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Posts Tagged ‘cherry blossoms’

In the Queendom of twinklysparkles, the women look like this:

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though some of the women look like this:

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The women are always naked unless of course they want to wear ribbons or bows or bikinis or braids. They wear whatever the fuck they want whenever the fuck they want.*

The sun is shining. There is a slight ocean breeze. The daytime temp hovers between 55 and 85 degrees depending on the season. Of course these temps don’t apply when the Queen orders snow.

In the autumn and in the spring, the Queen has her way with the air; like everything in the Queendom, it is subject to her whims.

After every transaction, the bank tellers let the residents of the Queendom know that they are awesome customers. The customers let the tellers know that they are equally awesome.

Cell phone use never occurs at meals; while walking; while conducting face-to-face financial transactions. There is no law governing this because there is no need for such a law. The residents of the Queendom get it and live it and breathe it deeply.

Men and women of the Queendom hold open doors for each other, regardless of need. The children and youth have impeccable manners.

There is no plastic surgery in the Queendom, but you knew that.

All glass in the Queendom is unbreakable unless an emergent situation requires it to be broken.

If there is broken glass, it is gathered and used to make The Pretty. Same for broken ceramics.

All rocks are tear-drop shaped or heart-shaped except when they are not.

There are no TEA partiers in the Queendom, for when they cross its threshold, all sense returns to them.

The word briolette is never used in the Queendom. Never ever.

A honeybee does not want to sting you, says her Majesty, for to do so is to lose its life.

Sometimes Bette Midler sings in the Queendom. Sometimes the Queen herself sings. Sometimes all of the residents sing. The singing is good and heartfelt. There is an abundance of lullabies for children, even the almost-grown-up ones.

Performers in the Queendom do not equate the appearance of emoting with genuine emoting. Layers of false emotion are laid bare, kicked out, and a fresh start is made, tabula rasa.

Sometimes, Anthony Hopkins narrates the Queen’s day, for his Welsh accent and the dulcet tones of his mellifluous voice please Her Royal Highness.

Dancing of all kinds is encouraged in the Queendom, but the Queen is partial to getting down and getting funky and prefers a heap of soul to little or no soul at all.

If you are gonna do it, do it right, says the Queen. This means, do it with gusto. This is not the same as the popular bumper sticker which states “speak even if your voice shakes” because the Queen knows the Alexander Technique. Also, sometimes you need to know the difference between what is worth speaking even if your voice shakes and what is not worth speaking even if your voice shakes.

Fucking A, says the Queen. Pink, says the Queen. Blue and raspberries and violets, says She.

The Queen needs help with motivation and that’s where her handmaidens come in. They encourage her to go to the Royal Yoga Class and to put her Royal Ass on the Royal Bike Seat for the Royal Bike Ride. They indeed help her to clean up the Royal Dog Poo as well as to scoop the Royal Cat Urine from the three Royal Litter Boxes which are lined up oh-so-neatly in the Royal Basement.

Each spring the cherry blossoms bloom and die. The cherries burst out and the cedar waxwings pay visit to the Royal Cherry Tree for one week during which the residents celebrate Fleeting Time.

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And of what does the Queen dream in her Royal Bed? Under clean cotton sheets and soft, down comforters, and with the Four Pillows of Royalty, she dreams of the ocean. She dreams of kale, curly and dark, almost black in its nutrients. She dreams of centipedes and millipedes and other crawly creatures in the cool soft earth. She dreams of iron and steel, minerals and bone. She dreams of death and she dreams of freedom from pain.

♥ ♥ ♥

*this is a link to something I found on Facebook which I believe had something to do with a call for women to submit photos of themselves in bikinis on HuffPo. The passage sounds a lot like Caitlin Moran could have written it and I wish the author would say more about her inspiration. In Caitlin Moran’s excellent book How To Be A Woman, she coins the term human-shaped, at least I think she is the first to have done so.

Thanks to my many blogger-chick pals who inspired me to write this post, though my contact with them has been scant of late. I drink from the fount of their fortitude more often than they know. I also hope I didn’t steal too much of my idea from Erin O’Brien at the Owner’s Manual, but she is also probably too humble to see that it is so. She is the original Queen of the Blogosphere to me.

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I have only been stung by bees 3 times in my life.

Sting 1: summer camp at Camp Seagull, on the shore of beautiful Lake Charlevoix (at least that’s how I remember it being described), and a black wasp stung me right above my upper lip (you know, like nature’s own philtrum piercing!). We were on the tennis or basketball court or something with an asphalt surface, maybe green asphalt. I didn’t get a full sting, I remember swiping it off before full penetration (sorry, couldn’t resist). I remember black body parts, the dead wasp, and also remember needing to have the stinger taken out with the famous baking soda paste we all love. I was probably 10 or 11.

Sting 2: on my way to work as a banquet waitress. For one year before I bought my 1920 dream house on Willow St, I rented a little white, cement-block house at the end of a cul-de-sac (College Court) in Kent, Ohio, and I got a full bee sting, I think to my foot, maybe before I put on my ugly black waitress shoes. We had to wear a white top, mine always busting at the buttons across my chest, tucked into a black skirt, and we had to wear nylons too back then. I remember the feeling of the venom coursing through my body. It took a while before the sensation of the juice going through was over, still felt it in the car, even once I got to my shift, maybe it took a few hours ’til I could no longer feel the effect. The name of the restaurant escapes me, but it was on Rte 91 in Hudson. Oh, no, I remember–The Pub.

Sting 3: Paul and I on our way to Ogunquit, Maine for a 2-night anniversary weekend. Just over the NH line into Maine, on Highway 1, we stopped at some sort of naval ship memorial, but before we got out of the car, I felt a couple of stings low down in my posterior crotchal region (I know crotchal is not a word, but we use it around here anyway), no lie, like an itch, but stronger, and then definitely another one and more pronounced.

I went into the bathroom and, lo and behold, in my undies was a teeny-tiny dead bee, those really little ones you see sometimes and recognize as bees but aren’t sure because they are so small and have never stung you. I sat on the poor thing, what choice did it have? I had 2 red spots from that one, somewhere near my butt crease on the right. or left. who can remember these details?

In Germany, there is a cake called bienensteich, “bee sting,” my cousins know how to make it. You find it in all of the Backarei, es schmeckt sehr gut! Lecker! Lecker!

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

on another note, I wanted to post a good photo of the cherry tree in my back yard, since Thankful Thursday’s photo was not representative of the true color and beauty and abundance of the blossoms. Here’s a shot of the same tree from a couple of years ago:

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the pink petals from the cherry tree that float down every year all over my yard, across the rooftop from the back to the front and side of the house, onto the back porch and bins of recyclables. their pink color fades when it rains

soon, when the cherry tree bears its fruit, a flock of cedar waxwings will visit. They only stay a day or two. I will try to remember to let you know when they are here. Maybe when I get a new camera, which I am determined will be within the next couple of months (you may recall if you’ve been keeping up, that my camera has had a water stain smack-dab in the middle of the lens for over 2 years), I will be able to get a picture (the following is not my photo)

that I could look up on the web the weather in Shanghai, China and also find that the peach blossom celebration there ended on April 10, but that perhaps Paul and Violet will still see and smell the peach blossoms when they get there

the word frilly

things that are frilly

frittilaria even though they won’t grow around here

the search terms people use that land them at twinklysparkles. Today’s best and one of the best of all time: what is a semi brachiator

That’s all I can muster today, but if you can give a definition of semi-brachiator, without looking it up, I’ll give you bonus points. I do not know what the bonus points are for, but I will think of something in good, twinkly time, which is really the best kind of time

I thought of posting some photos that I found on google images when I searched for various word combos with frilly

if you can guess what this is, more bonus points for you

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