in the days whence the Roses were RED, aViolet PURPLE...
You won't want what comes NEXT, then.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
SMUDGEPOT DIPLOMACY with HayBurnt Inclinations for RadRocked Prowess
IN my home town of CharlaJunta (now RANCHO Something) there was a grove tradition when the crop was enJeopardized by too lowering chill in the air and on the ground.. for / and it was BIG bucks to insure a man's crop wasn't a goner. But it willed to interrupt our societal intervenes at very odd times.
When we were at a football game one early December night...it was announced over the air to meet immediately after the game...to gather in the driveway at aThe Milbourne's home , directly adjacent to their citrus grove of orange blossomless trees...gone athirst in a mirth for non traditional snow and ice and hail and frost not
customary for that region of a corner of our speck on the US global... And we were instructed to keep warm and bring gloves and ugly muggly boots if possible, and especially the males of super girth such as the very football and basketball prowess we were at that moment beholding in gridlock for cheer to hope an avoidance for such might we possiblurred., Yes, it was mentioned at school several times that week that the weather MIGHT get this bad and to anticipate such...EVEN if there would be a spirited game competition enhancing prior'd.
The trouble was...We (SheWenchlette cheerleaders bunched for merriment) weren't prepared for THAT much merciless utilzing of our cherished male faces that cheered us so at the post contest with WIN festivities... for a local 'hang out' was drooping a pace (like J.Austen too artfully expressed it to be sewn) and we will'd not to miss out with their companionship for the evening...so all the girly squirrlies went as well...we knew we'd have to eventually say a ruthless 'GuNight!'...so we made with vehicular accomodations for our own recognizant to gettin out when they decided the GIRLS might not be too whimpy to help...and our coats were NEVER of THAT much will to keep us warm enugg (subbobbed Huffy)...PLUS we were miserable to be outside in our shortening although WOOL cheerleadn skirts and sweater knit tops -- for too longst.
The POTs they were purposing and were to be placed between certain groups of trees at angles and midst the group to encumber blusters of air -- were trapped in certain areas of the grove. It was never on the periphurrys that would come close to cars or a driveway or streets...WE were NOT to let the smudgy warmth linger on our face... for a strong smell of fuel with a harsh carbone monoxide or deisel smell would have us too sooner and we'd regret the outcome... For contact with the smudgepots was a delicious warmth for the full frontal enticement of one's cuerpo humano...while the backs of our pert twiggy teenage and stone frozen forms weren't -- but a moisture in the air from the sweating in hard wool and heavy coat would melt all the chill from off the face into one big drip at the nosetip...and [we] wouldn't enjoy it for it's typical & overt smell...it was all too very obnoxious treachery for grabbing a breath (difficult for the scenery within a grove is quite striking to behold, causing one to forget their purpose there that night)-- for the procedure with moving the pots around at timely intervals and keeping them lit to refresh them-- was to have to get too near them all too closely, and JUST for a moment...
Alas...my will to recollect these cherished moments as a crop wasn't going to fail merely for knowing everyone of his (aTheMr.M) children's friends who loved to party in those hallowed rows of trees on warmer nights in mid summer... were all too eager not to lose a friendly and non-hostile locate when the barrells of Coors came undone and unearthed from the nurturance of cold irrigation ditch meanderings. Though (seriously) I never embibed...but did often return to the tail end of these 'keggertz thangs' to usher any lad who willed not to drive his own vehicle home against an onslaught of a brain intune to life...and I was too be the only sober female withstanding their entreaties for "come on...just a sip!" BUT I simply never did linger there THAT long. Just to return and pick up a sluggish one or two males with one of my former sheFreinds... to keep them against sorrow of tragedy that DID take several lives in our town, that-- for a drunkeness postGAME was NEVER a wisdom to cheer.
When the leaves browned from smudguree and/to save a crop against the bitter frost that weekend (one of two rare ocassions embittered during this season and POSTgame) I retreated against a sorry NOT to have had a coat that I could linger with the sheFriends that DID know how to be careful when in the presence of these heady lads... but for one failure. They did not have the cheer anymore for MY presence ...for I kept well away from that Carbonesque-ish Monoxide drink they didn't know to avoid. Their brains were NEVER the same. And MR. Milbourne's will (to MY sorrow as well) not to have any with such capacity to say so, nor hope better for his own brain'd head from the evil we were persued by that evening til near 2 a.m. with some even dutifrightening utnil the next morning, or NOON! Well, it DID happen, so I'm told. But NO ONE TOLD ME THIS next matter.
But When I plugged into the brain of one such youth with NOT managing any kind of coat for having forgotten as well, who AND, gained overly too much a circuitous circumference to the smudge pots without the wisdom to glance away from the smudging fumes and ensuing smoke... He and ONE looked too ill and spied me to plead at me the moment he viewed me coming toward his mirth to see a gettaway vehicular opportunity arriving...I grabbed him by aTHE POWER of the VOICE of GOD onto his freezing foreArms (fresh and disarmingly bare in a new plaid short-sleeved shirt put afresh after game films preview then short shower) and yelled to me amidst the dearth of voices clammoiring with a regal will not to be scened with any of their/his group be denied some high spirited "PUNCH" called BEER to get them through this night for already they were smitten with aloofness and bedraggled frames for a contest was the keeper...who won that GAME (the aforementioned) WON the title... But still and calm for NOW-- He hurried to embrace my larger than the other girls frame and plead with a voice..."Please I need to get home, I am not well...but let's hurry so they don't see me leave...or I won't be able to withstand their plee" Til, We wove through an additional row to avoid gangs and groups and festivities and smudgepots all leading to the long line of crowded empty cars at the edge of the grove lined miraculously (for the Milbourne'd will) and of hollocaustry for the need for those empty cars now OUGHTING to have been fully occupied to leave said haunts in a hurriedly spied realizement that THIS was NOT as it seemed. But, where WERE ALL the smudgepots? For it seemed that while a smell too strong turned me out of this leafy kingdom --that we sheGals treasured for picnics on Saturday afternoons when a chore finally exulted to be finished... this night...UG. No tolerance for the thick thick inhalements of gangplanks aloft muddy trenches that brought an ankle to deep into chill to want my white tennies bedrankled. The only FEW smudgepots we could see were quite smelly enugg for THIS entailment of our species to triumph 'elsewhere besettlings'.
I got him, ED we'll call him-- and back to his own home driveway in a mere 4 to 5 shorter minutes from the Grove that behooved us not to leave... Yet we huddled infront of the steering wheel at the small heating vent of the older car that now pushed out some warmth at seeming mere doses...the radio was low and Ed leared to have to leave the envelope of warmth we had temporarily fogged the closest window with-- from an overdose of mirth to smooch in sudden appeal for eachother's will to ditch the group that couldn't independently think AWAY from the danger for lungs which THAT mere slighter grove presented that night. He suddenly looked at me with apology...to confess he had not been as ill as he claimed, but was close to getting there....but to will MY forgiveness? I felt forlorned! I loved his instant will to have been compelled toward me the minute a SPIRIT of life drove me toward HIM in that grove...for I too was coatless as was HE, and we embraced as if our very lives depended upon it's need to have recognized such in an instant. WE neither knew what being "prepared" to smudge on THAT hallowed all night meant. No coat was in that list for preparation for neither we 2 knew to have THAT kind of preparation. While the smooching ceased after just 2 or 3 minutes (fairly wonderful they were!), we began to chat...That is, until aHIS father appeared and reduced my cheerfleur'd companion of that eveing to a whimper when he saw him in a fog covered window pane to wonder what light devastated the evening peace as we curled into his driveway at too steep a pitch not to glance against the windows in front for full view. While I didn't mind the smooched alert to feel completely alive for aThe very first time in my hollower life...I was relieved by his dad's appearing, though not heartened by a scold and reproof for not returning immediately to the grove.
They stood in front of the car for a moment and had a very lively conversation... then his dad turned and retraced his path from the house. Youthful Lad (still calling him Ed) regained the drivers side this time and asked me to return him to the place where his car was parked. I reproved myself for not realizing it was yet alongside the GROVE of trees for his meritorious contempt to return yet and Still w/o a coat caused me concern. But he shrugged and entered the grove of trees with a silent reserve. At that time I saw the tiny slim sweatshirt for a welter weight's worth of warmth to defy an ENEMY of cold...his paw must have kept from view in the first removing of my glance when DAD arrived at the car when our heavy fog appeared at the driver's window pane earlier... BUT I felt not the/a reproof I usually required when something hinted to be just 'wrong' for a moment... and not knowing that this was a solemn ceremonial certainty that/to his DAD and some of the game/blent parents who were commited to team regularly for all employment concerns--this night was a keeper...HE HAD to be present for that claim on his brain was where I would not will to learn such. For, I had no older brother in sports, let alone in this town...
When we were at a football game one early December night...it was announced over the air to meet immediately after the game...to gather in the driveway at aThe Milbourne's home , directly adjacent to their citrus grove of orange blossomless trees...gone athirst in a mirth for non traditional snow and ice and hail and frost not
customary for that region of a corner of our speck on the US global... And we were instructed to keep warm and bring gloves and ugly muggly boots if possible, and especially the males of super girth such as the very football and basketball prowess we were at that moment beholding in gridlock for cheer to hope an avoidance for such might we possiblurred., Yes, it was mentioned at school several times that week that the weather MIGHT get this bad and to anticipate such...EVEN if there would be a spirited game competition enhancing prior'd.The trouble was...We (SheWenchlette cheerleaders bunched for merriment) weren't prepared for THAT much merciless utilzing of our cherished male faces that cheered us so at the post contest with WIN festivities... for a local 'hang out' was drooping a pace (like J.Austen too artfully expressed it to be sewn) and we will'd not to miss out with their companionship for the evening...so all the girly squirrlies went as well...we knew we'd have to eventually say a ruthless 'GuNight!'...so we made with vehicular accomodations for our own recognizant to gettin out when they decided the GIRLS might not be too whimpy to help...and our coats were NEVER of THAT much will to keep us warm enugg (subbobbed Huffy)...PLUS we were miserable to be outside in our shortening although WOOL cheerleadn skirts and sweater knit tops -- for too longst.
The POTs they were purposing and were to be placed between certain groups of trees at angles and midst the group to encumber blusters of air -- were trapped in certain areas of the grove. It was never on the periphurrys that would come close to cars or a driveway or streets...WE were NOT to let the smudgy warmth linger on our face... for a strong smell of fuel with a harsh carbone monoxide or deisel smell would have us too sooner and we'd regret the outcome... For contact with the smudgepots was a delicious warmth for the full frontal enticement of one's cuerpo humano...while the backs of our pert twiggy teenage and stone frozen forms weren't -- but a moisture in the air from the sweating in hard wool and heavy coat would melt all the chill from off the face into one big drip at the nosetip...and [we] wouldn't enjoy it for it's typical & overt smell...it was all too very obnoxious treachery for grabbing a breath (difficult for the scenery within a grove is quite striking to behold, causing one to forget their purpose there that night)-- for the procedure with moving the pots around at timely intervals and keeping them lit to refresh them-- was to have to get too near them all too closely, and JUST for a moment...
Alas...my will to recollect these cherished moments as a crop wasn't going to fail merely for knowing everyone of his (aTheMr.M) children's friends who loved to party in those hallowed rows of trees on warmer nights in mid summer... were all too eager not to lose a friendly and non-hostile locate when the barrells of Coors came undone and unearthed from the nurturance of cold irrigation ditch meanderings. Though (seriously) I never embibed...but did often return to the tail end of these 'keggertz thangs' to usher any lad who willed not to drive his own vehicle home against an onslaught of a brain intune to life...and I was too be the only sober female withstanding their entreaties for "come on...just a sip!" BUT I simply never did linger there THAT long. Just to return and pick up a sluggish one or two males with one of my former sheFreinds... to keep them against sorrow of tragedy that DID take several lives in our town, that-- for a drunkeness postGAME was NEVER a wisdom to cheer.
When the leaves browned from smudguree and/to save a crop against the bitter frost that weekend (one of two rare ocassions embittered during this season and POSTgame) I retreated against a sorry NOT to have had a coat that I could linger with the sheFriends that DID know how to be careful when in the presence of these heady lads... but for one failure. They did not have the cheer anymore for MY presence ...for I kept well away from that Carbonesque-ish Monoxide drink they didn't know to avoid. Their brains were NEVER the same. And MR. Milbourne's will (to MY sorrow as well) not to have any with such capacity to say so, nor hope better for his own brain'd head from the evil we were persued by that evening til near 2 a.m. with some even dutifrightening utnil the next morning, or NOON! Well, it DID happen, so I'm told. But NO ONE TOLD ME THIS next matter.
But When I plugged into the brain of one such youth with NOT managing any kind of coat for having forgotten as well, who AND, gained overly too much a circuitous circumference to the smudge pots without the wisdom to glance away from the smudging fumes and ensuing smoke... He and ONE looked too ill and spied me to plead at me the moment he viewed me coming toward his mirth to see a gettaway vehicular opportunity arriving...I grabbed him by aTHE POWER of the VOICE of GOD onto his freezing foreArms (fresh and disarmingly bare in a new plaid short-sleeved shirt put afresh after game films preview then short shower) and yelled to me amidst the dearth of voices clammoiring with a regal will not to be scened with any of their/his group be denied some high spirited "PUNCH" called BEER to get them through this night for already they were smitten with aloofness and bedraggled frames for a contest was the keeper...who won that GAME (the aforementioned) WON the title... But still and calm for NOW-- He hurried to embrace my larger than the other girls frame and plead with a voice..."Please I need to get home, I am not well...but let's hurry so they don't see me leave...or I won't be able to withstand their plee" Til, We wove through an additional row to avoid gangs and groups and festivities and smudgepots all leading to the long line of crowded empty cars at the edge of the grove lined miraculously (for the Milbourne'd will) and of hollocaustry for the need for those empty cars now OUGHTING to have been fully occupied to leave said haunts in a hurriedly spied realizement that THIS was NOT as it seemed. But, where WERE ALL the smudgepots? For it seemed that while a smell too strong turned me out of this leafy kingdom --that we sheGals treasured for picnics on Saturday afternoons when a chore finally exulted to be finished... this night...UG. No tolerance for the thick thick inhalements of gangplanks aloft muddy trenches that brought an ankle to deep into chill to want my white tennies bedrankled. The only FEW smudgepots we could see were quite smelly enugg for THIS entailment of our species to triumph 'elsewhere besettlings'.
I got him, ED we'll call him-- and back to his own home driveway in a mere 4 to 5 shorter minutes from the Grove that behooved us not to leave... Yet we huddled infront of the steering wheel at the small heating vent of the older car that now pushed out some warmth at seeming mere doses...the radio was low and Ed leared to have to leave the envelope of warmth we had temporarily fogged the closest window with-- from an overdose of mirth to smooch in sudden appeal for eachother's will to ditch the group that couldn't independently think AWAY from the danger for lungs which THAT mere slighter grove presented that night. He suddenly looked at me with apology...to confess he had not been as ill as he claimed, but was close to getting there....but to will MY forgiveness? I felt forlorned! I loved his instant will to have been compelled toward me the minute a SPIRIT of life drove me toward HIM in that grove...for I too was coatless as was HE, and we embraced as if our very lives depended upon it's need to have recognized such in an instant. WE neither knew what being "prepared" to smudge on THAT hallowed all night meant. No coat was in that list for preparation for neither we 2 knew to have THAT kind of preparation. While the smooching ceased after just 2 or 3 minutes (fairly wonderful they were!), we began to chat...That is, until aHIS father appeared and reduced my cheerfleur'd companion of that eveing to a whimper when he saw him in a fog covered window pane to wonder what light devastated the evening peace as we curled into his driveway at too steep a pitch not to glance against the windows in front for full view. While I didn't mind the smooched alert to feel completely alive for aThe very first time in my hollower life...I was relieved by his dad's appearing, though not heartened by a scold and reproof for not returning immediately to the grove.
They stood in front of the car for a moment and had a very lively conversation... then his dad turned and retraced his path from the house. Youthful Lad (still calling him Ed) regained the drivers side this time and asked me to return him to the place where his car was parked. I reproved myself for not realizing it was yet alongside the GROVE of trees for his meritorious contempt to return yet and Still w/o a coat caused me concern. But he shrugged and entered the grove of trees with a silent reserve. At that time I saw the tiny slim sweatshirt for a welter weight's worth of warmth to defy an ENEMY of cold...his paw must have kept from view in the first removing of my glance when DAD arrived at the car when our heavy fog appeared at the driver's window pane earlier... BUT I felt not the/a reproof I usually required when something hinted to be just 'wrong' for a moment... and not knowing that this was a solemn ceremonial certainty that/to his DAD and some of the game/blent parents who were commited to team regularly for all employment concerns--this night was a keeper...HE HAD to be present for that claim on his brain was where I would not will to learn such. For, I had no older brother in sports, let alone in this town...
Monday, February 8, 2010
THE NEWSLETTER with aTHE MOSTEST TREE INFO that
aThe NEWSLETTER with aTHE MOSTEST TREE INFO that never got read, or even SCENED...for it had a trial to bare - to say it's most important theme: We've got to learn to appreciate each tree for how much it personally lends to our open window with the gnarph for smoke at inhaled-combustive air which hath besmirch our desire to learn to live with a lung half open for a failure not to share thr VOCAL opinion that our oxygen is literally lying at the base of the bushes and trees just outside the window, any windows: be they at homes or businessings. And anywhere there might be an open airduct with a panel on a truck to inhale the moisture from the outside be INTO your portal toward air purification or at least the pretense for airCONDITIONER... Whall, Don'
t get up too soon and run to your phones.
For, and wtihall thr & you phonees out there who let people routinely cut down the magnificent trees at the mouths of the canyons nearby, and fail to blink at thr too copious the disappearance into bushes by the side of a road where someone of untrained and failed gratitude for such marvelous plants about our cities and towns...these very who pretense to cross aYOUR border with/at such levels of claimed 'appreciation love all green scenes supposedly more than YOU hath' and to load them into their own furnesses or worse...SELL them back to YOU at peril of your own BUCK for a failure to notice... 'HEY! What DID happened to that tree in our front yard? It was there SUNDAY morning...just prior to leaving for church...I remember because I smelled how fragrant and lovely the new buds were just as they are starting to bloom...?' And with that you remember the obligation to your very life no moores.
But don't FEEL bad. My mom was a ThePRINCESS of/for knowing the names of all these plants and florallia beclaiming that hold/held a value to our hearts as well as our minds fed by the RIGHTEOUS will to INHALE an air that beist PURE and lovely and of good report and praiseworthy, but enSHE forgetteth now. But never YOU mind. You don't care about THAT stuff. God doesn't let THAT kind of thing hamper aYOUR life. And if it does, YOU can just get up and move somewhere else, Right? No so fast looneyBendz... they got you by your number at the bank, and already have preassess your will and right to pay a tax for THEIR smothering pretense to have a better take for it all.
t get up too soon and run to your phones.For, and wtihall thr & you phonees out there who let people routinely cut down the magnificent trees at the mouths of the canyons nearby, and fail to blink at thr too copious the disappearance into bushes by the side of a road where someone of untrained and failed gratitude for such marvelous plants about our cities and towns...these very who pretense to cross aYOUR border with/at such levels of claimed 'appreciation love all green scenes supposedly more than YOU hath' and to load them into their own furnesses or worse...SELL them back to YOU at peril of your own BUCK for a failure to notice... 'HEY! What DID happened to that tree in our front yard? It was there SUNDAY morning...just prior to leaving for church...I remember because I smelled how fragrant and lovely the new buds were just as they are starting to bloom...?' And with that you remember the obligation to your very life no moores.
But don't go gobble down your next fast food sandwich either...having shared THIS info too close to a belt with any of the local foody outlets that have likely bordered a new and expensive landscaping with aTheYOUR very plants you precisely laid out to put in rows the evening prior persuing your RIGHTEOUS will to interpret a church gone episode as SAFE from any such snarfing up of private ownership now gone 'green' with expense against claim for ownership not to have placed it into your garden plot DEEPLY enough.
But don't monkey around with aThe MY life for this is YOUR life now they are uhTampering with... for, while I'm just the embarrassed observer who wills not to have to mention a deprived and gullablurred vision over such matters of need for SHADE and super levels of eye protection for sunrays that be of a slant against directly having any former capacity for warming up the regularly thought to be spring and summer-to-earlyFALL months with the previous dispatch of electrons banthering about and smudging up to eachother for protection of all that crap the air now suffers against their former capacities to flourish with a droplet of moisture now gone from the grass for the FREEZING non-climate change is gripping us too early now, and longer than previous. BUT WHO NOTICES any of this? Just the artists and scientists who willed to draw pictures on a routine basis for having a level for appreciating that went out and said...I have to do this...it will's us to see it happen. No trees or plants will have the power to shade you now.But don't FEEL bad. My mom was a ThePRINCESS of/for knowing the names of all these plants and florallia beclaiming that hold/held a value to our hearts as well as our minds fed by the RIGHTEOUS will to INHALE an air that beist PURE and lovely and of good report and praiseworthy, but enSHE forgetteth now. But never YOU mind. You don't care about THAT stuff. God doesn't let THAT kind of thing hamper aYOUR life. And if it does, YOU can just get up and move somewhere else, Right? No so fast looneyBendz... they got you by your number at the bank, and already have preassess your will and right to pay a tax for THEIR smothering pretense to have a better take for it all.
OLYMPIC SKATEREE and ENSUITINGS
Whell, if a blast from the past ever hurt anyone...It's the prior memories for how simple the outfits, (ahem:) THE COSTUMES for the regally enROYALED practice and even WARMUP for detallian gnarpht as the professional and amateur ski/skaterly manifestation of who a/THE more likelier advance wisdom of a WINNER might warm up the palms for NOT changing the channel when THEIR outfits arrive...THEN YOU HAVE no need to watch...or ISN'T aTHAT the plan any more. For the mere title of preUSssessing "COMPULSERY" acrobatics for simplert-than-thou informatives that we the views NEVER GET TO SEE TO intimate WE've no skill at determining how low the level for nonsense might GET just to make sure the advanced information of WHO's got the legal name for rights to being previewed by aTHE right judges... all for the following reason: NO BODY cared after the bilked our brains of the last RIGHTful AMERICAN skater to debunk a title that the frillier gal from what's it's skopt might have the proper regalia on the triumphant podium for suitidge.
So, and according to MY annual custom for love of fashion design and skull duggin RIGHT of PROGENITOURTz... I hear by declare aTheMY FAV outfit/design/costumuree in advance.
BUT, P.S. --woudn't you know it...MY PERSONAL design and stylings and original art to BOOTee'
The DAME PERSUING the BRAIN
When and if this is a topic that matters for a month that critical relationship potential can get all mattered down against just a reasonable will to continue the association by NOT having the absolute RIGHT/SAME understandings of the meaning for a number 14 and it's associated FALderalls...I might sluggest the very thing: JUST DON't FORGET the DAME'S need to have at least BEEN REMEMBERED... HOWEVER, & Prior to being REMINDED by the SAME.Then at least YOU will have a happier St. Valentines Day. (How ever HE got talked into this intially to have a name attached is truly no one's best guess!!--well, someone may have a clue...but I don't. To be sure...I'll get back to you if I ever get a WIFF of the notion for HOW it DID first and initially come about to this PRESENT practice for cards n flowers n/or GIFTS to BOOT --to include all Facebookean snarfs for pretense the fanfare withings)
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