Transitioning with Odysseus and Penelope

LASH  me to the mast!!

It's been one stormy week for innards, outerds, and emoticons. Still, the progress far outshines the midnight hour intestinal circus without a net. My stomach was between the rocks and a hard place.

The condo sale negotiations are moving forward through a maze of epic proportions. I did not know black kitchen appliances and shag carpet were the "new look". Dang, what did I do with that beanbag chair?

Rushed out this morning to buy sauerkraut with active cultures, Greek yogurt, and kosher turkey franks at Sprouts. I didn't buy bratwurst for my innards rehabilitation program. "BRAT" in the mnemonic for a bland diet after gastrointestinal odysseys--bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast.

After intestinal misadventures I take a divergent course through sauerkraut, chili, pickles, horseradish, mustard, probiotics and fermentation. It's been working all my life, so why would I go off course?


© 2014 Nancy L. Ruder

Gut Trusters

Who you gonna call?

Seventeen years ago my walking buddy went with me to see about maybe renting a condo close to my sons' three [3] schools. The owner with his unnatural coif of blond hair told me I could NOT put three boys in the upstairs of his condo. I thought my sons would make less of a mess than the large dogs of the previous tenant. It was a cold evening, but we walked over to see the condo swim pool. On the way I lost one of the Zuni earrings I'd given myself that Christmas. Fortunately, I found it retracing our steps later. That was the beginning. My walking buddy had good vibes about the condo. I had good vibes. We trusted our guts, and I signed the lease, paying the additional Three Boys Security Deposit.

Good friends and lucky earrings got me through a lot after my divorce, and helped me relearn to trust my gut. I should have put on those same Zuni earrings today to go apartment hunting with that same walking buddy. We visited some apartment complexes that did not pass the gut trust test. It's strange to leave the condo complex that has been my home longer than any other in my life. It's going to be fine, I know.

© 2014 Nancy L. Ruder

Rilke, Percy Bysshe, and a deluxe apartment in the sky*

Heavy tired legs stone immobile in the desert, check.
Torso aka trunk--archaic, check.
Mighty pleasure dome needed, or maybe yurt alert, decreed.
You must change your life. Kathleen said so, and Rilke told her, therefore it must be true.
You must, you must, you must increase your bust.
Half-sunk shattered visage. My visage is perking up. It's my life that's half-sunk. Did Ozymandias have zits? What's up with this AARP-age acne anyway???

Warm, dry sand around my ankles, wanted.
Decompressing.
Going to my happy place. Sinking in.
Wind rippling the dunes, tousling their blond hair. Darn dunes, those third grade boys, burping, gross, belching in response.
Burping Dunes. Wouldn't that be a good name for an apartment complex?


*We finally got a piece of the pie!

 © 2014 Nancy L. Ruder