amy irene white
Bio
Stories (4/0)
Stagnant
This morning, I woke up and rolled over and pulled Freeda into my arms, and she snuggled close, then stretched her funny Bully dog stretch and yawned her funny Bully dog yawn, and my first thought of the day, once again, was how she is more my wife than my dog. There hasn’t been a man in my bed in years now... and yes, it makes me cry sometimes. I mean, I may be crippled and widowed, but I am still only 47. But, my Freeda, my whole pack of animals really, keeps me from feeling completely alone… most of the time. Coco and Dixie sensed me awake and came to life faster than Freeda and I. They wiggled and shook the bed until they forced me out of it, even though I wouldn’t have minded laying in the cool breeze from the open windows a little longer. But, bladders grew in urgency, so we made our way down the stairs, to the tune of my ducks loudly greeting us with a quacky, flappy good morning. I opened their pen and let them waddle along with the dogs out the back door. It delights me that they have learned to do this so well. I ran to the bathroom and tended my own bladder, and brushed out my hair, kinda marveling that it has reached my waist again already, and decided to let it stay down today for awhile longer. Then, I went back out and just stood on the step, waking up, and looking out over my yard trying to decide what chores I would try to tackle today. Its promising to be a beautiful day in Green Mountain... one of those wonderful warm and cool, sunny and windy and green spring days that Iowa does so well. One of those days that makes you want to mow and plant and lay in the grass doing nothing at all; the meteorological equivalent of meandering down a two lane road on an old Harley. After a moment of watching my animals play and contemplating my day, I came in and started the coffee pot and pulled on a cardigan over my dress, then went back out again, to ride my bicycle barefoot with long hair flying, down the little gravel road. I rode my bicycle down the gravel road and around the windmill, just because, feeling like a ten year old me riding barefoot around my dad’s shop..... and then I rode back up the gravel road, anxious for coffee and a Camel now, pumping the bike petals up and down in the brisk early wind, focusing on the strength in my legs and ignoring the niggling pain in my body and soaking up the exercise. As I rode along, I thought about all the early mornings I got up and went to various jobs, or put on make up and designer clothes and shoes and loaded up a Harley or in a Mustang or a Challenger to travel coast to coast… and I think of how I traded all of those highways and bylines for a little dirt road, the whole wide world for my little snowglobe life in my little snowglobe home, because I thought there was love waiting for me here. I was, as we so often are in love, mistaken. As I rolled my bicycle to a stop beside my magnificent flower beds and messy house, with my ducks and dogs greeting me at the fence with happy noise, I sort of asked myself which one was my best life.. and its not a question I can readily answer. I can’t tell you my best right now… but I will tell you my truth. I will open a literary vein, and let you see inside.
By amy irene white3 years ago in Motivation
Just a Singin’
When the dishes are done and the house is quiet, I sometimes eagerly gather my supplies. Neatly folded stacks of cloth, shiny scissors and extra thread and needles, accumulate on my kitchen table, before I sit down in front of my Singer sewing machine. My Singer itself, is not particularly anything special. I have gone through many of them over the years. But, there is always a Singer in my life.
By amy irene white3 years ago in Humans
Plant the Peony
When I am digging in my yard, I have lots of conversations with myself. I like talking to myself, because she is the only person who can follow a conversation with me anyway. So, today, I am cleaning all of the winter’s mess out of my flower beds. There is something truly surreal about venturing out on that first spring day… the familiar feel of my old worn garden gloves and squeaky rubber boots.. the shiny, sharp scissors cutting through the dried stalks of last year’s flowers, to make room for new ones…. The smells and sounds and feels that are both new, and older than time itself. The task is a bit harder this year, because late last summer, a terrible Derecho storm made a big ol’ massive mess in my yard, and pretty much everywhere else in Iowa. I decided when it happened, that since it was almost autumn anyway, to just let the limbs and leaves lay as mulch over the beds til spring because, well, it just made sense. So anyway, I am out there uncovering giant flappy tulip leaves, and pointy, bossy, little iris poking up everywhere, and lily buds that are both holy and vaginal, a sight to make Georgia O’Keefe moist. You see, I have planted hundreds, probably thousands, of perennials into a big cottage garden all around the front of my house, a riotous symphony of plants that open and close, bloom and wither all season long. And as I am working at uncovering it all today, I found one of my most prized plants has finally decided to peek through the soil... my peonies.
By amy irene white3 years ago in Humans
My Baby Boy
There is a large sleeping dog in my lap. His name is Jack. He is always in my lap. I spend hours and hours running my hands over his massive shoulders and thick heavy head. I poke my fingers between his thick toes and around his soft pink muzzle, marveling at this beautiful creature who loves me above all things on earth. Sometimes, i think back to the day he was born.
By amy irene white3 years ago in Petlife