Interrupt me, please


Coffee shops allow a plug-in to the energy of community.

Deep chairs, wingback, ram-rod straight wooden seats make the reach out happen.

Lean over to scoop up your book and settle back, feet tucked underneath your folded hips and bent knees. A turn to the first page says, I’m not talking unless you see the cover of my book and cannot resist a comment or a sigh, a wanting for the share the feelings evoked when reading the same lines.

Prop yourself up, feet on the stool,  face to the fire. Rest your head against the cradle of the formal but worn fabric of one of the best seats in the house. Lean an ear to the material, gently begin to close the eyes before someone rustles bags or jackets nearby . The instinctual shimmy into the corner of the seat to start that peaceful doze is not interrupted so much as acknowledged, appreciated, approved by someone putting the same effort into settling into the matching wingback.

In the other side of the shop, the little tables are glowing, the backlight of screens and the vibration of cells tells everyone that things are happening in the world.  Privacy is a necessity but few feel an imposition from nods about the news, chats filled with How are you answered in white lies like Fine. Sitting up tall in the seats with a mug and a mind,  lets ideas and keys make a difference, somewhere, not there, but somewhere outside.

I’ve got a morning of java, an outlet, an eye.  I’m plugged in, I’m checked out, but in this place there’s no shame. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.

A Physical Presence


Criss-crossed, my legs are in your heat, tucked under the rail. The tan purse from my shoulder rests under my elbow – the one you knew to look for upon my arrival. Your face is not turned toward me and I like the casual stance you are trying to take. There’s a busy bartender pulling the tap and trying to make conversation but she’s not listening to our answers and we don’t hear her questions.

You set the popcorn between us, don’t mind if my hand dips in the bowl when yours does. I wait and take a few kernels, you do the same. There’s a bit of the white that falls to the bar and you swipe it to the floor with the side of  your hand. Somehow a salty small piece takes to the corner of my mouth and you think nothing of reaching and holding my jaw -fingers open to the flesh under my chin – as you use your thumb to flick it off a ribbon of lips.

A bit distracted by your forwardness, I put on a smile and brush the same place with my fingertips. I grin with a bit of discomfort that I find I have but don’t hold long when I’m with you. We talk about golf- you don’t play anymore. We talk about your place and the storms of last night. We check up on the children we both raise, keep raising. We talk about nothing but manage to lean into each other, frequently, shoulder to shoulder a little shrug of acknowledgement of the ease of sharing our worlds.

It’s time to go.

I check my phone and reach out to shake hands, palm to palm, a solid touch, firm and strong no matter the heated tone of the conversations we end.

We used to kiss goodbye.

I look into your eyes and find your gaze, hold on to your attention longer than your hand.


Cheers to happy hour and good listens. Cheers to verbal battles and the chemistry of banter.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.


Rely upon your Bartender


Coming to town? Of course- let’s meet. There’s a new little place I’ve been learning as I work through the drink menu. Hudson, my bartender, all mine, yah, he’s on tonight and will be ready with a joke to get us going as soon as we sit down.

They will move out the tables and clear the dancing stage, the DJ starts at 9. Classic cocktails all night, they never run out of gin and there’s a feel to the floor that comes from the summer heat and the string of white lights that sets off the sheen of exertion, the sway of couples that sets a horizontal tone that comes back to everyone sooner or later.

I’ve got a corner table, we’ll survey the crowd. The only kissable woman I know is going to show and will add to the laughs. My friends will find us through the night. They know who I am and who I’m not. You can flirt with me, hard, and I’ll consider your offer. And I’ll consider it again when you lean in and add a flick of your tongue after your words. And I’ll consider it again when we slow dance and you start that trash talk with, the racy words that you know gets me off.

In the end I’m the decision maker. And I may or may not play. But you’ll have a good time. And I won’t expect you to stay.


There were plenty of skirts he could have. And had. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.



Making Good Time


pinterest 17Loveblind is my time,

It does not see the face of the clock,

It does not beat to the rhythm of urgency that runs

the desk over my office chair.

It believes, for the tiniest of moments,

in fable and fairytales

where fate is vanquished and only good karma sweeps

over Ogres and incivility.


gated, barred, shut down

sheltered was my heart

by the precious seconds

of this fantasy.


It is good to believe. We made that happen. We did. We. Did. 

.for RetMP. Images courtesy of the web.



Reblog: On DNC resignations and the Trump/Putin link.

The 2016 presidential election may test a theory. Do Americans like chaos – turning everything inside-out and upside-down, because what we have is somewhere between boring and stupid, and chaos is cleansing? That seems the premise of the Trump campaign. Donald Trump will break all the rules – and he does – and enough people […]

via Containing the Chaos — Just Above Sunset

Feed my Mind. I admire Alan’s depth of resources, comprehensive summaries and snarky commentary. Good writing plus research. Cheers- Ret



Alive and Kicking


What makes a perfect daydream?

What is your greatest accomplishment?

What is your happiest memory?

Where do you long to go?

Apparently all are questions to discuss when you meet someone; apply liberally in the first hour…as each gets to the core values.

Conclusion: we don’t fall in love with the person so much as how we feel when we are with that person.


Late night radio.  Would rather be out slow dancing.  JS.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the mind.