Yes, it must have been.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXII)


Yes, sausage gravy and oh! biscuits hence
So light and fluffy, just the eggs sans bail
Fried past excuse? and brunch that new detail
Of late, is on, the page-day kittens sense
For aught else as I'll feign no sleep fr'intents
Is fine, until I've showered.  Then derail
The day with foggy dreams of lunch t'avail
None, as I slept past sundown, til what hence?
Eat dinner in a fog, dessert in tour
As well, and crawl off to catch sleep for two
Hours mair...in bed.  Up 'gain, lo, dress, astir
For work oernight a fresh like that will do.
What of the tale of sheer adventures we're
Now putting in the mem'ry bank?  Year's NEW.

01Jan25b

....it disappeared, I guess.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXI)


Roll "chauv'nist" oer yer tongue to savour frail
Who knows what, as you know just why fr'intents
She said what she did when exchanging thence
Our "Happy New Year's" greetings, that detail
Mine to keep safe where nothing could avail
The happy thought I'd watch the year turn hence
In style to next, the drama sans defense
What tricks out all we knew as what'd derail.
No time to scribble, no time 'lone as t'were,
Nor cuz it should be, just because.  We two
Held down the fort and had a ball in tour
Despite aught else contrariwise, and knew
E'en fun, I half suspect, at that.  Bestir
Thy mercies, LORD, new ev'ry morning too.

01Jan25a

...at last. [My cousin's chihuahua is named Marzipan, and was the star of the show while I visited since well, you know chihuahuas....]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLX)


Cream gravy of the maple sausage dense
With flavour--Jimmy Dean's! and biscuits tale
...For New Year's eh? Dunno.  The dishes trail
Frae baking in the kitchen Monday thence
Washed, dried, and stowed, craft omelet, porridge hence
With clem'tines and Chobani--brunch' detail,
Bake scallops, boil potatoes to avail
Us with a salad for lunch and ah, whence?
Quick! Scuttle off afresh to work in tour,
Sweet mem'ries of last night a dream I knew
Which fades, th'attack ch'huahua's bite as t'were
But figments of the vision--Marz'pan to
Shy cats--the laughter and dear fun bestir
Lost days since past.  Oh LORD, that we'd see You.

31Dec24

Not me, certainly.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIX)


As if a spell's been broken when t'avail
We'd had our visit, I am free fr'intents,
And happy too, the sweet hours like defense
For long lost joys I'd quite forgot in frail
'Scuse, like what? Griefs were buried, no detail
Remembered lest I too be lost from thence
In joys' destruction.  Grandma Drysdale's sense
The dining room, yes, I'd obliv'on's bail.
Twas so good, we were up late in a tour
Of such discussions only fam'ly knew.
Back home, with eggnog in Mum's glasses, her
Sense oer us kids, twas all a whirl, yet true.
Thy mercies, LORD, prevail: I thank Thee fer
All and rejoice.  Come.  For we wait for You.

30Dec24b

Congratulate me?!

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVIII)


Let morning trickle in sans voice to fence
The light of day, if only to avail
Me of dear rest, the circles whose detail
Does NOT enhance my hazel orbs what thence
Abet that hopeful thought, likeas defense,
Unless, of course, being death warmed oer is bail
For 'bove ground life whose plans stress shall derail,
Or curse with notes to highlight sheer pretense.
I'll feign tis cool being off on Monday, fer
The first time in a week of sev'n which threw
My mind out by their madness I'll demur
To yield to, til twas nigh complete.  Calm to
Effect upon noon's finish, LORD, bestir
Thy mercies and redeem me now, won't You?

30Dec24a

...won't you trip?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVII)


So, dream of crafting eggnog, like'd avail
If only I did.  Shortbread too, from hence,
But Scottish shortbread, as the re'pe thence
I used within my father's house.  In frail
Reply, though, seems I've lost all that and fail.
They swear the latter's served with tea for sense,
Which I have yet to try, since brie fr'intents
Is all I'll take with Barry's--oh bewail?
I've ***, ne bourbon nor the money fer
Th'expense, and all the rest 'cept nutmeg to
Grate up, else I misguess.  I'll try in tour
Twa rec'pes for each, likeas that will do,
If Thou will't, LORD.  Please give me in lo, Your
Grace to be faithful in all things, won't You?

29Dec24b

A thousand things, frankly.  After that, while tempted with the thought of picking out Mr. Mouse by his long tail, I left him to scramble while choosing what I needed, and he proved he could jump straight up and out, saving me the trouble.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVI)


Rain pours like t'would be sweet to bide fr'intents
Safe tucked awa' indoors.  I maunt avail
Me, sadly, yet what after that detail?
How Grampa's fruitcake's fin'lly baking hence,
My cousin liking that suggestion, whence
I had to make this treat, as if twas bail
For her, the fun we've planned, if Thou will't, frail
As lo, the wreck of mine, tomorrow's sense.
A mouse. An actual grey, live, fluffy fer
The chill, erm: mouse. He's in my food like to
Partake is thus allowed, out on in tour
My deck, until I come, that is.  In poor
'Scuse, now he's had some mango, left tae rue
His feast now I want foodstuffs.  Jump as t'were
Three feet straight up and I'm left with the view.

29Dec24a

So there. [What's with a gigantic motorhome the other day, and today a semi, literally driving out of their lane to push me off the road when I speed ahead on the ramp, then going back into their lane on the interstate as I try to figure out who's trying to **** me????? I didn't believe in PTSD until now.]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLV)


From semis with an urge to **** sans bail,
To nary sleep 'cept two nights all week, whence?
No less than three sites Friday:  if my sense
Is badly *******, thank all the madness.  Frail,
Yet trying to stay atop, oh LORD, avail
Me, for despite my efforts, all's pretense.
I'm begging for dear sleep, recov'ry hence
In mind, if only, fearing to ask'd fail.
Thanks, thanks for all Thy mercies which in tour,
New ev'ry morning, never fail.  I knew
Ere this week t'would be tough, and feared for sure,
Yet Thou art my God and all is of You.
Tis Saturday; I'm fragile.  Come, bestir
Thy mercies, save me now.  I wait anew.

28Dec24

Walker's shortbread cookies, to be precise; then memories of the Scottich cookbook my parents had resurfaced, whose recipe for shortbread sported a long essay the upshot of which ****** me as "...only a BAD COOK will add things: shortbread ONLY HAS 3 INGREDIENTS." or somesuch. And I used to make that recipe way too many years ago.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIV)

Mull groc'ry shopping til I'm wanting thence
Lo, Sco'ish shortbread.  Craft it to avail
Me, all myself?! The antique cookbook, frail
As dreams, is not mine to use 'gin fr'intents,
So Google rec'pes with the ling'ring sense
Of that page whose keen warning yet'd detail
Aught finds: "...bad cooks will add stuff." t'will derail
Some, but I know where I am headed hence.
I knew twas only three ingred'ents fer
All that, or maybe four, no more, else rue
Thy folly, "bad" cook.  I'll need butter.  Were
There else, I have't.  "Have with tea," is that true?
Me wants to try that.  Sco'ish, known as poor
Back in the day, what's new? LORD, save me too.

27Dec24b

...for half a day, at least, haha.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIII)


Rain lightly dances, where in that detail
An om'nous note seems lurks, til driving hence
Oh, how the highway's white, with tracks cut thence
Through by our passage, as ice or snow'd avail.
Work, as wont, turns all 'round til we'd 'most fail
To see ahead straight, yet Thy mercies, our defense,
Ne'er fail, and, new each morning, leave pretense
Aside to give us hope while dreams ask bail.
When all is oer we'll see again in tour
It wasna so bad after all.  We knew
E'en fun in measure, if to smile's not poor.
Likeas Thy psalmist wrote, to count maunt do
For they're more than be numbered.  Come, bestir
In us to sing Thy praise as we wait You.

27Dec24a