Posted by: roughwighting | May 9, 2014

Love’s Labor Lost?

labor, mother, grandmother, babyWhen my friends first learned I was going to be a ‘grandmaw,’  some of them guffawed at me, as if my freedom, feistiness, and femaleness would soon be out the window. After all, what does a grandmother do but bake cookies, babysit and bring out the photos of her grandbabies too often?

In protest, a month before my first grandbabe was born, I participated in a 10k run and my guy and I flew off to Italy to share a villa with friends. No old biddy waiting for grandchildren was I! Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | May 2, 2014

Chocoholics Anonymous

chocolates, See's candyMy eyes dart around the front of the store when I first enter, bells tinkling to announce my arrival.

If there is a cluster of school girls, or worse, a cadre of 70-something women wearing plaid coats that smell like moth balls, I distract the group (for instance, by exclaiming “Oh my gosh, look at that horrible fistfight going on two doors down”).

That usually gets rid of my competition for the 10-12 seconds I need to get in front of the line.

I pick which black-and-white-striped clerk wants to help me. No, not the officious, tight-bunned, narrow-lipped woman whose nametag says “Brenda.” She’s stingy.

I smile at Ralph, roly-poly and sweet. He recognizes me and acknowledges, “Just dark, right?”

I wink back and he whips out a dark chocolate buttercream sample. Then, if Brenda is looking the other way, he pops out a free darkmarzipan, chocolate, candy store chocolate caramel too.

“Thanks,” I say gratefully. “Now I just need a small bag and please add…”(and I’m embarrassed to admit how quickly and succinctly I point through the glass display)… “two nougats, one marshmallow, one almond, two dark chocolate cherries, and then, of course…”

“The Marzipan!” Ralph crows.

“Three!” I blurt out.

He triumphantly plops them into the bag, weighs them, and I hand over my cash. We silently high five each other as the Girl Scouts shuffle back into the store, unhappy that they had no luck witnessing a fight.  

“Sweeten up,” I mumble to them as I back out of the store stuffing the anonymously white bag into my purse.

chocolate, candy store

Posted by: roughwighting | April 25, 2014

Little White Pearls

tooth fairy, pearls, teethFor the past two and a half days, the throbbing has been unrelenting.

She presses her lips tightly together, sprinkles more glittery diamond dust on her wings, adjusts a strap on one of her tiny silver slippers, and sighs.

Sophie missing tooth

Another busy night ahead. Thanks to Sophie in Massachusetts, she counts 10,346 children to visit between 9 p.m. and 4 a.m., and the way little Timmy Tucker is pulling at his back left bicuspid as he says his prayers in Payette, Idaho, she’ll be visiting 10,347 children.

She places her white luminous hand on her swollen right cheek and moans. She doesn’t have time for this!

grasshopper bus, fairylandOnce she gets back home from her job, she’ll try for 40 winks and then up with her own children, boiling some henny penny eggs and squeezing some rose petal juice for them before putting them on the grasshopper bus to the firefly pre-school.

Husband Danny will want help counting the little white pearls she’s collected during the night to deliver to the fairy counter. The way expenses are going in Fairyville, she hopes some of the pearls are big ones tonight.

A particular painful twinge in her mouth makes her shudder. She flicks her wings and heads out the window, grinning despite herself.

Whoever heard of a tooth fairy with a toothache?tooth fairy, fairy story



Posted by: roughwighting | April 18, 2014

Click Here!

click, WordPress,blog, posting

Thank you for following me. But, um, are you following ALL of me? Every single last bit?


In other words, do you see me the way I want you to see me? posting, blogging, bells and whistles


Do you see the real me? The one with all my bells and whistles, with my form just right, my hem straight, my colors matching, the headlines bold and brilliant?


You can only answer yes, honestly, if you click on me.


Or more precisely, if you click on the title of my post when you receive it in your Inbox every Friday.

e-mail, posting, blog


If you don’t click, but read my post as it arrives to you in e-mail form, you’re not seeing the real me! You’re seeing an outline, a draft, a ghostly form of my true intention.


So PLEASE, click on the title (like the one above that says “Please Click”) and enter the world of Roughwighting the way I intend you to see it. Full of background baby-blues and a white landscape for a differently colored font each post. Photos that pitch perfectly to the right or left of a phrase that I want to focus on. Quotes that are highlighted and indented “just so” – just so my reader, YOU, gets the gist of what I’m flashing about this beautiful absurd disturbing chaotic and incredible life of ours.

The way I'm meant to be viewed...

The way I’m meant to be viewed…


blogging, posting, clickPlease click on the title of my post each week. I promise, you’ll enjoy the benefits of color and pizazz. And, if you’re in the mood, you can read further down the blog post to see the replies of the brave, brilliant souls who have the courage to comment and (hopefully) commend.

Most importantly, though, THANK YOU for reading my flashes of life.


Clickingly yours,



Posted by: roughwighting | April 11, 2014

The End

the end, endings, poem

The end could be the beginning, or,

it could really damn well be the END.

A famous quote is needed here –like “to be or not to be.”

No Shakespeare am I, but I wonder if

“The end of never is the beginning of always”?

Books finish with The End. But is the story over?

Do the characters live on, at least in the reader’s mind?

In that case, the end is never-ending – infinite,

at least until the last reader is gone.


A week before my dad died, he declared, 

“I’ve realized that when I die, it’s over.

Nothing is left but cold old bones.

I go nowhere, and nowhere is the end.”

I ignored him, hoping for some hope but

held his hand when he took his last breath.

Joyfully we both realized at the same time

That he was wrong.


end, beginning, life, books

 In honor of National Poetry Month, and in the words of Rumi:




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