A long, long time ago, when I started this blog, I didn't have a Google Friend Connect (join site) button. It wasn't included in the Weebly template program so I just assumed it was a feature I would never have (so sad).

But alas, a good friend showed me how I could go to GFC and then copy and paste the code onto my sidebar. Boy was I happy :) My only problem: I needed faces. A blank join site button is pretty lame. But you want to know what's lamer than that? Having the only face in your join site box be your own (LOSER). Don't do that. It's a pain in the butt to get your face off there once you put it on.

I decided to write a poem to encourage people to join my site. It was a pretty nifty poem too. Faces started to trickle in and I was thrilled (insert another happy face here). Now I could see people and I didn't feel so alone in the big ol' blogosphere.My poem worked! Yipee!! (I'm a poet, but didn't know it).

After a while though, the poem no longer applied. I had plenty of followers and the Join Site button had been in place for months. I needed to either remove it or revise it. Of course, I chose revise. Poems are awesome.

So over on my sidebar --> I wrote another poem and it's pretty cool if I do say so myself (and I'm saying it). Good stuff.

Now, I've good this totally cool poem, but look right below it . . . What do you see? NOTHING. Na-da. Only a blank box where my Google Friend Connect Button used to be. That sucks.

Apparently, Google is having some issues. They ran an update and afterwards, quite a few people are experiencing the same problems I'm having (I actually have this problem not only here but over on my Ready, Aim, Hook Me site as well).

I've searched the web over trying to find a solution, a quick fix, but there isn't one. All Google has to say is, "We're aware of the problem and are trying to find a solution. Thanks for your patience."

Patience? I have no patience. What the heck, Google? WHAT THE HECK?

I have a super cool poem and a blank box. Now I just look dumb.

Not cool. Not cool at all.

It's been gone for two days now and I have no idea when it will be back. So I guess I just need to try this patience thing (BLUCK--I'm an instant gratification kinda gal). What else can I do?

Anyone else out there having GFC issues? When you see mine back up, will you let me know? Thanks. 

Ugh, it's my birthday.
How did I get to this point,
this age between being young and elderly?
You would think that when reaching my 39th milestone of existence
I’d know a little something about life.
But I feel naïve to the world and its workings.
I know nothing.
Old enough to know better,
But not old enough to be considered wise.
Young enough to still kick up my heals,
But not young enough to be considered adorable
(that stage has come and gone).
If I live to be 78,
this birthday represents the halfway mark.
I’m almost done, folks.
And yet, I feel like I’ve just begun.
Birthday celebration?
More like life reflection.
Where do I want to be
Ten years from now?
Twenty?
What do I hope to accomplish?
What mark on the world will I leave?
Good, bad, ugly, or nonexistent.
Will I be any wiser
or will I still feel like the amateur that I am?
All I know, is that I have a young brain
in an ever aging, always ticking body.
So bring on the next 39 years, Life.
I'm ready to tackle you and experience your crazy
roller coaster ride of wonders.
I will accomplish great things or die trying.
That's a certainty.
So bring on the cake.
Bring on the ice cream.
Let's get this party started.
Because folks,
I still have a lot left to do.

BAM!

It came out of nowhere,

setting up a border

across my creativity,

hedging my imagination,

and hindering my forward progress.

I back up,

get a running start,

I try again.

BAM!

I ricochet off its invisible surface.

my brain twirls,

uncertain.

It’s as Great and wide

as the one in China.

Runners hit it,

while mid-stride.

A block I can step over.

A wall—impossible.

There’s no going around,

it stretches endlessly in either direction.

I’m terrified of heights.

I swallow, knowing no other way

and go searching for my climbing gear.

Doubt tiptoes its way inside.

Subtle.

Sneaky.

Before I know it,

Doubt blindsides me,

Takes me down,

Pins me to the ground

And flops its big hairy behind

On top of my chest.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

I spit in doubts eye—my only defense--

But doubt only grins through its pock-marked face,

And green-tinged smile, and swipes the spittle away.

He’s experienced worse.

Doubt’s got me

And he knows it too.

My gnat-like strength is waning.

My belief is gone.

I shift a little,

Make adjustments to carry Doubt’s weight.

He’s not going anywhere.

That’s perfectly clear.

So I may as well get comfortable.  

Pressure,

From the inside—building, mounting.

Go farther.

Try harder.

Be better.

--others can do it,

Why can’t I?

Success is limited,

but failure is not an option.

Trudge on,

One foot in front of the other,

One more mile,

One more yard,

One more foot.

There is no going back.

No stopping in my tracks.

Forward motion only,

but going forward hurts

sometimes.

Close eyes.

Breath in.

Count slowly.

Release air.

Visualize

And repeat.
--Alynn C. Ford

Untitled Poem

Hardly noticeable—at first.

A tiny fissure,

A line,

A crack.

The beginning—of the end.

No one sees it.

No one can.

Invisible to the naked eye.

I am falling apart.

Piece by invisible piece.

A finger falls to the way side,

A toe,

A limb,

With putty, I put myself back together again. 

 

The poor butterfly could no longer take flight, but lay helpless at the base of a tree. Most people ignored it--many unaware of it's very presence. Too busy was the crowd to even take notice of the flightless creature. A few did try to help--lifting it up and placing it on a low branch so it would not be trampled. But every time, the butterfly fell back to the ground--a breeze knocking it from its safe place.

Hope, in the form of a 6-year-old girl, found the butterfly. She could not let it be and refused to leave it there for fear someone would step on it. To everyone it was obvious the butterfly was dying. It wouldn’t be long. The little girl didn’t care. She cupped her hands together and cradled the fragile butterfly all the way home.

In a little red basket, lined with a red dishtowel, the little girl placed the butterfly. The butterfly barely moved--only a flicker from a wing here and there indicated any life at all. From the garden she gathered the tops of small flowers--red mums, pink daisies, and a few yellow dandelions from the yard. Following the pattern of holes in the red basket, she adorned the basket with a fragrance of color.

“What do butterflies eat?” She would ask. With no true answer, she placed a few leaves and several blades of grass next to the resting butterfly. She tried to feed it water by carefully balancing a droplet on her fingertip.

It wasn’t long before there was no glimmer of movement--the butterfly had slipped peacefully away.

The little girl accepted this. Tenderly, she carried the basket to the backyard garden and proceeded to find a place to bury it. She dug the hole, laid the lifeless butterfly inside, and then gently covered it up. On top of the tiny mound she placed the flower buds, and then dusted her hands off on her pants. Her job was done.

As I watched my daughter care for one of God’s tiny creations, I admired her tender heart and her capacity for compassion. I am sure there never has been, nor will there probably ever be, a butterfly ushered from this life and into the next laying on a cotton blanket, surrounded by a rainbow of flowers.