Thanksgiving 2025 (a thorny rose herself)

Thanksgiving at Mom's House

I didn't call

her "Mom"

but I

could have

(should have)

There'd 'av been

no conflict

as I call 

my mother

"Mama"

Strange to think

that for a 

kid who revelled

in calling adults

by their first name

I would 

often find it 

awkward

to use the name

"Joyce"

It seemed 

improper somehow

less familiar

than it

really was

I should've

(could've)

called her

"Mom"

but I didn't

She became

another mother

to me

thirty-three

years ago

By marriage

of course,

the official

term being

"mother-in-law"

Not the 

stereotypical

"hate each 

other's guts"

type either

No

she was 

loving, kind 

(opinionated, direct)

a source of support

Conflicts 

were few 

and frustrations 

might occur 

only occasionally

She exuded

love and affection

through her smile,

eyes, words,

and actions

A soft 

heart-y interior

within a tough confrontational 

(very particular)

shell

The

woman

could

be

fierce

Loved by

all

yet

abandoned

by two

She didn't deserve

to be alone

but she was

a survivor 

(thrive-or)

After her

second husband

left her for 

"the ministry"

HA!

I started

to get

her flowers

for her

birthday

She'd admire them

 sitting on the stove

surprised to find out

that they were hers

(every time)

A woman who 

cultivated roses

 (a thorny rose herself)

should always

be remembered

Yellow carnations

(if I could find them)

would still 

look good

weeks after

I wasn't allowed 

to get her flowers 

this last birthday

'cause the budget went 

to a flowering plant instead

But I sent some

down anyway

six weeks later

an emissary

(my final tribute)

I'm told

she liked them;

and they were present

 at her passing

(and so was I)

A silent sentinel 

to two grieving

loving daughters

anguishly saying

good-bye

I prayed 

if it were His will

that I'd be there

for them

(for me)

God's timing 

is perfect

threading the needle

between birthdays

and anniversaries

Forever avoiding

a taint of grief 

on future milestones;

 great indeed are

His tender mercies!

Her favorite room

(double doors to the deck)

looked out upon

her wooded garden

so carefully kept

Within her house

built just for her

(over 50 years past)

at the end of the street

Forty-four O'eight Banff

The site of so many 

Thanksgiving Dinners

 with assigned seats,

crystal goblets, and taboo subjects

(mostly) avoided

A room and a table

filled to the brim

with family and friends,

green chairs and bun warmers

(fall foliage decor abounding)

She cooked her turkey

upside down 

so the white meat

would always

be moist and tender

My "real" Thanksgiving

had been the Day After

(in Claremont)

until the Day After

was no more

I should have

 realized earlier 

that one 

wasn't more "real" 

than the other

I was just 

getting a bonus 

Thanksgiving

(a double portion of

 my favorite Holiday)

Yearly traditions

die way too fast

but at least the

memories made

generally outlast

This year

we're all scattered

to various homes

while Mom's house 

now sits alone

A place of joy

a place of sorrow

a place of feasting

a place of no more

tomorrows

Thanksgiving at Mom's house

was so very special

but feasting with her 

next will resume

at Heaven's table

https://obituaries.carewellcremations.com/joyce-leamon

Halloween After-Party (NECA Universal Monsters)

 Happy Halloween!  Two weeks late...

You know, I could use the magic of blogging time travel and set the post date to be Halloween, where it would sit in that chronological spot. You might believe that you just missed it the day it came out.  But that would be dishonest.

And it would conflict with the details surrounding my latest work-in-progress shelf:

Tarzan and the Leopard Men (#18) - Edgar Rice Burroughs

 

I finished this last Sunday morning, and I've been waiting to have time to write about it all week.  It was another great story, which had me cheering at the end.  Since ERB uses some generic names for some of the characters, we're going to have fun casting them below as a cool visual aid.

THIS is "Planet Earth"? (or Will the real Dylan Hunt, please stand up?)

One of my favorite albums from the early '90s is School of Fish.  The whole thing is a masterpiece, especially the first two tracks: "Intro" & "3 Strange Days".  I echo some of the lyrics frequently because they represent a limited and compressed toe-dip into some pop culture phenomenon, experience, or sampling.  I'd even call the term 3 strange days a "short soirée", even though that stretches the definition well beyond the norm.  But hey, mangling and jangling the English language is just how my thoughts work.  And it may not be a strict three days (and it doesn't have to be limited to pop culture entertainment), but you get the idea:

For three strange days
I had no obligations
My mind was a blur
I did not know what to do
I think I lost myself
When I lost my motivation
Now I'm walking 'round the city
Just waiting to come to
For three strange...

So last weekend, after completing my annual Halloween movie fest (more on that another time...maybe), I started watching Gene Roddenberry's unsuccessful and bizarre, loosely-connected trilogy of mid-70s SyFy films: Genesis II (1973), Planet Earth (1974), and Strange New World (1975) on Tubi.

It's something I've heard about and seen pictures of over the years, and I've always wanted to check it out.  Let's just say there's a lot to discuss...

The Poet by todd webb (2025 Nov 05)

 

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Tarzan Triumphant (#15) - Edgar Rice Burroughs [paused in progress]

Apologies, dear reader, but I wasn't able to finish this one yet.  I got through the first five or six chapters when something about the book started to bother me.

Tarzan the Invincible (#14) - Edgar Rice Burroughs

I finished this yesterday, and once again, I found the beginning and end to be stronger than the middle, but I have a theory for why that may be.  And it doesn't have to do with ERB; rather, it revolves around my work schedule.  You see, I typically finish the previous novel as my work week is winding down, and immediately dive into the next one (I've already read 4 chapters of #15 last night).  So my ability to maintain focus when reading before bed is hampered by a long day of working (when I'm in the middle of the story), and maybe I piddle out a few pages at a time, instead of whole chapters - sometimes reading several paragraphs more than once!  ...sometimes reading several paragraphs more than once! ...and maybe I piddle out a few pages at a time, instead of whole chapters - sometimes reading several paragraphs more than once! [You get the idea.]

I mean, I was really struggling yesterday to complete the novel, even though I felt rested enough and really wanted to finish it.  I had to stop, get up and move around, then come back again (repeatedly).  I even did some of my vision fusion exercises in hopes my brain wasn't shutting itself down like it was two to three years ago, before I had vision therapy (for double vision).  And I really did enjoy the story with one exception, which was both cool and a missed opportunity.

And had this book been published in the 1950s, instead of 1930-1931, it probably would've been called, "Tarzan versus the Reds".  Oh, and the dynamic Neal Adams cover has nothing to do with the story...that I can recall.