Friendship

Tonight, we had a football party. Our favorite college team had a game that was actually being broadcast in our area. It was to start at 6:30 p.m. At 5:45 I said to Hubby, “Why don’t we invite some friends?”
Scanning our call list, I immediately saw two numbers. Friends that I knew would come over on the spur of the moment if they could. Hubby had gone to the store for party food.
Both sets of friends, one with a toddler and baby showed up shortly thereafter. Hubby prepared some fiery buffalo wings and homemade black bean and tomato salsa as the first quarter got under way. I mixed up a lemon Jell-O cake.
Over the course of the evening we messily devoured our party food, cheered heartily for our team, had a discussion about immigration during half time, passed the babies around, and laughed at the kids imitating our shouts of exasperation at bad plays and calls.

The evening came to a close. We were left with a bit of popcorn scattered on the couch, remnants of salsa and wing sauce in the serving dishes and most importantly, a smile.
There’s nothing quit like spending time with people around whom you can be completely comfortable.

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September 8, 2007 | Filed Under Friends | 16 Comments 

Sunday Scribblings - The Writer

Alright, so I am participating in something I recently discovered called Sunday Scribblings. They provide a writing prompt every Saturday and then you leave your link. This weeks prompt is, Tell us what comes up when you think: writing
I have shared one or two pieces of my poetry on here before, but always with a bit of hesitation because sharing my poetry makes me feel so vulnerable. But I wrote this poem years ago and it was simply perfect for this prompt.

The Writer

Fingers; frozen, sticky, yet burning at the touch,
seeking to slip into a rhythm and a path.
Like cold water beads
slipping down the slopes of a bare chest in summer.

Ideas become a thousand black stains
smudged in pale skin, coating calluses.

Ink, now fading away,
reminder of a dripping emotion.

Like a balloon, bulging with water
this mind is bloated with ideas,
obese with unsettled thoughts,
bound to leak monotone or explode confusion,
If the right vent is not found.

This, the consideration of the writer.

© Summer Owens 1998

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September 8, 2007 | Filed Under Blog Carnivals, Writing | 9 Comments