God steered the big old noisy beat up Ford pickup truck in a half circle and then backed it up in the clearing near where the fire pit and tents were set up.

Suddenly, 13 young boys wearing nothing but cut off jean shorts came running out of the woods like a pack of wild baboons.

“Dad!” yelled the one in front who was clearly the ringleader of the bunch. “Guys! He’s here, come on!!”

God smiled. Them young ones were a rowdy bunch, but his son and his best buddies were the forbidden apples of the old man’s eye.

They all congregated around the man climbing out of his truck.

“Did ya get ’em?!” his son asked.

God rumpled the kid’s long stringy hair.

All the other boys looked up at him eagerly, their faces filthy from playing in the forest.

“Of course I got ’em. I’m God, aren’t I?”

All the boys jumped up and down and cheered.

The crew walked to the back of the truck and God opened the tailgate.

Inside the truck was a mother lode of pyrotechnics that he had just purchased at the store next to the Kwik-Pak where he got his weekly case of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

“Wooooaaaahhhh,” all the boys said as the Creator of the Universe crawled up into the truck. He pulled his long grey hair into a ponytail then wrapped a threadbare bandana around his head. Then he began to unload the booty.

The boys crowded around buzzing with excitement. They watched the man set up all the explosives carefully. At one point, he looked up and smiled and said:

“This is gonna give them people on Earth quite the thunderboomer.”

“Yeh!!” the boys all agreed.

“Thanks, dad,” the ringleader boy said.

“Well, now…you’re welcome, Jesus,” the old man replied trying not to get misty. Then he advised all the younguns to get on out of the way.

And for the next several hours God set off all the fireworks much to his and the boys’ delight and to the dismay of thousands of children and dogs living in the Ohio Valley region.

When the big sound and light show slowed to an end, God passed out crackling Sparklers to the pack of wild hyena boys who ran like streaks of lightning through the field.

God opened a cold one and sat on the edge of the bed of his truck and watched with a gleam in his eye.

Suddenly the Goddess was by his side with a big picnic basket full of fixins to make S’mores. She put it down when God handed her a beer.

They watched the boys running and screaming with more energy than 10 super cell thunderstorms.

“Those boys are gonna crash and burn so damn hard,” she said.

Then she and God laughed before sucking down the rest of their brews on that Heavenly stormy night.

Old Man Winter stood in front of his mirror and took a good look at his reflection.

Sure…he was an old dude now. The weathered lines etched across his face didn’t diminish the rugged handsomeness that would always remain. His blue eyes sparkled no matter which mood he was in. The crooked smile on his soft lips enveloped a mouth full of gorgeous snow-capped teeth.

And he took a moment to think about how he knew he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch to still have a massive amount of wavy silver grey hair on his head.

It was then that he glanced at his hairline and found a rogue tendril sneaking out from underneath the wig cap. Pushing the piece of hair back up where it belonged, he turned his attention back to the work at hand.

He reached across his vanity and lifted the wig from its stand, stood back, bent over, swooped the long hair on his head and with one spectacular move he flipped back upright snapping the hair up and over in a glorious cascade of hair styling amazingness. Looking back in the mirror, he took his time and smoothed down the sides of the wig, pushing a few pins up underneath it, making sure the seams were as flawless as he could get them. When he knew the piece was secure, he fluffed the length of bouncy blonde curls that looked like a waterfall of sunshine. When that task was finished, he turned his attention to the array of cosmetics.

French-manicured fingers laced with spectacular rings picked up brushes and sponges and got busy creating–

A dewy and evened-out skin tone

Sapphire and sky blue shadowed blackbird lined and mascaraed eyes.

Shimmering petal pink glorified gorgeous cheekbones.

And a luscious fuchsia rose irresistible kissable mouth.

Then she picked up a strand of flowers so mystical and vibrant she nearly succumbed to their intoxicating fragrances.  As she sipped a Red Bull with one hand and wrapped the flowers around her head with the other, she felt all the powers of Mother Nature blooming as she stared in the mirror at her beautiful transformation.

With one last look to make sure everything was just as she wanted, she straightened the off the shoulder neckline of the flirty form-fitting pin-up style emerald green dress and then picked up another makeup brush to give her cleavage another dusting for good luck.

Finally, the work was complete.

Winter had turned into Spring.

Stepping into 4 inch sequined heels that pinched like mother-f-ers but looked amazing, she sucked up the pain, stood up straight and walked like a diva down the hallway, then stood at the door with one hand on the doorknob.

Her heart pounded.

Outside all of nature had gathered after a long, dark and quiet season. Their anticipation was palpable—the atmosphere was literally charged with excitement. Everyone knew the time had come.

Suddenly, they all turned their heads to look at the front porch where a devastatingly handsome red fox appeared standing on his hind legs with a microphone in his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the fox boomed into Nature’s sound system. The crowd went crazy.

“Please make some noise for her long-awaited return to the stage …give it up for Persephone, Queen of the Underworld!!”

The door opened and Persephone stepped outside.

She took the stage, held her arms out wide and beamed so brightly she lit up the sky.

And with that, all of the birds and animals and insects and trees and bushes and flowers and clouds and rocks and dirt and even the sun itself broke out into a round of thunderous applause as they caught the first glimpse of their Queen whom they had waited for for so long.

Then the music began–“All I Want to Do is Make Love to You’ by legendary rock goddess band Heart undulated from the speakers.

And the fabulously warm and effervescent manifestation of new beginnings, the Beautiful Persephone, lip synced and danced and flirted with her adoring subjects who happily soaked up her radiance while swaying like an ocean of snapping fingers, mixed drinks, dollar bills and laughter.

The mood in Punxsutawney was jubilant during the freezing cold moments before the sun was set to rise on the special day.
Revelers, wrapped in layers, their morning brews’ steam rising like white ribbons into the cold black sky, huddled together in frenziful anticipation.

“I think it’s going to be an early spring!” Walt Goodman of Steubenville said boisterously as he stood next to his wife Myrtle and their 2 children.

“Oh Walter,” his wife said, lightly punching him. “You always have such a head for knowing.”

Their kids took seconds away from their phone screens to roll their eyes.

The rest of the crowd chattered similarly as the line up of entertainment performed on a stage next to the ornately decorated sacred hole in the ground. A colonial drum line, a band of mimes, the Punxsutawney Elementary School’s 5th grade choir and the headliner–a Lee Greenwood impersonator from nearby Anita Pennsylvania.

As the last seconds of night ticked away, the sky over the party filled with fireworks. While the humans oohed and ahhed, every woodland creature within a 10 mile radius stirred in his or her sleep and then hunkered deeper down inside their burrows.

Except for one.

Phil finished brushing his giant buck teeth and then smiled in the mirror to see how he looked.

Awesome as usual.

He turned and pulled on his new military style jacket, applied a coating of Chapstick to his lips, slid on his John Lennon spectacles, and then headed to the door of his subterranean home.

This was it. His annual big moment. This year he was adding a little surprise for all the ding-dong humans who liked to pretend that he had any supernatural meteorological powers to predict the seasonal future.

Phil sighed, took one last gulp of his coffee, picked up the rolled-up poster board resting up against his dirt wall, and headed up the stairs.

He waited as he listened to the congregation of local officials making their speeches. Would it be 6 more weeks of winter? An early spring?
After Brother Carl of the Punxsutawney Baptist Tabernacle finished his prayer for warmer weather, the sun peeked over the horizon and Phil took his cue.

The crowd stood silent as he popped his groundhog head out. Usually the men grabbed him up and showed him off. But not this time.

Phil climbed out of the hole, stood up on his little groundhog legs, unraveled the poster board and held it up for all the crowd to see.

Punxsutawney Phil hoisted a homemade sign that read:

Love Trumps Hate

Flashbulbs went off by the millions as the celebrity critter flashed a toothy grin and the peace sign. News crews from all around the globe went crazy.

The gathered crowd cheered. A few of them booed.

And as Punxsutawney Phil rolled up his poster and headed back down into his home, hundreds of miles away in the nation’s capital, the president of the United States turned his attention away from his television screen and pressed his tiny finger once again against his well-worn Twitter app.

Melania blasted open the massive double doors with both hands, her long silken hair caught up like a TRESemmé cyclone in the wild breeze she kicked up. Then she took off walking, her 4-inch Louboutins clacking against the glittering-gold marble as she purposefully stomped down the corridor like a Victoria’s Secret angel working the wings and underpants catwalk.

When she got to the end of the hallway, she stopped and struck three poses in front of a mousy little receptionist watching her from behind a desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Trump,” the girl said awkwardly as the statuesque woman shot her a bit of “Blue Steel”.

“Where is he?” Melania snapped.

“He’s in the cafeteria,” the mouse replied.

Melania took off again, using her signature walk, looking from side to side at the audience who wasn’t really there.

In the cafeteria, she found Donald sitting in a booster seat wearing a bib. He looked very disgruntled, with liquid all over his chin and his lower lip sticking out in a pout that could be seen from outer space. A sippy cup with a big blue bird on it sat tumbled over on its side nearby.

“Donald is having a bad day,” the headmistress said with a worn out I’ve-totally-had-it-up-to-here-with-this-shit look on her face.

“He pushed over a bunch of his playmates on the playground, he wouldn’t share during share time, he kept yelling WRONG at his teacher during circle time, and now he won’t drink his special drink,” she explained.

Melania looked at her husband disapprovingly and then sat next to him as the frazzled lady walked away for a moment’s peace.

“Donald,” she said as he looked at her. “Why are you being so especially bad today. And why do you not dreenk your Tweetter elixir?”

“It’s yucky,” he said, making a yucky face.

Melania sighed. This again.

“Of course it’s yucky, darling,” she explained. “It’s yucky because it helps you say all da yucky things you say on da Tweeter all da time dat your fans love so much.”

Donald hunkered down in his chair and moved his head back and forth over and over again, not wanting to hear her.

Melania knew exactly how to handle this.

“Leesten to me, little man,” she said, taking hold of his moist chin with her hand and making him look at her.

“You dreenk dis Tweeter juice and I will let you have sleepover with Vladimir.”

Donald rolled the idea around in his head.

“No,” he said defiantly.

Melania squinted her squinty eyes.

“How about sleepover with Vladimir and Uncle Ted?”

Donald sniffled thinking about it.

“No,” he said again.

“You drive hard bargain,” she told him tapping her talons on the tabletop. “You dreenk your Tweeter juice and I will let you have Vladimir, Uncle Ted and da Chachi boy over for a whole weekend.”

Donald’s face grew solemn while he thought about that.

“Okay,” he finally said, snapping up the toppled cup, placing it in his mouth and sucking eagerly.

Pleased with herself, she stood up, kissed him on the flossy head and headed out of the cafeteria. When she passed the headmistress, she gave thumbs up as they both heard Donald emit a belch so loud it shook the walls of the building.

Melania sashayed away, slid on her sunglasses, pushed open the massive double doors once again and stepped out into the bright orange sunlight.

“Same sheeet, deeferent day,” she sighed.

Hi there. And welcome.

You’ve gone and stumbled upon what I like to call “my new blog”.

I used to have a blog I loved writing not too long ago. I had to give it up, though, because we got a new puppy last February, and let me tell you–my life turned upside down when we brought her home. After having our old dog (she passed away) for so long, who was a complete gem and totally easy to care for, having a puppy in the house again was rather overwhelming. I was frustrated a lot by all of my free time things I liked to do–blogging being one of them–having to go by the wayside in exchange for puppyhood antics and basic training.

But give my hobbies up I did. I’m happy to report that puppy has turned 1 and life in our home has settled considerably and things have kinda gone back to normal.

So now I’m back and ready to write stuff I have no idea anybody besides me will care too much about.

But let’s give it another whirl, shall we?

Here’s a fun twist. Along with my new calmer life and fresh start to my blogging career, I am adding the fun-filled event of turning 50 years old to my line up of things to do this year.

You heard me right–50.

In July.

I am a Summer of Love baby (hence the blog name). I dig that about myself. But now here I am, getting ready to click over to an age that kinda freaks me out. I’ve never been freaked out by aging before now. In fact, I love my birthday. I love all birthdays. After we meet, I will remember your birthday way before I remember your name. I like to make big whoop-dee-doos over birthdays.

This one I find myself dreaded months way ahead.

Friends and family I’ve discussed this with blow off my apprehension and tell me–Oh, you’re young!! Well, okay…I know I’m not like 90 or anything, but I still feel like 50 is a number to be reckoned with. You can’t really claim being “young” anymore after you’ve hit the big 5-0. And, truth be told, my body is starting to pull shit on me. Painful heel, knee twinges, backaches. That kind of stuff.

Let me tell you a story real quick:

This past Saturday I went shopping and as I made my way into Macy’s, my shoelaces weren’t tied very tight and my (painful) heels were slipping around in my shoes. I found myself thinking–I hope when I get in this place there’s somewhere I can sit so I can retie my shoes.

I’ve never had to consider pre-planned sitting before. I mean, not for myself at least. And don’t you know, there was nowhere to sit inside the store doors. So I thought-screw it…I’m going to bend down and tie these shoes. I can do it!

There was an older lady standing there putting on her coat and gloves and scarf. I thought, okay–if I get stuck on the floor she can help me. So I crouched and started untying and retying. It took some effort on my part, but I did it. Then I was off and shopping and it all worked out okay.

But what the hell was that?!

I’ll tell you what that was.

That was me…hot on the heels of 50.

So yeh. These are the kinds of stories I plan on telling here.

Admit it.. you’re hooked, aren’t you.

If you’re not totally convinced yet, here’s a little more insight about me and the kind of stuff you might find me discussing here…

I made my career out of being a stay-at-home mom with our 2 kids. We homeschooled with the exception of the one year our son attended kindergarten. After that, we took off on our own. Those were some great-ass years. I was a really good mom. I still am, I guess, but the kids are grown now. They only need me here and there, and that’s good–the way it should be, you know? Hubby of 100 years and I are now empty-nesters. We own a small business we started on a shoestring. My husband runs that operation with some help from me. It’s just the two of us and has been for the past 14 years. We’ve lived in our house, which is tiny and adorable and really fun to redecorate and keep uncommonly immaculate now that there are no children around, for the past 24 years. We have pets I will more than likely mention way more than most people might enjoy. But what can I say, we think those furballs are the shit. My husband is a guitar player. I like to think someday I’ll write something good enough to make it on to a bookstore shelf. I’m covered in tattoos, love clothes and music and books and am hellbent on feeling as young as I can for as long as I can.

Which brings us back to that whole turning 50 thing. Remember?

I definitely remember.

All right. If you’ve read this whole thing I’d like to say thank you. Come back again if you want. Say hi.

I’m going to go fill up my coffee cup again and take a cruise around to see if I can find some interesting other blogs to read.

It feels good to be back. 🙂

Til next time, please enjoy this rockin’ tune–the Doors’ mega-hit that was #1 song on the charts the day I was born.

Pretty appropriate for a Summer of Love baby, don’t you think?