tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16118276285709136342012-02-16T00:42:08.329-06:00Will Rogers said, "Never miss a good chance to shut up." I don't think he had me in mind when he said that.Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-72381851204835418762011-11-18T21:40:00.005-06:002011-11-19T18:43:00.507-06:00

Some days it doesn't pay to get up from a nap. It's 4:30 p.m. on Friday, and I have to go to the grocery. I'm phobic about grocery stores because I'm overwhelmed by the choices. Who on God's earth needs 15 varieties of salsa when entire nations are starving? This causes me to have an existential crisis behind the canned peas, and it all goes downhill from there. This is why I don't cook. If I

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-34061568276495242042011-10-29T22:02:00.002-05:002011-10-31T22:09:20.931-05:00

From ghoulies and ghostiesAnd long-leggedy beastiesAnd things that go bump in the night,Good Lord, deliver us!                                            Traditional Scottish Prayer I ramp up for the holiday season beginning with Halloween and concluding with the Feast of the Three Kings in January. Sadly, the Feast of the Three Kings is iffy since the year I whacked Baby Jesus in two cutting

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-43252830327007396702011-10-04T22:14:00.004-05:002011-10-04T23:34:33.171-05:00

As you may know, or not know nor care, Sunday was the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. This is the bird-guy whose likeness stands in many a yard with homeowners clueless about who he is and why he’s standing in their yard. His classic depiction is with birds on his shoulders and assorted other creatures at his feet, a nod to the legend that when he had no human audience he would preach to the

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-28643318497865542032011-09-19T23:08:00.004-05:002011-09-22T11:26:38.866-05:00

We've thrown away the faeries,And driven out the elves.Now, we're putting out the stars.We harbor Death within ourselves.                                                                                                                              Me 1970's following introduction to black hole theory I lost something important when men went to the moon. When I look at the moon now, I don't see

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-63367390706485243452011-09-12T04:42:00.000-05:002011-09-12T04:42:36.364-05:00

This is my song, O God of all the nations, A song of peace for lands afar and mine.This is my home, the country where my heart is; Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine; But other hearts in other lands are beatingWith hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.   My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean, And sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine;But other lands have sunlight too, and

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-57120119277981060592011-07-22T23:45:00.013-05:002011-07-23T16:49:06.935-05:00

Thanks to all of you who let me know you missed the blog. I missed it too, but there were hard, hard times for someone I love, and I had nothing left over. I’ve decided I want to be the Ordinary Voice again. The new has worn off being divorced and growing old. Everyone is growing old, most of us are divorced or will be, and I’m running out of enthusiasm for the perspective. I’m beginning to bore

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-84256782352177383622011-07-22T00:05:00.011-05:002011-07-23T17:27:10.183-05:00

Bob is a Texas Red-Ear Slider. That’s a turtle, and he is about the size of a silver dollar. He was rescued from the wilds, if you can call a nature trail that butts up to a private golf course the wilds. In any case, Bob’s life took a new direction by a chance encounter with the two grandsons: the one with the amber eyes and his younger brother with a scientific interest in creature-poop. You

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-51898176125483028282010-06-24T10:45:00.010-05:002010-06-27T15:18:42.806-05:00

There's liberation from existential angst when you know your fate is sealed by earlier actions. Whenever the latest toxicity scare is waggled in my face, I remain serenely nonplussed. I am a study of serenity in the face of saccharin poisoning, Diet Coke, plastic dishes in or out of the microwave, tap water, aluminum cookware, fruit from Mexico and mobile home insulation, just to name a few. As

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-11862850244036583312010-06-15T15:31:00.001-05:002010-06-15T15:33:46.848-05:00

Grandchildren are an underutilized source of embarrassing but critical information pertaining to personal hygiene and grooming. Grandchildren will give you information your partner or best friend can't or won't. Always, always thank them for the feedback. If it sends you to the bathroom to sob into the towels, thank them anyway. Take hair for instance. The grandchild is a safeguard against

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-92217140089398813562010-06-01T00:38:00.023-05:002010-06-11T11:31:33.019-05:00

While pondering the mysteries of life, I missed the 17 days of winter we get in my part of the country. Therefore while not a seasonal post, it is a timely one. Human foibles always are. For example: • Why don't men who dye their hair ask another man how it looks...in natural light? • St. Patrick's Day aside, green bagels are unnatural. Then there is the probable fact that St. Patrick didn't

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-26794808963310921312010-05-20T01:40:00.005-05:002010-05-20T01:52:52.597-05:00

When the five grandchildren began to come along, you’d think congratulatory wishes would be forthcoming, and you would be wrong. Too often it was a variation on the theme, "You are going to have to clean up your language now,” emphasis on you. Well, maybe yes, and maybe no. It turned out to be no. I quickly learned you don't need to shield the children, but the parents. I cuss in front of

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-409555967017030762010-05-13T13:32:00.003-05:002010-05-13T14:05:01.049-05:00

I want to say how much your gracious responses to A Matter of Space meant to me. They represented the spectrum of adulthood serving to remind me that we are truly more alike than we are different.

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-33179800550723642552010-04-27T10:28:00.009-05:002010-04-27T15:17:53.841-05:00

A message comes telling me a man who loved me and I loved back, is dead, and I don't know what to feel. After midnight, I get out of bed and go into my closet. I sit on the floor and rummage through boxes of photographs looking for the packet I know is there. And now I have it in my hand. It holds photographs of us dancing. IHe wears a dark suit, and I a fall of shimmering blue. His eyes are

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-24773106020353935142010-04-19T16:45:00.008-05:002010-06-27T15:30:34.743-05:00

The 30-year old grad students contend that old people can distract themselves from the gradual slippage into the gapping maw of death with a hobby. OK. Want a hobby? Be prepared to make a big investment. You can buy a used bass boat for what it costs to make a scrapbook for your grandchildren. We are besotted with crafting. Need proof? Take a stroll down the periodical aisle of Barnes and Nobel

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-44445727313347503182010-04-07T23:12:00.008-05:002010-06-11T20:20:39.939-05:00

I saw a recent photograph of myself. I looked old and bitter. Can't do anything about getting older, except die soon, and I don't care to exercise that option at this time. But I sure can do something about being bitter. So I did. After 37 years of marriage, I got a divorce. And then I woke up and found myself in a second floor apartment, charming inside. Outside looks like a Motel Six. For

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-81522803003701205952009-02-17T12:15:00.005-06:002010-04-20T17:07:29.730-05:00

Now it's cool to be a person of color…any color, so I'm thinking I'd best get this down and out before we forget skin color mattered once…a lot. I grew up in a part of Texas where we didn't have a race problem because we didn't have any races. We had white. People in our community who weren't white were, well, just not white. They had special names, all pejorative and none I will repeat. Use

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-84785087414591893382009-01-28T21:49:00.019-06:002010-04-20T22:00:26.804-05:00

Denton, Texas is home to more than one respected college and university. The area's managed to effectively quarantine the intellectual spill-over to the general population, however. Case in point. A man attends a party. He gets a gun, points it at his head, and fires. Ooopsie. No bullets. (Heads up NRA. He could be your next poster boy.) Not to be daunted, he looks for and finds a bullet.

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611827628570913634.post-31996465610685830422009-01-03T11:43:00.036-06:002010-04-19T22:22:10.709-05:00

As garments go, there is none as unappealing as an nonpadded bra hanging on a door knob and nothing as silly as padded bras neatly arranged in a drawer looking like a fresh produce display. For who knows what reason, nonpadded bras are flung about with abandon while padded bras live in a perpetual state of tidiness and care. Bras hurt. Have you every heard a woman sigh and say, "I just feel so

Jo Wickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01028351130789896110noreply@blogger.com1