Brenda Baker

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  • The Reaper

    by

    Jane didn’t fear the Reaper – because she was gonna take down the Devil. She was tired of waiting for someone to help her. She’d been waiting for seven years while he beat her blacker than his soul. And when the bruises faded, he’d start again.

    She was done. The time had come to end it once and for all…

    The gun in her hand felt surprisingly comfortable. Jane didn’t believe in guns. They caused too much destruction. But this one was different. It was her last stand – a fight til death do us part.

    It all started innocent enough. He’d come home after a night out with the guys, and  would forget to check if she was in the mood. Then he started accusing her of flirting with his buddies on poker nights. She hated those nights – they always ended in an argument.

    She tried wearing jogging pants with old tee-shirts. It didn’t matter. Once John made up his mind, there was no going back.

    She’d never forget the first time he hit her – not because it was the worse, but because it was the time he broke her heart. She never let him have it again. It took too long to put back together.

    After the beatings started, John discovered that he liked it, and that was that. Eventually he stopped pretending he was sorry – using her as a punching bag whenever he needed to unwind.

    And no one cared enough to help. The few she told, told her to simply move out. They didn’t know John very well. He wouldn’t stand for her leaving – she was his. And he’d be damned before he’d let her go. His friends and family would never believe her, so she didn’t try telling them.

    They believed she was just accident prone, and needed to be more careful. They couldn’t see the monster hiding in plain sight. Jane didn’t blame them, however. How could she? She hadn’t seen the monster herself until it was too late. The ring was already on her finger when she saw him for the first time.

    When they were dating, she only saw the prince who treated her like his future queen. So when John asked her to marry him, she didn’t hesitate. And wishing she hadn’t been so blind, didn’t stop his fists.

    When he broke her jaw, she knew it was time to save herself – before he broke her for good. She was too young to die.

    That was three years ago. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Rushing in the first time, Jane knew she had to be patient.

    Now the night had finally come, and his shift would be over soon. She hoped he wouldn’t go out for drinks with the guys at his precinct. Tonight was going to be special – she would finally be free. She couldn’t remember how it felt, but she wanted to find out…

    Jane heard the door open – no drinks tonight. Thank God! She couldn’t wait to get the whole thing over with. What would it feel like to pull the trigger? She’d find that out too.

    “Jane? Where are you?!” He’d gotten so use to her waiting in the kitchen with supper ready – in case he was hungry.

    Though he was hungry for more than supper right now. It had been a long day ending in a ton of paperwork. But Jane always helped him forget the atrocities he saw on the job.

    He was a lucky man, as the guys were quick to point out. Jane was a beautiful woman – despite those wretched jogging pants she insisted were more comfortable.

    She didn’t wear those when they met – a good thing too. He was more of a skirt man. And man, did she have the legs! Too bad she insisted on covering them up now. He missed seeing them.  Except when he managed to get the clothes off her…

    “Jane?!” Where was she? It wasn’t like her not to answer. Her car was parked as usual, so she had to be home. He started to worry. He couldn’t imagine life without her. She was his rock. He counted on her to make sense of a senseless world.

    His supper wasn’t even started. Something was wrong. She never missed a night – always waiting with a smile to greet him. He was a lucky man…

    “There you are!” Then John noticed the gun in her hand. She hated his guns. She always talked about how much they scared her – too destructive. She’d never held one before. It looked kinda sexy. Man was he hungry.

    “What’s ya doing with my gun?”

    Jane was done talking after seven years of being beaten senseless.

    “What the hell!” He would’ve asked about the tarp, but he never got the chance.

    She aimed for the head – no point in aiming for the heart. He didn’t have one. And she didn’t want to take any chances. This was a one shot deal. She aimed to make it count….

    They never found the body first, or last. You see, Jane knew to hide it in plain sight. No one ever looks there. She’d learned that first hand.

    Even his cop buddies were baffled. How does a man a vanish without a trace? They eventually stopped asking, after offering their sympathies.

    The neighbors never thought to question the bags of scrap. They’d grown quite use to her feeding the fish over the past three years. ‘Crazy Jane’ they liked to call  her – always tripping over her own feet.

     

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~

    ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

     

    Since I started writing, I’ve written a number of poems about domestic abuse. A couple of which will be included in my poetry book. So I wanted to tackle the subject by writing a flash fiction story this time.

     

  • We Are Who We Choose to Be

    by

    Among other things, I’ve been busy working on my poetry book this week. And I started using a different program to create it. After a  new learning curve, I’m now comfortable with the different features, and my book is finally beginning to take the shape I wanted.

    The only drawback is the program’s inability to create a PDF file for the creation of a book’s hard copy. If I manage to sell enough digital copies – should I be that fortunate –  I’ll consider making a paperback copy available by using the original program which does convert into PDF files. I’m not there yet –  my greatest fear is that my book won’t sell, -or worse, people will hate it. While I can’t focus on my fear, I’ve learned to be patient.

    So now that my book is taking shape, and I’ve done my homework on self-publishing, I started writing poetry again. I wrote four new poems for my book today between the editing and formatting. A girl needs a break sometimes, and it felt fantastic to write a poem again. In fact, it felt so good that I wrote three more.

    On the other hand, I haven’t really had much time for reading this week. There’s always a price to pay. But I did read an interesting post which explores the idea of free will (or that was my take at least).

    As you know, free will is the idea that we are free to make our own choices, and act on those choices.

    The post further reminded me of Jean-Paul Sartre’s theory of existential angst. He proposed that the freedom to choose, and act on our choices – with the responsibility for those choices and actions being ours alone, produce a sense of angst.

    I tend to agree  with Sartre on the points he made about freedom, choice and responsibility. Although, I’m not sure why the ensuing responsibility should give us so much angst, or the concept of freedom.

    In his book Existentialism And Human Emotions, Sartre mentions that we are condemned to be free. I can certainly see how viewing our freedom in such a manner would produce some degree of anxiety.

    Personally, I’ve always celebrated my intellectual and physical freedom. I also prefer to take responsibility for my actions, rather than pass it onto someone else.

    To give someone else that responsibility would mean giving up way more power than I’m comfortable with.

    We may not always make the right choice as we go through life, but at least we’ve made a choice. Because what’s our alternative? We remain paralyzed by fear, unable to act at all.

    And that, according to Sartre (if I’m remembering correctly) is also a choice for which we must take responsibility – so much responsibility.

    As you can see, there’s no escaping responsibility for our choices and actions. The post that I read also mentioned the familiar notion of being damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. I think it applies to Sartre’s idea of our inescapable responsibility as well. We are who we choose to be. It’s entirely up to us – whether we like it or not.

    I’d rather be damned for choosing what I believe in – acting on those beliefs and any dreams I might have, than to be damned by sitting on my couch wondering what might’ve been.

    Nothing is ever given to us. We have to go out and earn it. If we allow our existential angst to get the better of us, we wouldn’t get very far, and we’d still be using horse driven carts (it’s the first thing that popped into my head, so cut me some slack).

    I’ve made so many mistakes over the years that I’ve lost track. So freaking what. I’ve also made lots of good choices – like pursuing my education and following my dreams.

    I could’ve allowed all the what ifs to stop me, but where would that have taken me? I don’t believe in ‘can’t’. And I don’t like being told that I can’t. I kinda like making up my own mind, thank you very much…

    I just noticed that it’s getting late, and I really ought to be in bed. So I’m gonna stop soon. I don’t want to take up any more of your time with my late night ramblings. I’m sure you have better things to do.

    Whatever you choose to do – and whatever your dream may be, own it and follow it through. After all, what’s the worse that can happen? But don’t spend too much time on the what ifs. It’ll drive you bonkers.

    Do you want to be damned for trying, or for choosing fear? The choice is yours. And don’t make someone responsible for your choices and failures – most of us don’t have a problem taking credit for success.

    If you make someone for your failures, you may end up making them responsible for your dreams. Do you really want to give someone that much responsibility?

    Remember that tomorrow is a new day.  Don’t waste it on fear. Embrace the infinite possibilities – for the universe is infinite, and so are you.

    ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

    Until next time, be kind to yourself. You’re worth it.

  • Mammograms and Call Backs

    by

    Well, it’s getting late in my little corner of the world, and the snow is falling ever so gently. It’s really quite beautiful under the moonlight sky – until tomorrow when I’ll need to clear it off my car that is.

    It’s been a super busy week for me. Work has a way of doing that, as you undoubtedly know.

    Aside from work, I had a diagnostic mammogram on Wednesday….

    It all started last Friday when my daughter messaged me at work to let me know the doctor himself  (you gotta love small towns) had called, urging me to come in with regards to my first mammogram. Apparently his secretary had left a number of messages, and when I didn’t respond, he took it upon himself to call. I have a great doctor, and I suck at checking my answering machine.

    So, I made my way to his office around 4 p.m., and after what seemed like an eternity, he told me that my mammogram had come back abnormal. In other words, they saw something that needed further investigation.

    It was Friday – I was tired and hungry, which means that I didn’t ask any questions. I was also a wee bit too surprised. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always considered my mammogram appointments little more than a nuisance. It never occurred to me that something would show up – I know…I know.

    Right about now seems as good a time as any to mention that this post isn’t about eliciting your premature sympathy or concern, but my take away from the experience. I’ve never believed in worrying without due cause. And right now, there’s no reason to worry whatsoever. I’m so not there yet, and most likely will never get there.

    However, (and I’m thinking this is normal) I was confronted by my own mortality for the very first time, and the truly fragile nature of humanity.

    We’re all just guests on this beautiful planet. Our time here is short. Ultimately, it’s up to us to make of our time what we will. And we can either count the days, or make each day count. I think I might’ve just quoted myself.

    But whatever – the message is true. As the saying goes, why put off for tomorrow, what we can do today? Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

    Again, it’s up to us to make the most of today. It’s up to us to look within our hearts, and follow our dreams. We can’t expect someone to do it for us. That responsibility and freedom can only be ours. Everyone else ought to be too busy following their own dreams.

    That said, I think most of us are guilty of the someday syndrome at some time or another. We get so caught up in the every day, we lose sight of our hopes and dreams. Eventually we forget that we had any, and become complacent – going through the daily motions.

    I suffered the someday syndrome for years. Once I realized my dream of becoming a teacher, I kinda just stood back and went with the flow. I completely forgot that I had once loved to write. I let life get in the way. Sound familiar?

    Then a few years ago, I wasn’t getting a whole lot of calls for work, so I had more time on my hands than usual. I caught the idea of trying something new. You know what they say about idle hands…

    After some digging, I remembered my love of writing as a teenager. So me being me, I started writing with YouTube as my first sharing platform.

    Each video was a slideshow complete with images, music and my writings. They were bloody awful and represented a lot of work. I don’t regret a second of it though – like all failures, it was a valuable learning experience.

    When I decided to try a different platform, I came across WordPress, and never looked back. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in starting a blog. You will soon find yourself surrounded by amazing and supportive fellow bloggers.

    Well – to make a long story short, a dream began to take shape. I wanted to publish. And as you know, I’m finally following that dream. My book is coming along by the way. Slowly but surely – surely being the operative word. I usually set small goals for myself. Dreams need goals to become reality – with small goals being more easily attained, and less intimidating.

    There will always be a thousand demands on our time, and a thousand distractions from our goals. It’s up to us to make time for what’s important. Do we really need to scrub the floor today? Do we really need to spend that much time on social media? Do we really need to spend three hours watching Netflix? It goes on and on.

    We must answer those questions for ourselves. What’s more important? I try to find a healthy balance based on my own priorities. Once I’ve achieved a goal, I’m happy to spend time on other things like reading my favorite blogs.

    Of course, there will days when all we can do is keep up. And those menial tasks have to get done sooner or later. Life will also throw us curve balls. The key is not giving up. The key is getting back on track when you can.

    We need to keep moving toward our dreams – even if we can only take baby steps sometimes. Each step brings us further from where we started, and that much closer to the finish line. Our dreams require a long term commitment, so it’s O.K. to pace yourself, as long as you’re still moving forward.

    There may be steps backwards and challenges along the way. It’s all part of the journey. Each step backward, and each challenge is an opportunity to grow. Embrace it. Give yourself a pat on the back once in awhile. You deserve it.

    ∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

    ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2107

     

    Until next time, be kind to yourself.

  • Murder on Birch Street

    by

    Max was lying in his usual spot for this time of evening. He prided himself on being a creature of good habits, and the fire was so inviting during the cold winter months in Fortune Bay.

    As Max looked back on his day, he wondered whether to show Maddie. What would she think? She’d always given him her unconditional love – even when he didn’t really deserve it, but this was different. And he knew it.

    Max was only a pup when Maddie brought him home. He could still remember the children’s joyful hoots as she placed him on the kitchen floor. Of course the children were young then too. Teenagers now with little time left for play – which suited Max just fine.

    He was quite content to go about his daily business, unhindered by the antics of youth. Although he did miss their energy on those days when the cold kept him inside.

    If he’d been gone today, he wouldn’t have seen Mr. Patterson in the bathroom washing all that blood from his shirt. Whose blood was it?

    And while Max was delighted to see Mr. Patterson again, he would’ve preferred a different circumstance.

    Mr. Patterson had always shown himself to be a kind man, lavishing his wife and children with gifts from his many business trips. He mostly left Max alone, for he was usually too busy with other concerns to fuss with the family pet. He left that to Maddie.

    Ah – Maddie. What would she think of her husband’s nefarious activities? Perhaps she already knew. Oh – but not Maddie!

    Maddie, who always welcomed him with open arms. Maddie, who spoiled him since that very first day. Maddie, who made sure he was never left out in the rain or snow.

    She could never be part of something like this – her nature would never allow such a thing. Of course, he wouldn’t have thought Mr.Patterson capable of hurting anyone either.

    Until now, life had been simple. Most days uneventful, but comfortable. Max had no reason to complain – unlike his dear friend whose health was fading. Is that what he could look forward to in a few years?

    His troubled thoughts were interrupted by Emma, who’d come to join him in front of the fire.

    Max had always been rather fond of Maddie’s youngest child, whose laughter rang throughout the house. Although lately he noticed that Emma no longer laughed, or smiled for that matter. Her face dark with sorrow these days. And despite his best efforts, Max couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t believe in snooping, so he had no choice but to drop the subject.

    This evening, Emma appeared in no mood to speak – preferring to sit quietly, as he tried to forget this afternoon. It was of no use though. Was Mr.Patterson really capable of hurting someone – or worse? There’d been so much blood on his shirt. Max scanned the years for a clue, but could find none.

    He couldn’t even remember Mr. Patterson raising his voice – let alone anything to explain all that blood. Max did remember Mr. Patterson playing with his children in the garden, and taking him for the occasional walk when time permitted.

    “How are you, Max?” Emma finally asked, wrapping her arms around his thick brown coat.

    Max could see how sad she was, so he wagged his tail to show that he was doing just fine.

    “How long have you been lying here?” Emma’s voice echoed the sadness in her eyes. Max couldn’t understand the words. Although he had long since learned to understand his family’s tone of voice – all but the most recent.

    “Would you like some supper, old boy?” Max didn’t really feel like eating, but he knew it would make Emma happy, so he wagged his tail in a yes formation.

    As they neared the kitchen, Max could hear Maddie and the other children cleaning up after today’s guests. Max had never seen so many people in the house before, or so much black. He hadn’t recognized most of them.

    So Max decided that he preferred some place more quiet. If he’d known that Mr. Patterson would be there in such a bloody state, he would’ve stayed downstairs…

    It was Maddie’s turn to hug him now. Max noticed that her eyes were even sadder than Emma’s. And she was using that new tone again. Max couldn’t translate yet, but he knew the sound of pain. The affair with Mr. Patterson would have to wait.

    “Lying in front of the fireplace again?” Maddie turned toward Emma, her arms wound tightly around Max.

    “Our dear sweet Max, he’s been waiting for days…” Maddie looked around the kitchen, spotting Mr. Patterson’s slippers next to the door.

    She couldn’t bear to move them. Mr. Patterson only wore them in the evenings when his feet were exhausted from the day. He’d always worked so hard to provide for his family.

    Mr. Patterson possessed little more than determination when she met him. He used it to build his business from scratch – neither of them thinking twice about their sacrifice.

    Maddie hadn’t really given the business much thought. There were so many other details in need of her attention. And while the children were old enough to understand, they needed her to be strong.

    Maddie was still in shock. But she would need to shake it for their sake. If only Mr.Patterson hadn’t gone out that night, he’d be with them this evening.

    The police were no further ahead in their investigation. A senseless act of violence, they called it – stabbed twice in the chest. There’d been so much blood. The newspapers called it “Murder on Birch Street”.

    Maddie realized that she was still holding onto Max – who now spent his days next to Mr. Patterson’s favorite chair. How Maddie wished she could make him understand that Mr. Patterson wouldn’t be coming home this time.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

     

     

     

  • The Rising Cost of Pepper

    by

    Well, I was at Wal-Mart last Saturday to pick up a few things that we needed like coffee, milk, cereal, cheese, etc… Oh right! And let’s not forget pepper – the most underrated of all the spices, I suspect.

    At my house we use pepper on a daily basis, but I never really give it much thought. A sprinkle here and a sprinkle there – who’s keeping track?

    Unlike those cooking spices where I have a pretty good idea of how much I’m using. The right spice can make all the difference – provided I exercise a dash of self-control.

    So…, I made my way to where I needed to be, and as I was reaching for that teensy-weensy bottle, I noticed the price – $7.98 (or there abouts). Ouch! I hadn’t bought pepper in a while, but I don’t remember it costing that much. Did I miss the train again? Somebody wanna tell me when pepper got to be so expensive?

    This got me to thinking about the 2 liters of milk in my cart, and the fact that it was twice as expensive as the 2 liters of soda pop, not in my cart. Somehow, it didn’t strike me as quite fair that I should have to pay so much more for something that’s actually good for me.

    Which in turn got me to thinking that for a family on a low income, pop might represent a cost efficient alternative to milk – with milk being reserved for the younger ones and for things like cereal. I’m willing to bet (well almost, because I don’t believe in placing my hard earned money in the willy nilly hands of luck) that mothers on a fixed income rarely drink the amount of milk their bodies need.

    I’m no expert, but milk still does the body good – these things are always changing as you know. And – in addition to calcium, she probably isn’t getting enough other important nutrients as well. The same could be said for other members of a low income family.

    But the bottom line doesn’t care about things like that, I suspect.

    Then I flashed back to my twenties – the extra lean years. I was in university, so money was scarce to say the least. I also had two young daughters at home, who trusted me to care for them. And with money only able to stretch so far – cause it has its limits like the rest of us, I had to prioritize expenses.

    This meant that any juice or milk in the fridge went to the two of them. I didn’t really pay much heed to the fact- even then, I loved my coffee. Although to save money, I used coffee whitener instead of milk.

    And given the long lineups at the university’s food bank, many other students were struggling to make ends meet as well. Often times, our common struggle became a bonding point.

    At which point I paused for a second, only to notice the cheese underneath the cereal – which right then and there, reminded me of my beautiful grandmother. Nanny would sometimes come stay with me during those lean years of my youth. And let me tell ya, I’d look forward to my grandmother’s visit for days in advance.

    I dearly loved my grandmother. My daughters considered her nothing less than royalty. Nanny always took the time to listen to their stories – saved just for her attentive ears. My youngest daughter -who was about four then – would sit in total fascination, watching my grandmother eat her lunch. Nanny would take the opportunity to charm my daughter some more.

    Nanny was diabetic, so I planned our meals ahead of her visit. The two things I always made sure to have on hand were Purity crackers and hard cheese.

    Remember that these were my lean years, so cheese wasn’t bought on some silly whim. When I did buy cheese, it went into the homemade mac and cheese that my daughters loved.

    However, Nanny’s visits meant that cheese had become a snack on the aforementioned Purity crackers. I was determined that my grandmother would never know to what degree I was struggling.

    Well, my grandmother passed away some years back, and I still miss her. But I’ll always be grateful for our time together. And I haven’t made mac and cheese in what seems like two lifetimes ago. My daughters eventually outgrew their favorite dish.

    The cheese in my cart was for my night time snacking habit. As it turns out, I love cheese and crackers just as much as my grandmother did.

    But old habits die hard. So whenever there’s a sale on, I now buy in bulk to fight the ever rising cost of living – especially if you like meats, fruits, vegetables, etc. And let’s not forget pepper.

    ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

    I was eating supper with my daughter one evening, and mentioned to her about how expensive pepper is. So I decided to share my ramblings with you as well. And as always, please feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments section. I love hearing from you. 🙂

    Until next time, be kind to yourself.

     

     

     

     

  • I’m Gonna Be a Writer When I Grow Up – Oh No!

    by

    It’s after midnight here in my corner of our little planet. And I decided that instead of sharing a poem this week, I’d share my late night thoughts with you in its stead.

    It can wait til some other time to be posted – which probably makes it the most patient poem I’ve written so far.

    Maybe they’re growing older. I have no freaking idea. Only time will tell. Maybe I’m growing older – that I can attest to. And as you grow older, you realize that time always knows best – and mothers of course.

    In the meantime, it’s been another busy week for me – just the way I like it. It’s one of the reasons that I started writing in the first place.

    I’ve gone back to being a substitute teacher this year by the way. And I love my work. Being a substitute teacher offers many perks – one of which is affording me the luxury of writing in my spare time. A luxury that I will never take for granted – not ever. As I type, I can hear my inner child repeating the words after me. Did I really sound that cute?

    Although it’s only been a couple of years since I started writing, I can no longer imagine myself not writing.

    And as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve finally decided to publish my first book of poems. The idea is still a little scary, but I don’t focus on the fear. Absolutely not! I focus on my love of writing instead. It’s been working for me so far. So fingers crossed!

    I’ve decided to use Pressbooks to help me with my newborn dream. Thanks to the past two years using WordPress, I’m already familiar with its platform, which makes the process so much easier. I can only hope the finished product will turn out as I envision inside my cluttered brain.

    I’ve just about completed the first section of my book – well the rough draft anyways. But it’s a great start. I also have a tentative cover created using Canva.

    The most important thing that I’ve learned so far is the amount of editing required after a rough draft has been written.

    I’ve been going through my poems, and choosing which ones to include in my collection. To date, every poem has needed some form of editing. One poem in particular required so much editing that it’s now half the original length. But at least now, it’s worth reading – or so I think.

    I’ve come across a few of my poems that need so much work, they’ve been put aside for now.  Whether they can be salvaged remains to be seen. Again time will tell.

    The whole process is certainly a humbling one. I can’t believe that I actually posted some of them in such a raw state. Perhaps that’s why this week’s poem decided to take a step back and smell the proverbial roses. There’s no actual roses or any other flowers left here to smell for that matter – not counting the local flower shop.

    We kinda bypassed fall and went straight to winter. It was snowing here again today. And yes, I did say again. Although I will admit there’s something beautiful about watching the snow fall ever so gently while the leaves are still covered in their reds and golds.

    Now back to what I was saying – I tend to go off track more often than not. My grandfather was fondly known as a teller of tall tales – who would sometimes go off on a tangent. I know because I enjoyed listening to more than one of his tales as a child. Maybe I take after him. Somehow, I think he’d like that.

    And before I go off on another tangent, I just wanted to add that I’ll probably publish through Kindle Direct first, then take it from there. So I’d love to know your preferred format when reading a book. Do you prefer Kindle, epub, or paperback? And from where are you most likely to purchase a book?

    Until next time, take care of yourself!

    • Love’s Promise

      by

       

      Two souls now joined in time,

      with love’s candle guiding them here.

      Their union sealed by faith,

      and kissed by Venus –

      Whispering a simple promise

      to hold them forever in her arms.

      For love knows no ego or self,

      but seeks only to lift the other –

      Painting its colours across the sky

      in silver and white

      for all to celebrate

      love’s newest journey –

      An affirmation of love’s promise

      to stand firm in the calm, and in the storm.

      These two souls now complete,

      their hearts entrusted with care –

      Joined forever on this day

      to write love’s next chapter.

      Each word filled with certainty,

      for love’s candle will always burn brightest.

      ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

       

      “Love embraces with tender arms. You are the purpose and the intent.”

       

      A poem written for my beautiful sister and her husband who were wed on July 22nd, 2017. This post is a celebration of their love.

      My sister is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside, and is always so supportive of everyone around her. I probably don’t tell her enough, but I’m honored to call her my sister. Love you, sis!

      I’d also like to take this opportunity to wish my sister and new brother-in-law a life filled with joy and prosperity. For in love, we discover all the riches that this world has to offer. The infinite beauty of this world is found in the love within our hearts, and connects us all to one another.

      Love is a universal celebration of life. So please join me as I toast this beautiful union between my sister and brother-in-law. May they enjoy many years of celebration.

      Here’s to a beautiful couple! Congratulations, and cheers to you both!

       

    • Out to Lunch

      by

      Ladies in white hats

      and men laughing in wool suits.

      The captain ready to set sail.

      It’s a party on the twelve o’clock seas.

      An event not to be missed –

      If you have the soul to spare that is.

      The townsfolk paying their weekly dues.

      Empty promises don’t fill the coffers you see.

      And parties at sea don’t come cheap.

      Someone’s gotta pay the rising cost.

      Townsfolk raising their hands in despair.

      If only they could sail the high seas!

      Meals at home getting sparse 

      for a man sinking below the line,

      hands bleeding in a bid to survive.

      The gulls getting hungry now too.

      They’ll make a meal outta him yet.

      Ladies in white hats

      and men laughing in wool suits 

      placing their bids before long.

      A game not for the weak of heart.

      Another fool trying to stay afloat.

      The chosen few baring their teeth.

      For greed demands its pound of flesh.

      ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

    • Through the Years

      by

      When I grow up,

      I’m gonna be a princess.

      I’m gonna buy a castle 

      and live happily ever after…

      Well, maybe not.

      But when I grow up,

      I’m gonna have lots of money.

      I’m gonna buy a mansion

      and live happily ever after.

      When I grow up,

      I’m gonna solve the world.

      I’m gonna travel its four corners

      and leave a greater mark than they…

      Well, maybe not.

      But when I grow up,

      I’m gonna make a difference.

      I’m gonna do things right

      and travel the world on a shoestring.

      When I grow up,

      I’m gonna buy me a house.

      I’m gonna invest in my future

      and travel to Paris someday…

      Well, maybe not.

      But when I grow up,

      I’m gonna invest in their future.

      I’m gonna raise them to care

      and not make the same mistakes as me.

      When I grow up,

      I’m gonna be ready for tomorrow.

      I’m gonna take another breath

      and accept my mistakes…

      Well, mostly.

      When I grow up,

      I’m gonna count my blessings.

      I’m gonna welcome today –

      for it’s all we ever have.

      ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017

    • On Being a Teacher-Part 1

      by

      Students Ask the Darnedest Things 

      As a high school teacher, my students will sometimes ask me about what it takes to be a teacher. I always say that you need to like teenagers.

      Obvious, I know. But if you’re gonna spend your week interacting with teenagers inside your classroom and within the school, it really helps to like them. And your students will know. Trust me.

      Students are very perceptive. Never underestimate their abilities.

      Practice What You Preach

      It’s a given that teachers want respect from their students. And just like any other relationship, it should be mutual. In treating our students with respect, they learn what respect is. It also gives them a model to follow. Bonus.

      We can’t assume that when we ask students to treat us with respect, they will automatically know what that means or looks like. This is especially true for younger students, but it never hurts to remind all students, regardless of their age. And the best way to remind them is through our example.

      [easy-tweet tweet=”Students learn by observation. So be a role model for your students.” user=”CyberneticBlond” hashtags=”#teaching #students” url=”https://caffeinatedramblings.org/” template=”light”]

       

      Never Say Never

      Before I started teaching, I would have never considered myself a leader. However, after a couple years in the classroom, I came to realize the ability to lead was kind of a job requirement.

      Our students aren’t mini-adults. They still have years to go before reaching that milestone. My classroom hosts teenagers from thirteen to seventeen, and I’m the only adult in the room.

      I set the tone and direction for my classroom.

      The direction I want to lead my students will depend on the group and my learning goal for the lesson. Students will need guidance to reach that goal. Otherwise, some will make it across the finish line, but many won’t. And no wonder, it would be a lot like navigating an unknown road in the dark.

      Students will have a much better chance of getting where they need to go with a clear set of directions and a helping hand to guide them.

      Therefore, it’s up to me to guide my students across the finish line. A role I’m honored to fill.

      Inspiration Is a Beautiful Thing

      In going after the goal together, it becomes “our” goal. Ideally, students will be sufficiently inspired by my amazing set of directions and enthusiasm to adopt the goal as their own as well. The goal then becomes their goal. At which point, students are on their way to becoming independent learners. Hip hip hooray!

      And I always encourage students to help each other achieve a particular goal.

      Learning is a process, and we will all encounter difficulties at some point. Fortunately, in a classroom filled with other students, no one need struggle alone. It takes time and effort to turn difficult into easy. In working together, students can also gain from each other’s strengths.

      [easy-tweet tweet=”No one is good at everything, but everyone is good at something.” user=”CyberneticBlond” hashtags=”#teaching #students” url=”https://caffeinatedramblings.org/” template=”light”]

      What’s Good for the Student, is Good for the Teacher.

      I’ve been teaching for some years now, and every day is a new learning experience. Over the years, I’ve learned as much from my students as they’ve learned from me. Students never cease to surprise me. They’re capable of so much more than they often realize. 

      To be a teacher then, is to be a life-long learner. The very thing we want to instill in our students.

      Teachers being students as well. And just as we want our students to learn, we must also want to learn. Embrace the experience, for each experience is an opportunity for growth.

      ©Brenda Baker ~ Caffeinated Ramblings 2017