My Wife Caught Me Doing It!

For quite a while I have turned down our bed in the evening. It is one a few ways I do such small things in attempt to silently honor my wife and to let her know how much I appreciate, and love, her.

Some months ago I heard her ask, rhetorically, “Do you fluff my pillow every night too?” The manner in which she posed the question was more observationally, if not a bit defensively. It seemed to me at the time that perhaps she was in some way challenging herself for not doing such things for me. Truth be told, she spoils me in ways too many to hold forth here. No man, ever, has been better loved than me. And I know it. To the depth of my core being, I know it.

Keeping in mind that I’ve never schemed to ensure I was not observed fluffing her pillow, it just happens that my turning down the bed most often occurs whilst I am isolated with other activities, mainly involving the bathroom. Like brushing before bed time. Well, she busted me the other night! As I was fluffing, she walked through the bedroom door, and excitedly shouted, “You do fluff my pillow! You are too good to me!” Of course I immediately professed the things I laid out in the paragraph above, how she spoils me, my love and appreciation for her.

The longer we live and love each other, the more often these scenarios play out for us. How prescient were my words to friends when I married Katherine I couldn’t have known at the time. Those words went something like this, “Marriage is the most freeing thing that ever happened to me.” As then, today I am able to simply love my wife. No longer did I need to prove anything to her, or to myself. We pledged vows and were committed.

Lord please, let me never forget from whence my Blessings, and blessing come. From the Love of my God, and the love of my wife, the Fair Katherine.


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Sensual Renaissance

Who’d have thought, it would happen for us?

We are now, what we were once,

Who’d have thought, I could still make her blush?

My wife and I, in a sensual renaissance.


When did I stop, seeing what I saw?

When did I, become such a dunce?

When did I, stop heeding her call?

My wife and I, in a sensual renaissance.


Saturday mornings, are different than when,

So busy were we, we had no response,

Now we do more, than chuckle and grin,

My wife and I in a sensual renaissance.


For my fair Katherine


Posted in Humor, Love | Tagged | 1 Comment

Somebody Shoot Me Before I Get There

Dementia will come like my dad they say,

I still have some sense but have little hair,

Signs are showing I’m on the way,

Somebody shoot me before I get there.


My brother has sense and more hair than me,

When asked he’ll say he hasn’t a care,

I’ll watch him close to see where he be,

Somebody shoot me before I get there.


Think I’m kiddin’ about what’s involved?

I deal with it daily and it gives me a scare,

Refreshed is my memory when I visit my maw,

Somebody shoot me before I get there.


No one who knows me is willing to be,

None who love me are willing to go there,

No one to put me out of my misery,

No one to shoot me before I get there.


Well shit, that’s a sad note to start the day …

– Wint

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Random Thoughts About Stuttering, and Me

Most of my life I self-identified as a stutterer. Today I see myself as a writer. Apples and oranges, you say? Perhaps. Today my drive for effective communication may be derived by limitations imposed on me by my stutter. As a child, I was simply not capable of effective oral communication. Today, hopefully, I am able to effectively communicate by writing.

To be clear, as a child, my stutter was so pronounced my blocks might last a full minute. The facial expressions on those in my audience were compelling. Mostly, those faces reflected disgust and pity. Those seemingly incapable of pity reflected confusion.

Within the context of my current stutter, my near fluency today is a byproduct of mental gymnastics in choosing words and formulating sentence structure. For most, the mental process of word choice and sentence structure formulation is a learned discipline. For me, it is second nature. No, more apt is that it has become a core characteristic of my nature. As natural as is breathing.

My mild manner is also likely a byproduct of my stutter. Treated unfairly as a child, I learned anger was not helpful. Perhaps, anger was not even justified. Compassion for the plight of my audience may well be a gift from God. Whilst stuttering, I felt as bad for them as I did for myself.

Of all the examples of unfairness in the world, few are starker than the meanness of a child. Life has yet to impose on them a filter between mental processes and vocalization of their thoughts. They do not possess sufficient perspective to allow them to anticipate the impact their behavior will have on others. Nor do they see their impact as a reflection of themselves. When it comes to meanness, they will give as good as they get. Their emotional outbursts are spontaneous. This is not a fault in their character. They are not bad, wrong or acting improperly. They are children, expectedly acting childish. The first time a child hears a stutterer, it is appropriate for them to laugh. Stuttering sounds funny! Though rarely will a child laugh at a stutter a second time.

As a child, when I was around physically impaired people I was embarrassed and was shy to be near them. Especially, I was fearful of interacting with them. My stutter may have influenced my feelings for the impaired, but I expect my emotions were actually on par with most other children. I believed then that people viewed me as I viewed the physically impaired. Today, I feel no unease in these situations. In some manner we are all impaired. Are we not?

My stutter is a blessing to me. It helped me become a writer. Writing helps me better know myself. Knowing myself helps me better understand others. Being understanding and empathetic of others helps me be a friend. My stutter has made me a better person, than I might have otherwise been.

We all have potential to burst forth in Glory provisioned by a loving God. We are all children of God, from Whom all Blessings Flow.

So sayeth Wint, the stutter!

Posted in Experience, Strength and Hope (God), Opinion, This and That | 4 Comments

The Man in Your Eye

When I look in your eyes who do I see,

The person you love looking back at me,

Confident, brash, cocky yet wise,

Blessed and favored, is the man in your eye.


The man I see is nothing without you,

Broken I’d be, there’d be nothing to do,

I’d chuck it all, might lay down and die,

If I couldn’t be the man in your eye.


The man in your eye is happy to be,

Loving you, while you’re loving me.

God blessed me with all that I need,

Me loving you, you loving me.


Gotta be close to see that it’s me,

The man in there is who I should be,

You hold me up so high I can fly,

God so loves, the man in your eye.


The man in your eye is happy to be,

Loving you, while you’re loving me.

God blessed me with all that I need,

Me loving you, you loving me.


When first we met, who was I to be?

A mirror for you, but let’s not look at me,

Didn’t know to ask who I’d become,

But slave to love, and escape there is none.


The man in your eye is happy to be,

Loving you, while you’re loving me.

God blessed me with have all that I need,

Me loving you, you loving me.


Love ya’ babe, Wint …

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You and Me, Yin and Yang

Who is yin, and who is yang,

My protest is muted, yours is bang,

Look before leap, for this I’m renown,

You figure it out on the way down.


Is someone wrong, anyone right?

Is someone day, anyone night?

I know exactly what I said,

I didn’t ask you, before going to bed.


I’ll not be mad later this night,

Love will turn wrong to right.

This will not just go away,

And will return another day.



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Unmaking of a Man

A man may not consider what makes him such. And, at least in part, is thereby made.

A man may consider what makes him such. And, at least in part, is thereby thwarted from being made man.

A man looking outward, judging what is felt inward, will be empirically disabled by lack of emotional insight into what he thinks he sees.

Men, by and large, do not consider what makes them so. Rather, innately, they behave as men.

Men are in general solitary, and congregate by happenstance. Men thrive on companionship, yet rarely look for it.

Man, like a knife’s edge, dulls in time. Unlike an edge, an aging man may not be sharpened.

When old, man is a honorary title. Man, when old, is boy-like, each being scared by experience. Man is scared due to experience, and boy is scared by lack thereof. For each, topping a tall ladder and turning loose is scary. One for what might be, and one for what has been. It is for this reason, old men should refrain from topping tall ladders, lest they be unmade.

So says Wint

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