martini memories

crappy day today. overall...it was just that. crappy. after putting up with about all i could handle, i decided it was martini time.
the martini time phenomnon started back with my friend. she was there for me...unconditionally. on the worst days, when i didnt want to even get out of bed to do it again, she'd give me a martini and tell me to grow a set. thats my friend for you. she'll push you to the brink and bring you right back to sanity in the same sentence.
now...whenever i have a bad day, when i just cant take it anymore...i sit back, pour myself a martini and breathe.

today...during martini time, my mind wandered back to my family. i guess maybe because passover is coming up and i dont know if i'm going to the saders. this year's been especially rough for my family. but hell, if its not gong to be hard then what's the point? as much as i bitch & moan about them...when it comes down to it, i would not be the person i am today without their constant criticism.

martini time also brings out the writer in me. not even just martini time does that to me over the past few days, ive been writing more than i have in months. maybe its my insomnia or is my psyche intentionally keeping me awake...urging me to write...to do somthing constructive with my thoughts instead of letting them fester in the depths of my brain.

--the sunroom--
she raced up the stairs
(all 48 of them)
into the third appartment on the right.

without knocking she barged in,
a tornado of excitement,
landing right in poppie's arms.

he always gave the best hugs.

they walked hand in hand.
she could barely reach his fingertips.
but when they did touch,
his tan, aging hand against her tiny, juvinile palm
...it was magic.

she pulled him towards the sunroom.
golfcarts whirled below,
a light breeze off the intercoastal gently caressed the palm trees.

the room,
decorated in hues of silver
reflected their last name.

and how fitting it was.
the sun dancing with the little girl and her poppie,
casting them both under its intricate spell.

he soon tired
so they sat.

"poppy, what does beautiful mean?"
she asked,
glancing up with the inquisive eyes that only a four-year-old has.
"this." he replied.

it truly was.