- Soft fresh dark pumpernickel topped with savory trout smoked fish dip.
- Mini Baybel cheeses in their delightful red suitcases.
- Slices of honey ham or roasted turkey.
- Straight from the Jewish deli, a nice white chicken salad spread with optional red currant jelly topping.
- Banana slices with almond butter dollops.
- Lychees in heavy sweet syrup.
- Green, black and kalamata olives with roasted red peppers and Pearl onions cold salad mix.
- Über buttery hard pretzel sticks.
- A pale Sleepytime tea with individual honey pot.
- A small glass of chilled white wine as a digestive.
- Icy cold glass of Coca-Cola.
My tale begins in the arms of my lover. “You look pale,” he says, brushing a lock of chestnut brown hair behind my ear. “I haven’t been feeling well lately,” I reply. Confusion sets in as I contemplate the fact that I’m normally as rudely healthy as a peasant. It disconcerts me.
Days later, after being diagnosed with “walking pneumonia” or what I like to call “walking dead” (see below visual representation) the confusion has been replaced with gasping as I lay in bed trying to breathe. I never thought it could happen to me, and didn’t understand what was happening.
Daytime health achievements were followed by debilitating, tear wringing nights with my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird seeking release from its chambers as I fought to get oxygen into my body.
And so…. the worst is over. I am on the mend. Like a storm that has ridden in on churning clouds and vicious winds that fall away on gossamer threads leaving only silent contemplation in its wake, the worst has crested and I’m left with aftermath.
But I feel me. I am in here. It’s only a matter of time until I’m healed.
I look forward to the day when in my beauty and strength once again compel and propel me into the arms of my lover.
For now, for today, I am simply….
The Hollow Woman
My best friend was stationed in Misawa, Japan at Naval Air Station for 4 years. Every so often I would send him a tee shirt from the States, and passing through the uber southern state of South Carolina, I stopped at a Piggly Wiggly store to grab some things when I saw their “I’m big on the pig” tee shirt so bought one and sent it to him.
It amused me to think of him wearing this shirt in a place where Asian folks LOVE to have clothing items with English on them, and I’m sure he was the singular person in the Asia Pacific region that would be sporting this baby out.
One night he wore the shirt out to Izakaya. Going out to Izakaya means going to the bar with friends to drink and socialize.
Most Japanese can speak a couple of words at English, and some are fairly decent at it, but virtually all of them struggle with the sound of the letter “R” which ends of being pronounced with the sound of the letter “L.”
By the end of the night, my buddy’s new Japanese friends couldn’t remember his name so they just called him, “Piggly Wiggly-san,” but they would pronounce it, “Piggry Wiggry-san.”
That amuses me to no end for no particular reason.
It’s the little things in life.
Piggy Wiggry-san…. Funny.