With all it takes

It takes more than courage

To face and overcome

It takes more than love

To trust and feel secure

It takes more than hope

To see and act the plan

It takes more than time

To build a lifetime with a man 鉂わ笍

Copyright: R. Frank. Jan. 2019.

Title photo is a screenshot taken from an interactive post on Facebook. I practiced really hard to get the spit to hit his mouth.

馃尯馃尯馃尯馃尯Peace & Blessings馃尯馃尯馃尯馃尯馃馃馃 馃FOLLOW ME馃馃馃馃馃

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If you like this one, you will love The hands of time and Airhead

Email me at fuzzyknotz@yahoo.com for topics, rates and availability

Choice over fate

If I

Ever would have thought

That this is

A matter for my heart

I would

Abandon all the cause

Stop there

I’m gonna needa pause

Do you

Even understand

Why I

Choose to love one man

It ain’t ordained

In my brain

That way

Puttin on

Like a costume

Juggling dudes

That you consume

Looks bad

Judgement at the gate

But choice

Is not

The same as fate

Makes me think

It’s just

some trophy shit

Helps the ego

Finally go legit

But I

Do it anyway

Because at

The end of everyday

I don’t

Wanna remember names

Burn games

flame pains

I’d rather

I’d rather

Match his comfort

To my stress

Tweak his vision

To my quest

Sleep real tight

At our best

Choose one man

Fuck the rest

My humble contribution to the DP Prompt: Costume


Copyright, 2018. R. Frank. All rights reserved.

馃尯馃尯馃尯馃尯Peace & Blessings馃尯馃尯馃尯馃尯

馃馃馃 馃FOLLOW ME馃馃馃馃馃

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馃帳Need a Empowerment Speaker for your next event? 馃帳 Email me at fuzzyknotz@yahoo.com for topics, rates and availability 馃

Doses of Lovin’

Young kisses on an old neck

Ageless lustiness warms the skin

Motions rolling through arthritic joints

Quiver through all 50 shades

Gray hair volume tangled, matted

Smooth skin yields folds to the moans

Weathered spots dampen the luminous glow

Ignoring new growths and moles

Life lovers tend biannually to the webs

A lifetime in seven minute increments

DP Prompt: Tend

Cheating on a cheater

Anywho… Of all the many women I heard tales of, I was always assured that the “current” wife did not know. I will admit that I absolutely didn’t believe it then or now. How could he turn off his phone in the driveway of your home and you not think that suspicious?

So if a cheater gets cheated on is it all squared away? Does this restore the equilibrium of the relationship? Can a cheater even feel cheated if they get cheated on?

Let me clarify that I don’t just mean infidelity. Tip-toeing out on your partner. I also mean unfaithfulness, untrustworthiness, and just being plain ol’ fraudulent. Purposeful misrepresentation. Creating the illusion of one thing, when something else exists.

I know a friend of a friend that has been a cheater our whole adult lives (in the adultery sense of the word). I am not privy to all the ins and outs, but it’s fair to say that monogamy had not been his strong suit. I am aware of his many girlfriends and friends with benefits on the low. I remember both of his wives. As lovely ladies as a lady can be when she can’t quite pin her own husband down. Nervous sorts. Too much anxiety I’m sure.

Anywho… Of all the many women I heard tales of, I was always assured that the “current” wife did not know. I will admit that I absolutely didn’t believe it then or now. How could he turn off his phone in the driveway of your home and you not think that suspicious? How could he go out to fuel up the car and come back two hours later with an excuse that he was driving around looking for fuel savings? And you believe that? Ludacris (not the rapper, the silliness).

Then one day I hear on the vine that wife number two has served up something cold on her lazy Susan. Just desserts. The table turned; spinning his former reality out of reach. He first noticed that she was attending office happy hours on a regular basis. Girl nights on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then her undergarments came on hangers instead of in value packs. Separate bedrooms weren’t far behind. She did not volunteer any information, but she told the matter of fact truth when asked.

To say this friend of a friend’s life unraveled is an understatement. It seemed to spiral down and outward; bound for the abyss. The thing that planted the question of balance or restorative justice in my mind is that his narrative mirrored that of a victim. The unfairness of her disregard for his financial sacrifices stitched his quilted version at the seams. He says he was happy and loved their life together. He laments his decision to maintain their marriage for 1 1/2 decades only to end up alone.

I once threw the idea of karma out there…a little sowing and reaping. It was pretty much thrown back with a “She never found out anything”. Hmmm 馃. Possible but regardless her knowledge and universal principles are two separate things. But from what I heard she never accused him of infidelity, even after her own dirty deeds were done.

This guy begged for marriage counseling. She refused. Of course, he had a new lady friend. He met her before his second wife put him out. He’s a little frustrated by the new lady’s trust issues. I asked the same thing you just did…”well wasn’t she dating you while you still lived with your wife?” “Yeah, but the marriage was already over.”

Soooo..I don’t condone cheating on spouses, tests, or taxes. I think when you do those things you set consequences into motion that, in your state of arousal by gain, you can’t fathom. The backlash can’t be contained. The burning fire of desire that draws a moth to a flame will also consume until there is nothing left of your former self.

Moral of the story: If your loved one is unfaithful, don’t become untrustworthy trying to seek revenge. They will remain unchanged. And you will come out filthy dirty too.

Stay authentic. Stay true (to yourself that is.. Fuck them cus they ain’t shit馃挬)

Jump up and over!

My life passed through another arch a few days ago. My walk to the top of the rolling hill broke into a view of a new place. Just as beautiful as what I’d left behind, but deeper and fuller than I could have known the open space could hold. Wider. Richer.

It was the weirdest thing. I think I might have missed it. Crossing over this imaginarily certifiable line was no more than a blip. Who could pin point it by a tingle? Second by second. I was there with all my senses, but I blinked and was forever changed. Fairytale. Reality.

I had not a single apprehension or fear to halt my way. I was swirled up in picture taking, bobby pin sticking, last minute stitching and hot gluing. All the things I wanted to be doing. I found my proper place. It felt good there. It felt right. Pride. Joy.

“Jump up!” I said. Jump up and over. A new day is on the other side. I was the mother of the bride. Every wish I had unfulfilled channeled into the details of her dream day. Took me very breath away as she joined me as a sister in the club. Good. Wives.

Copyright 2017. R. Frank. Text and original photograph.

An Empty Shell

Not being present while you’re present is equivalent to being out of mind while you’re still in sight.

Ever eat dinner with someone that was on social networks the majority of the time? They took an “usie” of y’all while you were waiting to be seated. Smile for the ‘gram! They snapped y’all’s chat about brussel sprouts versus asparagus. “Do baby cabbage and little fiber sticks taste better steamed or roasted?” 馃 Let’s see if the book of faces can educate our palates. Picture of your dressed plates… uploaded. You are together at the same time, but in a totally different space. There is no continuum of connection between the big and small of things. Out of mind.

Have you ever gone to the park for a play date? Kids are halted on the slide (put your feet out) for a photo-op. “Becky when you pump your feet back look over here and smile!!” Little Becky tries, but the action exposes frustration in a parent trying to capture a moment. On to the see-saw. Up. Snap. Down. Snap. Time to leave the park. The kid is begging to go back. A parent satisfied that a child enjoyed their time. Who was paying attention when fun was nowhere in sight?

The sun goes down and you’re glad it’s snuggle time. Fat full and cozy, semi-propped up in bed. The focus of your affection climbs in. “Hey what’s on TV?” Click on. Flip. Flip. Read the guide. Flip. Watching a late night movie can be nice. Wait. Gotta check emails real quick. Sunrise. The most intimate place is to be far away, but held close. The loneliest person can see and touch a body that’s mind is content in a parallel universe. Here. For you. An empty shell.

Men All Pause

One minute hormones are screaming “Heyyyy Mister Mister!” And literally the very next second, these moaning hors are rebuking with an “Oh hell no! You betta put all that on pause!” statement. It’s so confusing for us all.

Heed the warning that’s boldly in the name. No attempt to hide it’s imbalance is made.

Menopause. Men~o~pause. Seriously.. Men.. All pause and let me help you through this. Know that you are not alone sir. And ladies it’s best to work with our victims (husbands, boyfriends, domestic partners, etc) on getting through this.

One minute hormones are screaming “Heyyyy Mister Mister!” And literally the very next second, these moaning hors are rebuking with an “Oh hell no! You betta put all that on pause!” statement. It’s so confusing for us all. But we can overcome the demented twists of our biological fate.

This is not something that can be explained in a way that absent the experience understanding can be found. Logically, yes we know certain things. Menopause marks the transition from the childbearing to non-childbearing years. It is the bridge that liberates ladies from monthly uteral assault, costly provisions, and managing medical care for a “natural” process. It is saying goodbye to a friend that the two of you never really liked anyway. She wasn’t pleasant. She wasn’t considerate. And quite frankly she got in the way and ruined a few vacations (ol’ stanky bitch 馃槧) So let’s not pretend that we’re not glad if she doesn’t visit for a whole 12 months. Bye Flowlecia!!

Sounds normal. Natural. Reliable. Except for the peri phase before the emancipation. Men don’t always get this disclaimer about peri. She ain’t pretty at all! Peri is not the root of paradise. We, ladies, meet peri when doctor says or the blog reads “But first”… What?!? Well, the answer goes a little something like this.

But first what?? But first, you will wake up on fire from the inside out for no apparent reason. But first, you’re lady flow will randomly and erratically increase to a volume that will make you question how you’re not dead. Oh yeah but first, you will develop some random trigger switch that causes you to cry from sadness, joy, anger, and sentimentality at times that are beyond your control. Emotional self-control? Gone and you won’t know where you put it. Because first, you will start walking into rooms and just standing there confused about why you went in there to begin with. (Personal note: I do this at least twice a day 馃し馃徑鈥嶁檧锔)

The perimenopausal phase is on average 4 years. I know for me it’s been a little over that and my husband is trying to track down who gave us misinformation. This is a joint venture and we are expecting a very specific return on our investment. Free sex!! He’s tired of doing supply runs, getting yelled at and then sympathy hugged. I’m tired of feeling nutty as a fruitcake before we get to the nuts. I usually take two days off a month to lay around and faux-hemmorage in the comfort of my own home. I’m fortunate that we are self-employed (I’m not required to give myself doctors notes and I don’t have to fake I’m sick. I’m not sick. He knows my ass is just sleepy, shit). He books extra jobs so I can be avoided, I mean alone, as much as possible. His personal and work calendars have monthly reoccurring events titled “She’s Crazy” (I’m not even joking馃槀). All of this is costing too much energy!!! We are ready to be free.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, because it is natural and you can survive it. All the older ladies tell me to be ready to hang in there for 10 years, but older men don’t tell my hubby anything. Which is sad, because he suffers with the sufferer. So he told me to tell you: Herbs help. Laughter helps. Avoiding red wines, aged cheeses, and drinking coffee helps me. Smoking cigars, eating cereal before bed, and cool flannel sheets help him.

“It’s like one day we were young, then not so much. But it’s not bad though. I guess I just realized that sagging balls and menopause are just like a landslide and a river bed. Erosion and evaporation may change the landscape but it takes a lot less energy getting the rocks off.” 馃槀馃槀馃槀~My Hubby

Someone else’s shoes

Here is an ism that I encourage my children to live by:

Just keep walking and you’ll end up in someone else’s shoes.

Reread it… I’ll wait 馃憤馃徑

It has been my observation in life that there is nothing new under the sun. All situations have a component that is universal. We may not all have to recover from a foreclosure, but we’ve all at some point had the worry of how to make ends meet. If this doesn’t apply to you.. keep walking. I’ve never had a child in jail, but I have one that is imprisoned inside of a shell of social paralysis. I have walked in the shoes of a parent that frets, because they can’t change their child’s circumstances. I can only imagine and empathize with parents whose children suffer from mental illness, drug addiction, domestic violence and similar issues. Societal ills. It’s a one size fits all shoe; anyone’s foot can fit it.

Every marriage I’ve ever observed has had to deal with three obstacles, even four: money, sex, communication boundaries with the opposite sex, and managing technology. Money is something everybody wants and everybody needs. Even when your take home is enough, you still need it to keep flowing. When you have $17 to your whole name until payday, you sho’ nuff need a positive increase in funds. Age, medicine, and stress screwing up your ability to screw? Dudes sliding in her social media inbox? He’s 2 am texting? But y’all just argue about the bills instead? Oh, wait 鉁嬸煆 You can’t relate? 馃 Well, be sure to invest in an umbrella, because rain falls on everyone and floods are indiscriminate.

Just keep walking and you’ll end up in someone else’s shoes.
lies from the top to the bottom and from the bottom to the top. We all fall and we all get back up! That’s the good news馃憦馃徑馃憦馃徑 My top may or may not be as a millionaire mogul, but I reach for the top of my own game. My race and reward does not have to match someone else’s. Each one will be raised up according to their own measure of success, but you can’t dismiss the commonness of the struggles that come with life.

The moral of the story is that my personal calamities are not unique. Problems are just like shoes at Payless. The same pairs, in every size, in several colors exists in every store. You bought them in black? Yeah, I’ve had them in brown and blue. And Sally Sue had ’em in red, but guess what? It’s the same damn shoe. 馃し馃徑鈥嶁檧锔 I’d love to tell you that eventually you will be able to stand in a custom pair of glass slippers. It’s possible. It’s not likely, but possible. Hardest part is that all shoes get outgrown or worn out. How many miles do you think you can walk in a glass slipper?

Advice: Don’t get so comfortable that you can’t handle when your feet slip into a new pair. An unfamiliar pair. The right pair for the terrain ahead.

I must always recognize the ebb and flow of my own life, so that I can have genuine empathy for the highs and lows of others. I’ve never been homeless on the street, but I know what it is to live under someone else’s roof. I equally know what it is to open my doors to others. I had a co-worker back in the day that bought me lunch every day until I got my first paycheck. I received a practical hand up that I never would have asked for. I’m the martyr type馃檵馃徑. Decades later, I still buy lunch for my new employees until they get their first check. My old friend taught me the importance of helping without making the person ask for what is blatantly obvious that they need. Dignity is an unfair price for a meal. Y’all know that first two weeks can feel like the brokest weeks of your life!

I’m just saying… keep walking…

Water your own grass

The grass is always greener on the other side, but if you take care of it, you can have green grass too!

There’s a logical reason behind my repulsion to romance novels and love drunk movies. It’s not that I don’t like a few sweet nothings, but love edited for entertainment creates disillusionments about the wonderful world of love and marriage.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Blooming flowers get old and die too.

I don’t mind getting flowers on Valentine’s Day. I can’t say that I think they are the perfect token of love; nevertheless, they are easy for my husband to buy and giving them makes him happy. He personally delivers them to my office. When the other ladies see him walk in with bouquets as broad as his shoulders, they just gush (some figuratively; some literally). I squeal, “Oh Honeybun!! You’re so sweet!” He gushes. We give each other a quick kiss, he gets a little blood flow, and his Valentine mission is accomplished. He’s happy. I’m amused.

I know flowers are a one size fits all gift, which is why I don’t mind getting them. I love my Honeybun. I’m not here to make his love life super complicated. He picks what looks pretty to him, just like when he chose his wife 馃檵馃徑. I keep them alive as long as I can so he gets his monies worth. That makes him happy too. When they get to where I have to throw them out, I tell him, “Oh Hun, I gotta let my flowers go.” 馃様 “Well they did good Bae. They lasted [insert number of days].” The longevity of his gesture becomes our aphrodisiac.

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” ~Forrest Gump’s Momma I am partial to candy. I don’t like the big boxes though. I want the little $1 boxes. He knows this. We’ve discussed it. He can do flowers his way, but I run the candy game. Anyway, he brings me little boxes every few days during the 14 day romance window. I probably end up with about 20 boxes 馃拋馃徑 And I love it!! I lay across our bed, watch TV, and devour a box. I sit in my chair and read while scarfing down another box. I take a few to work, so I can dreamily chew on chocolate surprises throughout the day. I am happy. He’s amused.

It’s not about the candy. It’s about the “no judgement”. He is willing to fuel my fantasy of living the life of leisure that my little candy boxes represent. He see the delight on my face, so he doesn’t comment about how many empty boxes are on my nightstand. I get to not be giving, because I don’t share my sweet treats. Not even with my pretty little grandgirl. Nope and grandad can’t buy her any either. Oh, she’ll rat me out for sure, “But Granddad. Sweet’s not sharing.” He explains, “Those sweets are just for Sweet.” Chocolates from him belong to me. They’re my sweet nothings.

Character is what you display in front of people. Integrity is who you are when you think no one is looking.

He gases me up! Every Sunday! Without fail! 馃殫馃挩 I get in my car on Monday morning feeling prepared for the week. Tank is full. Air pressure and fluids checked. 鉁旓笍 Dashboard Armouraled down. Any trash (water bottles, fast food bags) from the weekend has already been disposed of. Now that is enough to make me wanna roll over on him鉂わ笍 I’m happy. He’s happy.

I will admit I gassed him up on the idea. We going for a ride one day and I suggested that he should gas up my car every Sunday. I told him other husbands may do it and I want it too. He looked at me and loving said, “Who the fuck we know that does that? Where did you get this idea from??” 馃ぃ then he laughed hysterically. I pouted and then cried (I’m menopausal; crying happens often). He stopped laughing. I admitted that no other wives I know get that. Maybe my granddaddy use to do it. I don’t know 馃し馃徑鈥嶁檧锔 but I want it. “Honey…You’re better than all the husbands we know. They know it. Even their wives think so. You can show other men the way. It might not be for everybody, but you can let it be for me.” He smiled. He’s done it for me ever since.

The grass is always greener on the other side, but if you take care of it, you can have green grass too!

These aren’t the things I read about or see in movies. They are not rose petals in the bath or riding butt naked on a filly. They are not grand. They are not expensive. They’re basic. That’s what makes them better than anything caught on film. They are the real wonderful world of love and marriage. 鉂わ笍鉂わ笍

Mr. Right can do no wrong

I’ve told this to a few people before and the more I say it the more I try to find the truth in it. I mean is this really a thing? Is it this simple. Mr. Wrong can never do right and Mr. Right can do no wrong.

Now I know that this seems clich茅, but so what. Even frivolous musings can have some wisdom in ’em. Don’t forget it can also apply to the Mrs. of the world. I just have zero interest in whether a woman can be right or wrong so I’ll just focus on the Mr.’s.

Mr. Wrong can never do right and Mr. Right can do no wrong. I feel like exhausting my thoughts behind this. I don’t know if I heard someone else say this first or if it’s my brain child; either way, I filed it away. It must speak to something or why else would I save it. I try to only retain needful things, because I don’t want to run out of memory when I really need it. But, I digress.

Ok soooo…Mr. Wrong can never do right. There’s a pretty simple logic to that. If you’ve ever been pursued by a very nice person that you had zero attraction to, nothing they did was enough to make you fall for them. As a matter of fact, it can stir up the feeling of agitation. I know for me it can trigger a fight or flight reaction. Neither is endearing.

Ok soooo… Why does Mr. Wrong make you want to punch him in the face for trying to touch your hand?? Maybe that’s too strong of a reaction. How about when he tries to lean in to kiss you and you get the heebie geebies (is that how you spell that? Hmm) Anyway, there seems to be a chemical reaction that almost repels you away.

But then I think about maybe Mr. Wrong just can’t do right right now but later he could be all right. It’s just that right now the timing is all wrong so it puts him in a space that’s awkward. Out of sync. Like he could be Mr. Right six months down the road, if he wasn’t so darn wrong right now.

Here’s another thought, maybe he has all the makings of Mr. Right, but you’re so screwed up in your head with unrealistic fantasies that you confuse right for wrong. Just suspicious lol. He brings flowers and you’re like “He must think I’m stupid! Being all nice so I can trust him. No way Buddy!” Checking off boxes of what’s wrong. You can’t even recognize right anymore. He tries to open the door for you and you retort, “Ugh, you just wanna look at my booty. Men are nasty.”. Please know that I am fully aware that this explanation could never belong to anyone reading my blog. Yet, this does remind me of the whole “hurt people hurt people” thing. Whatever, I digress.

I’ve had Mr. Right and even when he was wrong he was so right in his wrongness that all wrong seemed all right. Whew. Seriously though. He can arrive late with no flowers and you’re just like “oh well, you’re here now”. He can smell like a freaking grease monkey and you’re still gushing. “Oh how I love a handy man!”

What makes his wrong so right? He’s not the only guy with beautiful eyes and a jolly laugh. Other guys may not be able to change your breaks, but they’ll smell good and show up on time. He can’t do wrong because all wrongs are nullified by the rightness of his ability to just feel right. All the time. Right? *sigh*

I think I might have married Mr. Right who lives inside of Mr. Wrong or Mr. Wrong who cleverly hid inside of Mr. Right. That is my conundrum. He baffles me almost everyday. He’s right in the morning, wrong during the day, and right at bedtime. It’s like a right wrong roller coaster. How can I adore him and want to punch him in the face at the same time just because he brought me ice cream that I didn’t ask for??? Now I do not condone violence, but geez Louise! I really don’t think there’s a wife out there that hasn’t slapped the shit out of her husband in her mind. Similarly, I’ve caught him looking at me in a way that screamed, “Biiittccchhh!” Needless to say, he was wrong for being right. But we don’t slap or call names. Sorry… I digress.

I think my thoughts on this have been exhausted.