Blog

reflection

Stroke of Luck

Arlene
Photo by Paweu0142 Fijau0142kowski on Pexels.com

Stroke of Luck © Arlene S Bice

There were many times in my life when I was thankful for the stroke of luck that I made on a particular choice, turn in the road, or chose a horse to put my hard earned $2 on to win. As I got older and wiser and became aware of angels that looked after me and guides that made me aware of choices, and ancestors who whispered in my ear, I realized those times were not luck at all. They were synchronicity moments. Following my intuition had new meaning. The books that educated me were treasures.

Seeing a double, double rainbow filling the entire blue sky in International Falls on the Minnesota side of the Canadian border, was a vision to remember not for the pot of gold at the end of it but for the moment of what it was, a thing of breathtaking beauty. Seeing it was pure luck.

Early one afternoon on our return trip home, Angelo and I stopped at a K-Mart with only three cars in the large macadam parking lot. I was annoyed at him over some little thing that I don’t remember. We parted inside to look on our own. I didn’t buy anything, didn’t really look, and headed back to wait in the car when I looked up at the sky, stunned! I turned to go inside to find Angelo. He must see this, I thought. I didn’t see him anywhere. “Never can find I him when I want him,” I grumbled as I went outside to fill my eyes again where the entire sky was filled with a double, double rainbow!  I had never seen such a sight and knew I would not see it again in my lifetime.

There he was! He had been inside looking for me to see this glorious sight, gave up and came out again. We marveled together, marking the moment in time to always be treasured. Surely this entire incident was a stroke of luck. The annoying slight was instantly forgotten along with the camera tucked into the luggage somewhere. Good luck only goes so far.

Poetry

From a fun writing prompt: what do i see outside my window?

Arlene

Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay

Me & Dr. Seuss© arlene s bice

After dozing over a book at 3 o’clock

I came awake with a sudden shock  

drums were pounding loud and clear

pulsing the air, it made me fear

what was going on this lovely day

I leapt to the window to see what may

be causing such a fracas, be causing disarray

my eyes flew wide, my mouth fell away

it was a king being carried high above

the crowd was calm, no push or shove

neatly they walked, the queen was aside

on her own seat of pomp and pride

but this I cannot believe at all

not thrones, but toilets is what I saw

yes, yes, the crowd carried them too

seats of their own, all white, not blue

ahah! I declared to myself, I know that load

of toilets from Goodes Ferry Road

that disappeared some time ago, remember

toilets that hung on the trees even in December

it seemed like a zillion sat on the ground

lay upright and sideways all year ‘round

so this group of royals won the fame

it will be added to that reigning name

they absconded with the funds

and showed everyone their buns!

PS: there really was a large collection of toilets in a small wood on Goodes Ferry Road

Poetry, reflection, writing

From Simply Put…a collection of poetry

Arlene

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

arlene s bice ©

I find myself calling on a word that

is lovely to say as it rolls around my tongue

tingles in my ear and bursts into the universe

on paper it turns the page into a bit of happiness

that I share with others that they may enjoy it, too

but I wonder

do other ears tire of hearing

the same old, same old words expected from me

when I open my mouth to speak, to astonish another

with a new idea, using the same old, same old words

excited as I am that I cannot call upon a word unused

often by me

so many words that I love to say;

delighted, sensuous, passionate, positive, synchronicity

words of a musical bent that sing in my head in the kitchen

fettucine, proscuitto, zuppa inglese, freschi, funghi, castagne

words that sound more promising on the Italian menu than

at the cafe

foreign words slipped into our language

may need practice; yet once you learn, say them

they become fun to form in your mouth even for one

who prefers to write than to talk, to listen to the rhythm

in the voice of someone else, to hear if they are using their

same old, same old words.

books, Poetry

Just Add Books

Arlene

Photo by M. Tpabnha at Unsplash

My Favorite Chair- arlene s bice(C)

Some may think a favorite chair

is one to sit in with comfort, where

perhaps you read a favorite book

nestled in a sunny, window nook

a chair in chintz, cheerily over-stuffed

with several pillows all plump and puffed

a chair passed down from great-grandmother

or maybe a relative of some kind or other

a chair all squeaky with groans as you sit at rest

wiggle your tush, to make a satisfying nest

ah, such a picture this all makes just for you

always ready to pick up a book, to start anew

but oh, no! that’s not what comes to mind for me

what I like, is a chair that suits me perfectly to a tee

it’s a chair piled high with wonderful books galore

waiting patiently for their turn to be read before

a new package of books appears at my open door.

Memoir, Poetry

Songs that linger in your mind. . .

Arlene
photo by Ri Butov from Pixabay

Jerry Vale Songs- arlene s bice

There are so many songs

each one brings back a memory

a treasure that still shines

reawakens

warm scenes of tenderness

love, dancing

two bodies as one

a song sung softly in my ear

in a sensuous Italian

being held close

desired and full of desire

days of long ago

still kept, to relive

store away

relive again

and again.

book review, horse racing, Ireland, European travel, Australia, Cairns horse racing,, travel

New review (glowing)on Running with the Horses

Arlene

I’m thrilled to share this glowing review with you:

The wide-ranging destinations — and atmospheres — of this latest literary journey of Arlene Bice’s were already inviting to me as I embarked on this book. I knew from previous experience that her memoir journeys always include what attracts and fascinates me: history, culture, human nature, discovery, synchronicity and, most especially, the mysterious and mystical.

The varied experience that has shaped her life, which she has approached with an open heart, gives her the gift of observing and listening with a kind and respectful wonder. This delighted curiosity helps immerse me in scenes and imparts a wonderful sense of place that feels both real and timeless.

I savored the vicarious travel here on several continents — destinations like Ireland and Australia, the Canadian wilderness, along with the down-to-earth perspective from bus rides with the locals to the ruins of Tulum, Mexico, or the landscapes of Tahiti.

book review, Bordentown, horse racing, humor, Ireland, European travel, Australia, Cairns horse racing,, Memoir, New book release, psychic phenomena, reflection

Review on Amazon for Running with the Horses

Arlene

Review from Love to Learn: What a funny and poignant read. I thoroughly enjoyed stepping into Bice’s shoes and experiencing her highs and lows with her husband. It brought back great memories of going to the track with my husband in my youth. Going down memory lane with her was a real treat.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to Love to Learn. I’m so happy you enjoyed the memories from one part of my life!

Memoir

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, otherwise known as Anna May Daniels Bice Riggi

Arlene

By Arlene S. Bice

Shortly before Mom passed away in October 1986 she asked me to give her a good hug. “Was I a good mother?” she mumbled, her face pressed against my shoulder. I answered her truthfully. It was what I said over many years. “If I could consider myself half the mother you were, I would be satisfied. I never considered myself half as good as she was as a Mom. I too, made hard choices.

She was a fabulous mother, devoted to us three kids. With my father in the hospital for the last 7 years of his short life (he passed away at age 44 when I was 12) Mom didn’t have to split her time between husband and children. We were her strong, main focus. She sacrificed everything for us. Mom had chances to marry but refused to marry before we were all out on our own. No man would be in the house until then.

She never liked school and quit in 6th grade. Fortunately, her father left her some properties that her smart girlfriend Edie managed to tie up legally so the State or the hospital could not take them from her. She sold them one at a time to use for income. To supplement that income she made jewelry at home at night with my brother Albert to help her. He was 6 years my senior, working in a bank as a day job. When jewelry making closed down, she followed with working in a laundry ironing men’s shirts. Summer temperatures rose about 100% in the laundry.  She walked the 1 ½ blocks away and was home when my brother Bob and I returned from school. Later she replaced that job by working as a waitress on weekend nights.

We always had 2 home cooked meals plus the lunch she packed for school. Never did we eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch. In summer, she made 3 meals a day, every day. On Saturdays she took a break and made something simple for dinner, like hot dogs and sauerkraut or chili con carne. In the winter we ate cakes and pies for dessert made from scratch and home-made bread she made to save money.

Life got easier for us in my teen years when Joe entered our lives. He wasn’t allowed to live in the house until they married after I did when I was seventeen.

My wedding was gorgeous. My marriage, not so gorgeous. For years I resented that she pushed me into a marriage I didn’t really want. How foolish I was. I didn’t understand her thinking at the time. All she wanted was for me to be safe and secure in a good marriage. It wasn’t her fault that her choice was not a good one for me.

I always took care of Mom after she was widowed a second time but there a space between us that could have been better if I had the wisdom then, that I gained over the years by coming to know her through her eyes after she passed away. Writing about her brought me closer to knowing the wonderful woman/mother she was all along.