An Important Message To All Steemians!

If you're reading this and you care about Steemit and the time you spend here then just skip the story I wrote and go directly to my edit at the end. It's important, whether you are new to Steemit or have been here from the beginning. Thank you.

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My Husband the Cowboy Poet

"What do you want to do today dear?" She asked with no real thought to hope that this year would be any different from the last twelve or so. She'd lost count and stopped expecting anything on their anniversary, yet hope lingers still deep down in her heart "I'm just going to putter around in the garage today honey. Do you know where my thing-a-ma-gig is?" he said holding up one shaking half closed fist, making circular stabbing motions in the air.

An image clearly formed of a young man sitting tall in the saddle one hand tight on the reins and the other slapping his Stetson on his thigh and then to the sky in a jaggered leaping dance, pearly whites and spurs flashing in the sun. "You mean your screwdriver Jack?" Jack stood there thinking, chewing his bottom lip, head and shoulders bobbing to some freakish beat in his head that she had learned not to try to understand. She accepts.

image source Jonibean @Pixabay.com

"Your screwdriver. Is that what you mean Jack?" Smiling he looked into her eyes with that spark of the handsome young cowboy she fell in love with. "Sure Red, it's only 7:30 in the morning but what the hell, if you're up for it then saddle up girl 'n wet my whistle. What's the occassion?" He still called her Red often enough to tell that he still knows who she is to him. Even though she now buys her red hair off a shelf at the druggists. Their love for one another had settled into a comfort for one another. Words were no longer required.

Irene swallowered her heart and looked away the instant she saw the spark fade. Knowing that he would see the pain she still hadn't learned to keep from her eyes. Her face. Even though she'd learned that he's most like his old self when he gets his dander up in a heated debate. He get's so defensive when he see's her look at him with what he still believes to be pity. She thought how unfortunate that it's his argumantative mind that somehow surfaces when he has his good moments.

Irene had a thought to encourage at least that much but quickly stifled the thought. Remembering the past few times she played the devil's advocate to his impassioned orations on how "a jackass is riding this country into a box canyon". The last two times he got so overworked that he had stuck her. Just the once, both times. Not hard really, barely a bruise each time. But twice in a lifetime is enough and the doctors all strongly suggested they both stop watching, or listening, to the news. "Try to keep him from excitations" was the warning while scribbling down the next prescription. Nothing helped.

image source Dr. Plague @Bandcamp

He's right though. But then he'd always been right about those kinds of things since they'd met. She had always thought how marvelous it was that her man had thoughts about such goings on. He was educated, a man of words and letters. These all affected how they chose to raise and school their three girls. One now a low level bureaucrat, with the same view that she can make a difference she was voted in for thirty some odd years ago.

Her people love her but the not so hidden politics keep her in her place as the token nay vote. She says she's ready to retire every year she comes for Thanksgiving with the kids. But her voters remain loyal and she still believes she can be part of a change for good. She does what little she's able.

Their second oldest married her college boyfriend and moved to London. Both dentists, now with separate practices. A marriage of mutual financial convenience. Irene thought of the term DINK. Double income no kids. How cruel, some people live their entire lives finding no love at all. They're both happy and who am I to define another's way of loving. Still, continuing her thought, it's a clever acronym.

Thoughts of their youngest daughter, Jessie, his greatest joy in life. These thoughts came naturally to her whenever she thought of her children. Quickly, with practiced force of will she suppressed the cold darkness of those familiar and dreadful thoughts. The biggest failure in her own life and motherhood. She thought to herself with sad and bitter harshness toward herself. She's gone. Nothing I can do about it now. Won't speak of it so why think on it.

image source Engin_Akyurt @Pixabay.com

Irene lifted up her head and turned her eyes to her husband. Still bow-legged, lean and straight backed as he'd always been. His untamed hair long gone but his mustache was still dark and full. Now he was sporting a paunch that threatened to hide his most prized buckle that he's never seen without. Suspenders held his pants up now because he refuses to puncture holes in the finely carved leather of the belt. A scene of a chuck wagon race at the finish line.

He had pulled it out of a box full of memories from his competitive riding days. Closed the lid and carried the box out to the curb. She had tried to bring it back in but he was in no mood for trifling. His mind was made up and it was gone come morning. He asks about it now and again while buckling up but quickly forgets about it if she acts like she didn't hear him. She's content in his knowing it's somewhere in the house. Maybe in his dreams.

image source Falkenpost @Pixabay.com

Jack was putting the kettle back on the stove. Half as much coffee spilled on the counter as he was able to manage in the cup. He reached for the blister pack and struggled to pop the foil to get at the medication that Irene has also learned to accept. This year instead of three there were six pills in the morning. It saddened her heart to know she wouldn't catch another faint glimpse of the man she loved until tomorrow's breakfast. He shoveled the pills in his mouth and washed them down with lukewarm black coffee.

As he brought the cup down from his mouth she watched his glance stop at the calendar pinned beside the back door. He took a few hobbled steps toward it and leaned his bobbing head closer to it. Reaching out he traced the circled date while mumbling something about what year it was. He stood up just a little bit taller, hitched his shoulders back and turned to face her.

His eyes were clear, a smile growing on his face. The light of his love shone so bright her heart quickened, her breath caught in her throat as all the darkness and fears in her soul felt the warmth of her man's adoration for her. A complicatedly simple girl from the city. So easily smitten by a hard drinking, fun loving, never back down ass kicking son of a cattle baron.

He put the coffee cup on the counter. Then reached down to his buckle with one hand and the back of his belt with the other. Still smiling Jack sucked in his paunch, hitched up his pants, tilted his head and slapped imaginary clay dust off of his hands. He mosied on up to and around the kitchen table on suddenly steadied legs. Holding her quizzical gaze with his, now so rarely seen, mischievous smile.

Echoes of ghostly spurs jingled in her mind as he came slowly, gently, but surely up behind her like she was a skittish filly in stall. All sound stopped. Only the rush of the flush beating through her veins. She continued to hold her breath for what seemed like an eternity. Not wanting, not knowing, not even hoping. Just needing. He bent forward over her shoulder, his lips close to her good ear.

Irene wanted to cry, or laugh. She felt she should turn around and look him in the eyes and tell her husband how it's all the same as it ever was. Instead she exhaled, closed her eyes and leaned into him. Thoughts of yesteryear's passions. Content in the knowing that none of it was misspent. A sudden calm heat radiated within her. Irene was ready for anything now. In a low gravely voice, filling her like the sound of thundering hooves in the clouds. Breaking through.

"I'm sorry. I don't write poetry for you anymore...my love."

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I'd like to thank @yusaymon for providing the inspiration for this piece through his original painting.

Also, a shout out to @gmuxx for creating The Art Prompt Writing Contest.

Thank you for taking the time to read this original piece. Any images are my own unless otherwise accredited. (last image taken with my HP photo smart 945)

Keep on Steem'n on!

logyx

EDIT: I know it may seem like a crazy thing to do with your first post to hit the trending page but this whole spam/scam thing has been a thorn in my eye since I joined Steemit two months ago. It seems that this fortunate upvote from @blocktrades has given me the opportunity to do my part. I may never get this chance again.

I decided to move the original title down and change it to one that might garner more attention from the position it's in. It would be awesome if some others would see the same logic in my thinking and do something similar if they should find themselves the unexpected beneficiary of a whale surfacing to blow off some steem. IMHO @blocktrades is doing it right and fair and still benefiting himself in the long run. There are many whales that feel the same.

Steemit is a huge place and growing faster day by day. Still there is a fair debate going on as to the direction it's heading in and what can be done about it, If anything. If a well respected person like @stellebelle is concerned and knowing others are too then it's probably a good idea each of us spent sometime doing our own research.

The purpose of hijacking my own post like this is to invite any who read this to check out the following links, study the comments and then follow your heart from there. Do your part in making this platform an inviting place. There's plenty of ways for you to get involved. These links are a good a place to start.

Here's and eye opener for you @sherlockholmes is worth keeping an eye on.

Here's another that show's how you can help when there's a call for it. @stellabelle does so much and is worth your follow.

I'll let @personz introduce you to SadKitten If you take the time to read the comments I think you'll get a better understanding of the situation.

Please resteem any or all of these links I've provided. You'll likely find other more fresh links to resteem in your research. As mentioned already...follow your heart. I'm not asking you to resteem this post. Nor am I asking for upvotes of follows. I will post a screen shot of any amount I send to @sadkitten after payout. At the very least I will send 50 percent. I feel very fortunate to be able to do something in helping make this platform better for everyone.

Keep on Steem'n on!