Peach Cobbler Loyalty

September 4, 2016 by Rieshy

I baked a peach cobbler this morning to celebrate/mourn the end of summer.  It was a risky baking session because I used a recipe other than the family recipe.  I actually felt a little guilty.  I've always used my mom's recipe because the very smell of peaches remind me of her; she's been gone 23 years now.

I still miss her.

I still miss everything about her.

She'd love this recipe because she was all about baking new things.  She wasn't frozen in time while alive.  Funny how I keep her opinions frozen in death.


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Wishing the Gentle Art was comprised of axioms.

August 8, 2016 by Rieshy

Sisyphus's Slope
Icarus' wings in Tennessee heat.
Sphinx and their riddles.

They have nothing on Jujitsu.  Once the breathing picks up it's hard to remember.  Till the car ride home.

Drilling and drilling.
Rolling and rolling.
Washing the gi, again and again.

The moment I think I have something set- some scrap of knowledge all mapped and nailed to the wall, it slithers away, shape shifts and laughs.
And I tap out.

Then I start over.
But then again, that's the whole fun of it.

Heels Over Head

July 10, 2016 by Rieshy

Heels over head
pressed and distressed;
contraction as reaction.

Baiting and evading;
revolution with resolution.

Moving and proving,
over and over;
head over heels.


Flowing Thoughts or Moments of Panic Induced Clarity.

June 26, 2016 by Rieshy


From the roll,
thoughts flow from let's go
to no, no, Nooo!

Why am I here again?
Then crap, and tap.

From let's go,
till tilt, mat meets being
and the most existential of questions
rips through your body:

Why am I here?
Then crap, and tap.

From fist bump,
to a human parkour course.
Till the ummph of elbow-self-expressed air.

Crap and tap.

Till a circle started, finishes
with the sweet expression of
detoured movement, and causes
someone else's:

  Crap and tap.

Dear Dads of Girls: Beware of Posturing

February 7, 2016 by Rieshy

 Over the years I've often heard dads speak of gleefully eviscerating any male foolish enough to mess with their daughter.

Do it.  I'm all in, eviscerate away, just don't talk about it in the hearing of your young daughter because I promise you one thing- if you love her that much, she will love you right back.  Loving you right back will mean she won't tell you anything about anyone who messes with her.

Why?  Why would a daughter who knows her dad loves her and wants to protect her not go to him for help?

Because she will be too busy protecting you from: 

  1. Prison.
  2. From feeling like a failure as a father. 
  3. Because she will feel somehow less- and not want you (her hero) to know. 
  4. She'll be afraid that you will freak out and take all her freedom away.

Instead, teach her to defend herself.  Teach her how to use judgement about her surroundings and her friends.  Teach her that she is valuable and that nothing that happens to her can ever change that.  Teach her to be a good friend and to stand up and protect others.

Spend time with her and listen.  Don't cast her as a princess that has to be saved, that needs a man for meaning or purpose. When she hears you talking about her, talk about how smart and tough she is.  Not how tough you are.

Then try to keep her safe anyway.


Farewell My Sweets

December 23, 2015 by Rieshy

January 1st looms large.
It looms, equal to an echoey Norse hall minus the mead.

A house of mine?  Minus cinnamon baked love?
A house of mine?  Minus stashes of jalapeƱo sweetness?

January 1st looms large.
A library without books.
Santa without the sack.
A lover without a kiss.
A runner without tights.

January 1st looms large.
It looms quietly, absent the crinkly sound of joy unwrapped:
That inoculator against stress,
That magical deliverer of caffeine,
Portable bliss,
Transporter of mothers.

To precious Chocolate,  
               Farewell my Sweets.

Sniff.  Sob.
Pity my children and curse my Sensei.


Not To Mention Luck

December 19, 2015 by Rieshy

Dreamers living intentionally?
Savorers remembering to save?

Between building barns or sucking the marrow.

Go with the flow thinks  uptight.
Planners think  disorganized.

Glass half empty, glass half full;
buy new glasses.

Dogs to walk, babies to shoe.

List writers, chaotic accomplishers,
filling calendars or losing them?

Goal setter along for the ride?
Choosing paths or defaulting to them?

Even visionaries need clean socks.

Self disciplined or experientially slammed;
all of the above.... or just confused?


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