Skip to main content

Ten

♫ Ten, ten, ten, ten, let's sing a song of ten. How many is ten? ♫

Like, literally, millions of kids, I grew up watching  Sesame Street and The Electric Company. I watched those programs well into my teens since I was the eldest of four kids. Longer if you factor in seven year gap between the middle children. Of course, I introduced my daughter to my old pals. Is it any wonder that I naturally think of ditties when I hear numerals from one through ten!?

Anyway, this is the next verse of Tina's Twelve Days of Christmas... 
♫♫On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Ten Snowman bright lights, nine Fran's dark chocolates, eight Christmas crackers, seven cotton candies, six bags of kisses, five red heart ornaments, four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♫♫
 We are getting ever nearer to the end of the song. Wonder what that husband of mine, has planned for the finale? 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.

Shards Cling To

I just met my new psychologist and I already like her. I would say that it is effortless to talk to her, but talking to anyone through an augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device takes a great deal of effort. One must think about what to say and drill it down concisely and succinctly, Then attempt to type it out with your eyes on a wonderous, but infuriating machine, and hope you nail the 'Speak' button, and not the 'Cancel' button. You're praying that the device doesn't spontaneously, disengage the eye gaze, leaving you mute and helpless. You're also praying that the calibration holds and your eyes don't tire or dry out. Aside from all of that, she did not overwhelm me with rapid fire questions, nor invade my personal space, by insisting on reading while I'm writing, instead of allowing me to "speak". Those things are huge. Counseling somebody with my disabilities, present unique challenges. I have major physical deficit...