receiver to make my first call.
My hubby wasn’t quiet to work yet, but still on his long commute
and he turned on the radio to listen.
Still in shock, I was on the phone again with my soul sister Linda Loo,
when the next tower was hit.
What the hell is going on?
What do we do?
Why hasn’t the Emergency Broadcast System made an interruption –
they interrupt programming when the wind blows the wrong way?
Throughout the next hours I was glued with horror
to the images coming from the frosty screen.
box cutters,
terrorist attacks – how is this happening in the great USA?
And why is Bush Jr.,
our Commander in Chief,
reading a book upside down to the children all around?
Why doesn’t he do something – anything to make the horror stop?
Our lives will never be the same again, our freedom has been threatened.
I feel I dug a hole that day to bury myself away,
but all the pain and suffering in my personal life just no longer seems to compare.
And now it’s eight years later and the New York skyline remains ruptured –
our tribute to the terrorist,
by our lack of cohesive structure.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Pet Rocks

I do a monthly column for Mercer's Magazine entitled Super 70s. Although I was born in 1962, the decade of disco has always been my favorite. I have many childhood memories of growing up in the 1970s and I enjoy sharing these memories with my children. Here is one of my latest articles:

Long before Americans began collecting McDonalds Happy Meal toys and Beanie Babies, Troll dolls and Cabbage Patch Kids, or Bobble Heads and Furbys, there was the wildly popular Pet Rock. Introduced in the summer of 1975, these clean, cheap and well-behaved rocks became THE pet to have.

The brainchild of Californian Gary Dahl, the first Pet Rocks were gray stones bought from a local building supply company. Several weeks after the Pet Rock craze started, rocks were being “harvested” from Rosarita Beach in Baja, Mexico. Over three tons of stone was used to create these geological pets.

Marketed as if they were “live” pets, Pet Rocks even came with a “Pet Rock Training Manual.” The manual had instructions on how to properly raise and care for one's newfound pet (notably lacking instructions for feeding). The instruction manual contained several commands that could be taught to the new pet, and while "sit" and "stay" were effortless to accomplish, "roll over" usually required extra help from the trainer. “Potty training” and "Come" were found to be impossible to teach, but "attack" was a much easier command (picture cavemen throwing rocks).

Pet Rocks were packaged in a cardboard box designed to look like a pet carrier and they sold for $3.95 each. They became so successful because Dahl, an advertising executive, created an attractive press release and sent it to almost every major media outlet in the country. An October 1975 edition of “Newsweek” had an article on the Pet Rock fad and several dozen newspapers picked up the story. Dahl also had his Andy Warhol fifteen minutes of fame when he appeared on “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.”

The fad lasted about six months, ending with the Christmas season in December 1975. By the time Americans came to their senses, there were over 1.5 million Pet Rocks sold, making Dahl an instant millionaire.

I totally remember being caught up in the Pet Rock craze, asking for my own loveable rock for my 13th birthday. Citing the fact that my cousins-slash-friends, Karen and Ann, each had a Pet Rock, I was rewarded with my own Pet Rock to train and love. I was proud of the fact I taught “Sylvester” to sit, lie down and play dead.

Although Americans have gone through many stages of fad toys and gadgets, no one has been as successful as Dahl with marketing his useless Pet Rock. The Pet Rock is celebrating its 34th birthday this year.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Don't Judge Me

I must apoligize - my head went a little dark on this one.

Don’t Judge Me
By Bobbi Rightmyer

Don’t judge me – you don’t even know who I am,
nor do you seem to care.
Why do you seek pleasure in tearing people down?
You seek to destroy everything that makes life worth living,
only because you have no life of your own.
I will never understand the sick desire to trample the ones you feel are beneath you.
You don’t know anything about my physical health –
or my mental health for that matter.
Not that I’m making excuses,
but my mind has been in a black hole for several years now
and I am only just now escaping the deep clutches of suicidal tendencies.
You know nothing of the grief
which has consumed every waking minute of every single day of every never-ending week.
You know nothing of the endless downward spiral
passed the basements and root cellars of my warped, mixed-up mind.
Don’t tell me to just get over it.
Don’t tell me things will be better in the morning.
Don’t tell me I need to suck it up and get on with my life.
Those are just words and words cannot cure the cavernous ache inside my soul.
Despair casts a shadow over the mind,
shrouding me in my own personal prison cell,
coating my every movement and every thought
like heavy humidity choking the air.
I don’t want to feel this way.
I don’t want to live this way.
I want true happiness in my life again.
I want the flowers to blossom.
I want the birds to sing.
I want control over my life again before it’s too late.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A Kentucky Morning on Terrapin Hill

A Kentucky Morning on Terrapin Hill
By Bobbi Rightmyer

Awakened before dawn to the gentle tap of rainfall on the window panes,
the morning is cool with a hint of humidity touching the air.
As the day kisses the horizon and the dark clouds prevail,
my muse begins whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
Inspiration comes easy on these overcast days,
tho’ many will complain at the lack of sunbeams.
Fingers of thought gently caress my brain –
emotions are awaking from their sharp repose.
To Terrapin Hill I’ll make my escape,
the green rolling hills and the call of the calm.
Woodland groves with hardy young saplings grow in harmony with ancient woods –
Oaks, Walnuts, Cedars and Ash,
Hickory nut, Sycamore, Sweet Gum and Pine –
symbols of the frontier life, now gracing a modern time.
Native wildflowers still offer display,
surviving the dog days, tired from their summer work,
now preparing the offspring for next season’s life.
Goldenrod nods its head with the breeze and Joe-Pye weed follows suit;
Ironweed maintains its purple appeal, as asters wait to burst forth.
Cicadas are singing their sweet, blistering song,
as the cadence rises and falls like the crashing of waves.
Birds are trilling an opera as the morning marches on,
a call to a mate or the sharp chirp of warning.
More insects join the cicada chorus
and the occasional toad can be heard with his deep, throaty croak.
Muddy paths with slippery rocks, lead to moss lined trails at the wooded edge,
beckoning an entrance for all the wonders that wait –
peaceful solitude envelopes the soul.
Gentle breezes swaying the trees,
inviting fat droplets of rain to pepper down in tiny bursts.
Acorns are dropping and littering the ground,
along with walnuts and hickories, nature’s feast abounds.
Spiders are scurrying to build their webs, as squirrels begin to gather the nuts.
A rabbit is munching the remains of crown vetch,
his nose twitching, his ears alert.
My body is relaxed in this calming place,
just a brief moment away from the worries of life.
If ever you need a break from your stressful day, or a moment of peaceful solitude,
Terrapin Hill awaits with a soothing embrace
to help you wash the troubles away.