Saturday Shenanigans!

It’s Saturday and I’m reveling in the peace. Monday, things get busy again, so I’m enjoying the quiet while I can. The morning cloaked in frozen silence, only nineteen degrees outside when I woke. Steam whistles from my teakettle and smoke rises from the neighbor’s chimney. Gasps of warmth on a frigid morning before the sun appears.

The first weekend of the new year. Are you using it to relax or sticking to your resolution and hitting the gym? I’m staying inside where it’s warm. If I chill my bones, my joints will lock up like the tinman. This is a good day to make a big pot of soup.

Yesterday, I had to go to the lab for some unexpected blood work because one of my anti-rejection drugs had a manufacturer recall. Apparently, some of the pills in a particular lot number did not contain medicine. Empty capsule shells were mixed with filled ones in certain bottles shipped out to patients, and I was one of the lucky ones to receive a botched batch.

Why can’t I beat the odds like that when they draw Powerball numbers?

The results of the tests will show if my blood is below the therapeutic drug level, putting me at risk for an episode of rejection. Such is transplant life. Eat healthy, exercise, take your pills religiously, and still some errant twist of fate can screw you up.

Despite only having a small amount of blood drawn, I was drained after my lab appointment. I came home to eat lunch and take my medication, then I slept on the couch for three hours. Woke up just in time to feed the dogs and start making dinner for the humans.

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Stay tuned for the announcement on Monday!

In positive news, several poems have been accepted for publication in the past week. I will have work appearing both online and in print every month, from January through May of 2025. That’s a nice start to the year.

Links to items recently published

Rat’s Ass Review Fall/Winter 2024 – two poems, “Mistleheart” and “Wetland” listed in alphabetical order by author’s last name. Scroll down to “L” to find me.

Eat, Darling, Eat – Essay “Mincemeat and Memories.”

Subliminal Surgery – one poem, “Dry Socket.” Scroll down to December 2, 2024 to read.

Cathexis Northwest Jan-Feb issue – one poem, “An Intimate Exchange Between Covers.” On page 81 of the virtual magazine.

Lost at 27: Musicians, Artists, Mortals - My poem “Bread, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” appears in this anthology of poems about musicians who died at the age of 27.

What are you doing this weekend?

It’s frigid weather this weekend in Michigan, so I’m enjoying my time indoors, near a roaring fireplace. The dogs joined me, settling into their little bed right in front of it. My writing desk is off to the side, with my chair backing up against their bed. I have to be careful not to roll too far back when I leave my desk. Don’t want to pinch any precious puppy toes.

Gidget McFidget and Bruce Wayne know the best spot to relax on a cold winter day.

How is the weather where you live? Do you have any plans or are you relaxing after a hectic holiday season?

Tell me, what do you do to beat the winter blues? The letdown after the hoedown. The tree is still up but not lit. The presents and family are gone, as are the leftovers. Munching on celery sticks as repentance for too much pie seems like cruel and unusual punishment. I miss the sunshine and blue skies.

I wrote this poem for my husband about all the hard work he does in preparing our home for the holidays. I’m sharing it here with you.

A Dirge for the Holidays
By Dawn Levitt

The anguish of the darkness is 
more than a moonbeam
can illuminate.
The sun has drawn away from the earth,
taking warmth and birdsong away for
six terrible months.
Flower bulbs feign death beneath
frozen soil. My bones do the same,
aching with the weight of the perpetual night.

My heart is a sunflower,
turning its face to follow the sun,
but the sun has gone away.
Sunflower withers in the darkness.
Fall allergies transition into winter nosebleeds from
The dry air of the fireplace,
blazing to char the cheerless.

Brilliant lights flicker on other people’s trees.
Blessing of a husband tends our holiday décor,
knowing I would paint it black.
Holiday cheer creeps toward me with caution – 
a cup of tea, frosted cookies, the music.
His smile elicits my own as he saves me from myself.

Wishing you sunshine and a warm breeze, and maybe someone or something to save you from yourself!

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