Eloise Jane 5.0

  We are celebrating the release of Eloise Jane version 5.0 in Mexico.  I asked our girl this morning how she wants her special day to go:  "Papa, first I want to snuggle with you, then open presents, then have cake for breakfast; then I want to ride a horse on the beach with Mama, then play with my presents, then swim at the pool, then snorkel in the ocean ... Then I want to have a party, Papa – then more cake."

Alright, Mexico, let's make this happen ... Happy Birthday to our little buddy!

Taurus Turns Thirty (Libra Relents)

Seated alone on the couch, weary from the day's labor,

full of hard drink and a heavy meal, he was content this
birthday affair may pass without incident.

A bottle of twenty-five-year Scotch adorned his lap.  

He made certain she saw him swallow the sleeping pill she

insisted he withhold until after the party.

He told her he did not want a party, yet she persisted

on account of the supermoon conjoining with Venus

and Mercury being no longer in retrograde.

Nonsense, he muttered, as a tranquil haze washed over him.

The band was warming up out back and guests were arriving

when the initial assault was launched.

He advance was clumsy and ill-planned.
He stirred upon approach, stiff-arming her to the ground.  

A subsequent attempt succeeded with a flanking maneuver

that sent his bottle to the hardwood floor.
"Don't break that bottle!" she shouted.  "That's my favorite bottle!"  

He swept her shins and they tumbled about the room,

laughing and cursing each other.  They tumbled into some guests, 

spilling their drinks.  The guests did not approve.
She retreated to the kitchen.  He meandered into the yard 

with a fresh glass of whiskey.  "Thanks for coming," he said to

the new arrivals, then stretched onto the cool lawn grass

and gazed upward to the heavens.

He spied the constellation Taurus in the north sky,

invited a blessing of good health and a sign of his longevity.

He awaited the sign as the whiskey-sleeping-pill cocktail took hold.

His eyes grew heavy as coins when a shout was heard 

from the house:  "Don't break that glass!  That's my favorite glass!".

Taurus leapt to his feet and smashed the glass against the sidewalk.

An anxious silence befell the partygoers as Libra emerged

onto the patio.  She declared she would bust his head,

then pounced like a wildcat, kicking and clawing at him.

She bit his ear.  He yanked her hair.  She pushed him into the dirt,

him pulling her down and working her into a chokehold

until she relented.

Taurus relaxed his grip, and they sank into the earth gasping for air.

A passerby stopped to inquire if there was a fight.

"It's hard to tell sometimes," he heard someone say.

She heard it too, then climbed atop him, cheerful and triumphant,

glowing like a banshee in the April moonlight.

"You obstinate son of a bitch," she exhaled, then collapsed in a heap.

And he held her awhile like that, until the cicadas quieted their

evening symphony, the earth rotated eastward to Gemini,

and their breathing fell once again into synchronous rhythm.

**First published in WildSound Writing Festival anthology

Thomas Gregory Lambert (1942 - 2021)

Thomas Gregory (Greg) Lambert, 78, passed away on March 22, 2021 surrounded by family at his home in Shawnee, Kansas.

Greg was born December 10, 1942 in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, the second of three sons to Clifford and Estelle Lambert.  As a youth, Greg was an accomplished student and amateur golfer, graduating valedictorian from Northeast High School and winning numerous golf titles including Oklahoma State Junior Champion.

Greg attended Oklahoma State University on academic and golf scholarships where he graduated a member of the Dean’s Honor Roll with a bachelor’s degree in Business Administration.

Upon completing his formal education, Greg secured a Professional Golfers Association card and worked many years as both a tour and club professional.  He moved to Kansas City, Kansas in 1965 and took an Assistant Pro position at Milburn Country Club where he met Linda Sue Dillman while she attended an office picnic on the club grounds.

Greg and Linda were married fifty-two years and raised seven children together.  In 1975, Greg left the golf profession to start a family-run merchandising business, Kings Kid Company.  He and Linda, often with the help of their children, maintained Kings Kid Co. until Greg’s death.

Greg was a devoted husband, father and grandfather, a kind man with a generous heart and love of laughter.  His devotion to his family was rooted in his passion for the gospel of Jesus Christ.  In Greg’s spare time, he enjoyed working with church groups, leading homegroup fellowships, and preaching the gospel to anyone who would listen.  He participated in prison ministry programs for many years counseling the incarcerated on matters of life, love and faith.

Greg will be missed by all of us who knew him and recall fondly his favorite parting words:  “Walk with the King and be a blessing”.

He was preceded in death by his father and mother and is survived by his brothers, Doug (79) and Roger (75), his wife, Linda (73), and their seven children, Lance (50), Chad (49), Julie (48), Amy (46), Christie (45), Anna (40), and Poss (37).

A celebration of Greg’s life will be held on April 30th at LifeMission Church chapel, 16111 South Lone Elm Road in Olathe, Kansas.  Visitation will begin at 10:30AM with a memorial service immediately following at 11:30.  Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, masks and social distancing are required.

The family greatly appreciates your well wishes and gestures of support.  In lieu of flowers and donations, we invite contributions to the Alzheimer’s Foundation of America: https://alzfdn.org/. 

Doomsday (1982)

Stacks of burlap in the basement seven bags high:

soybean, rice, corn seed; cases of canned peaches, 

peas, carrots and green beans,

enough to feed Gideon’s army.

Young Gideon, we learned in Sunday School,

gathered a ragtag crew of three-hundred

Israelites on God’s instruction 

to slay the mighty Mideonite army.

Mother grimaces:  “Talk to your father,” she says.

At supper we eat boiled soybeans

with Ezekiel bread and butter.

The old man opines on the health benefits of soy

and its utility as a righteous food source:

"The meat of the field, did you know,

is a supernatural antioxidant blessed with protein,

vitamins and minerals?"

We are told that dried soybean, stored properly,

will retain its nutritional value long enough

to survive an apocalypse.

I am twelve-years-old in ’82 

and the end of the world sounds like 

a video-game ending where the protagonist 

expires in a whirling puff of smoke only 

to discover himself reborn into a dazzling, 

unspoiled universe.

In father’s game, global war seizes planet earth

followed by a return of the angry, 

Old Testament god hurling fire and brimstone 

down upon an ungrateful creation.

“Do not fear,” the old man says, drawing us to him.  

“God’s chosen will be spared his wrath

and rewarded with riches in heaven.”

Gideon was also chosen,

and for his subservience he was rewarded 

as a hero of faith; seventy sons 

were bestowed upon him

from the many women he took as wives.

Yet, Gideon petitioned divine intervention

before signing on to God's plan.  

Three miracles he required as proof of his intent.

I required only one:

  Dear Heavenly Father, hear my prayer.

Your holy scripture declares that to those 

who ask it shall be given … I humbly ask 

that you demonstrate the truth of your power 

by turning these boiled soybeans into 

a Quarter Pounder with Cheese.  Amen.

~ Thomas

**First published in Hole In The Head Review

Drunk Driving Incident

       Corpus Christie, Texas (2005)

Once, after a night of Scotch whiskey and port wine 

when the moon was a White-Russian mistress 

and the stars aligned in regiments of sparkling gin shots, 
she insisted he drive them to a motel —

them meaning she and her feral, one-eyed 

girlfriend closing up the tavern.

"We'll party if you pay for the room," said the girlfriend.

He promptly escorted the ladies to his pickup truck
and proceeded in the wrong direction
down a one-way thoroughfare.

"Hey, Sport, you trying to get us killed?" the ladies protested, 

triggering an abrupt maneuver onto 

a stranger's lawn and through the neighbor's 

meticulously groomed azalea bushes.

He was not so far gone to dismiss the sarcasm 

betraying their praise of his excellent driving.

"We'll pull over here for one more," he countered, 

and one became three.....four.....then a round for the bar.

It ended abruptly when patrons confronted
their one-eyed companion with a discernable note

of condescension.

"Are you a pirate?" one asked, signaling to her eye-patch.

"Are you a rectal lobotomy?!" her friend replied.

"I think I'm in love with you," he said,

then declared a plague upon their antagonist's houses 

as the trio hustled into the sapphire night.

He cursed the tyranny of traffic laws 

while racing past bicycle cops, crowded boardwalks,
and escalating appeals for safe passage,
finally coming to a screeching halt on the freeway 

to inquire WHY in the HELL 

they were nagging him about his driving?!

"Let us out!" the ladies screamed.

He pulled onto the shoulder

and summoned an incoherent plea for solidarity,

but it was too late for speech-making.

He saw it in their frantic eyes

as they spilled barefoot onto the concrete,

straightening their skirts

and bouncing into their high heels.

He marveled at their ability to hail a ride.

Within minutes his companions vanished

and he stumbled into the wild grass

above the freeway offramp.

The radio shouted Green Day's

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" at him

as the car sputtered its dying gasps.

He wished he had turned off the engine

before reaching a state of no return.

There's never enough gas to get where you're going,

he thought, before passing out beneath

the warm, neon glow of a Motel 6 sign.

**First published in Barbar Literary Magazine

**Illustration by Morgane Xenos

Winter White Bean Soup with Turkey and Kale

      This one was inspired by a New York Times article and became a favorite over our holidays.  Bright and hearty, packed with winter greens and white beans, fortified with turkey meat.  Great for a lazy weekend when the weather is cold, the game is on, and the fireplace is crackling. 

INGREDIENTS 

• 5 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 medium yellow onions, chopped
• 2 large carrots, diced
• 2 bunches kale, destemmed and chopped
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 6 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 tablespoons peeled, grated ginger root
• 1.5 quarts chicken stock
• 1 pound ground turkey
• 4 15-ounce cans of white navy beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 cup fresh, chopped herbs (rosemary, basil, tarragon, dill)
• 1 lemon, juiced
• 2 teaspoons ground cumin
• 2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes
• 2 teaspoons sea salt

          GARNISH

• red pepper flakes (if more spice is desired)

     1).  Warm the olive oil in a large stock pot over medium-high heat.

     2).  Sauté the onion and carrot until onions begin to brown, 12 - 18 minutes.

     3).   Add tomato paste, cumin, and red-pepper flakes; sauté until onions are well coated with spice and the paste darkens, 2 - 3 minutes.

     4).  Add turkey, garlic, ginger and salt; sauté while breaking up the meat until turkey is browned, 8 - 12 minutes.

     5).  Add chicken stock and beans, and let simmer 20 - 30 minutes.  I like to smash some of the beans during this segment to thicken the broth. 

     6).  Add kale and let simmer until softened, 10 - 20 minutes.

     7).  Stir in the herbs and lemon juice, then taste; add more ingredients to your liking (salt, spice, lemon, herbs) until the flavors light your pallet.

     8).  Garnish with red-pepper flakes, if more spice is desired.

 Accompany with a hearty, winter bread.

SERVES 8

Iyla Grace 8.0

   Iyla Grace 8.0 was released today with an upgrade to her already-cheery disposition.  It's been a challenging year with the COVID-19 pandemic, the sale of our Austin home, and a move to the country.  Iyla is a reliable source of light and levity in our household.  Her imagination is in constant motion, and her artistry on paper is a joy to observe. 

I am grateful to be in her orbit . . . Happy Birthday, Little Buddy!