12 Days of Christmas

May you somehow find joy and peace during these rushed, hectic year-end shopping and work-frenzied days. I, too, hope to find some nice quiet space somewhere during these holidays. I want to curl up cozy and read a good book with a peppermint mocha latte. Here's my December 2010, so far, as we prepare for Christmas. 

Twelve Days of Christmas in the Kerner Family

by Sermsee Kerner

On the first day of Christmas in the Kerner family

I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the second day of Christmas in the Kerner family

No time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the third day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the fourth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the fifth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the sixth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the seventh day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the eighth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Ran to get a tree, bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the ninth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Put up outdoor lights, ran to get a tree, bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the tenth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Paid all the bills, put up outdoor lights, ran to get a tree, bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the eleventh day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Finally got to Cosco, paid all the bills, put up outdoor lights, ran to get a tree, bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.

On the twelfth day of Christmas in the Kerner family

Rushed to the airport, finally got to Cosco, paid all the bills, put up outdoor lights, ran to get a tree, bought gifts for my clients, washed all the laundry

Kurt fractured his wrist!

Thought of baking cookies, had to work late, no time for shopping,

But, I conjured dreams of how it ought to be.


Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
Sermsee

Here I go

A newbie blogger jumps into the blogging current and feels the ebb and flow of the subconscious word universe. What's this blogging thing? I used to keep journals when I was a kid. Is this the new Dear Diary of modern times--except that now our mothers can read it? What can I write that would make a reader want to read this? Does anyone really care? I respect my readers. If you took the time out of your busy schedule to check out this blog, I owe you something for stopping by. What little gift of wisdom, word or light can I share? For this blog, I'll paint you a picture with words. This is a Show, Not Tell assignment that I wrote for my writing group--which is fantastic by the way--the group, that is. My writing is up for discussion--unless you don't like it. Thank you for stopping by to visit. Below is my word painting. Your thoughts? And next time if you call first, I could have cake and coffee ready.


The Desert
by Sermsee Kerner


Sight

As we drove around the final bend at the top of the mountain and began to make our way down the other side, it unfolded before our eyes—a canvas of beige sand stretched to infinity in every direction. The desert was split down the middle by the endless highway that shot straight through it like a beam of black tar. As the sun yawned on the horizon, and stretched its fiery rays into the morning air, a palette of rainbow colors filled the sky in mottled patches like a Monet painting.

Taste

I’m dehydrated and parched in the heat of the desert’s kitchen, where the sun plays host with great magnitude. I lick my dried chapped lips and taste the desert potpourri of sage and tumbleweed and salty sweat. The dried brush and wildflowers are seasonings in the desert’s stew.

Smell

Every few miles introduce new aromas as the desert scenery changes. A rain shower sweeps through and humidifies the air leaving a blanket of musky dampness. The farmlands reek of freshly fertilized crops, smelling like old socks and hockey bags. As the sun takes charge again, the smell of rubber tires fighting the hot dusty highway bakes in our noses. But eventually, the natural fragrant perfume of the desert prevails. It’s a Wild West concoction that promises cactus, fat tumbling weeds, dirty hungry coyotes and hot dry wind—a bouquet of open range.

Hearing

At first I can’t hear the desert! It’s drowned out in the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of cars and heavy trucks hurrying down the road trying not to waste a second of busy life. When we stop I get out of the car and listen…Oh, now I hear it! The hum of the highway blurs as the gentle wind whispers across the vast lonely plain. Later, in the early evening hours, I sit on a patio under a star-spangled sky enjoying the live orchestra of the desert night. Bushes bristle with the scuttling of little critters. Coyotes exult over their prey in high-pitched howls and excited quick yaps. A silent shot of lightning accompanies a loud BOOM! —like a cracking whip. The night wind now whirs and whistles in anger—she’s not as gentle as her day wind sister. The night desert sings an eerie lullaby of mystery and danger.

Touch

My lips and hands feel as parched and prickly as a dead cactus. There is no moisture in the desert air. My feet rub against my leather sandals, gritty with sand and dust. The hot mid-day sun would bake me like a cake if I stayed within its reach and the pavement could fry an egg. Hot sweat rolls down my temples as I fan myself with more hot air, but it quickly evaporates. My breathing is shallow. I feel like I’m melting and I call a truce, “You’ve won!” I cry to the desert, “You’ve won!” I breathe because I have to, but with each hot breath, the desert humbles me and reminds me of its authority.

Mood

The desert is a loner in the world of nature. It has quiet strength and holds centuries of secrets. The cracking thunder and lightning shows that dance in the clear night skies are aspects of its personality. On a whim it can sizzle you like butter in a pan or chill you to teeth-chattering stiffness. The unconquerable desert answers to no one. I am but a mere human in awe of its power.