A Conversation at a Stoplight.
At a stoplight last Thursday, with a chill in the air,
I rolled down my window. I had something to say and couldn’t resist.
We’d been following each other for several lights,
Making eye contact that couldn’t be ignored.
The dog in the car next to me looked like she needed to talk.
Head out the window with the cutest of cuteness staring right at me.
Her human and dog sister joined us.
We laughed and wagged our tails.
She liked the cold because she was part husky.
I shared I was best friends with a part husky too.
Almost in sync with smiles on our faces and puppy love in our hearts, Her human and I:
“oh my god, the hair, soooo much hair”
As the light turned green and our moment came to a stop:
“Have a good day”
A slice of my life as thick as the dog hair embedded in my sweater right now,
And a random connection of kindness that has carried me to this.
Next time you’re in your car,
Talk to the dogs at stoplights.
21 July 2008
It’s a beautiful day in the middle of winter, here in New Zealand. I’m driving back to Palmy from meeting the Consulate - General of Sweden. I can see Kapiti Island from the highway on this clear cloudless day so I pull off the first chance I get.
I take my shoes off before I even get out of the car. I walk across the rocky car park and stand on the broken concrete stairs. I notice an older man further back on the beach, apparently collecting sand. I carefully make my way down to the rocks amidst the sea.
“It’s all yours” says the old man who is now right behind me. He is a genuine Kiwi in his wool sweater and cap. I think he’s referring to the empty beach but his tone means so much more. Next he says “I don’t need to tell you this…” at that moment I thought he was going to tell me something about the afternoon tide but then his old and gentle eyes look into mine and he continues “...make the most of it while you are still so young. The time goes by faster than you think.”
I say “thank you” and quickly turn my head to look out at the sea as the tears roll down my face. I turn back around and the old man has packed up his sand and disappeared. I sit down on the jagged rocks and watch the waves crashing right before my eyes, wishing I had brought my camera to capture this beautiful view.
But a camera would not have been able to capture this brief and oh-so-meaningful and touching experience I had with the old Kiwi man and the sea.
Today is my 30th birthday.
Goonie Juney’s Sausage Souffle
In the spirit of this holiday season, I’m sharing the recipe that is forever my Christmas morning.
Over the years, it has been modified to accommodate dietary needs and the number of servings.
But the feeling that washes over me with that fresh-out-of-the-oven smell and the impatient way-too-hot-burn-your-mouth first bite always remains the same.
May you all burn your mouths this holiday:
Goonie Juney’s Sausage Soufflé
NOTE: This recipe violates any dietary restriction known to humankind, so please substitute ingredients to make it yours.
Start with:
5 slices of cubed white bread, toasted (400 degrees for 10 - 15 minutes)
2 cups of shredded cheddar cheese
1 lb. Jimmy Dean’s hot sausage, browned
Layer in a 9x9 pan = bread + cheese + meat + cheese
Coat with egg mixture:
3 eggs
1.5 cups of 2% milk
2 tsp dried mustard - This is the secret ingredient so be hush, hush about it.
A pinch of red and black pepper
Then add a 10.5 oz can of condensed cream of mushroom soup over the top of the souffle.
You will get zero respect if you roll into a midwestern home with a souffle/casserole/hot dish that doesn’t contain cream of mushroom soup. It is a quintessential necessary.
Bake covered for 60 minutes at 300 degrees
Uncover and bake for an additional 30 minutes
This girl requires a lot of TLC but it’s worth it, so settle in.
Increase temp to 350 and bake for an additional 15 minutes.
Let rest for 5 minutes and serve.
Or just dive right into that goodness and burn your mouth.
Dope Rhymes: Humidity 🩶.
Summers in the desert can be very dry.
Its difficult to find that soul oasis no matter how hard you try.
That thing you’re craving is known as humidity.
That liquid love is shared beads of sweat within your yoga community.
🩶.
Originally written: 6.3.2024
View original here: www.lindseyellingson.com/body-of-work/dope-rhymes
mashed potatoes
Mornings
Asana
Salt
Hearts
Each
Day
Potatoes, all the ways
Owning your shit (actions not things)
Thinking positively
Apples at 10am
Taking walks with Gertie girl
Oven-baked coziness
Exhaling loudly
Sunday poems
Owl
I just about paused.
almost walked away.
Until I saw an Owl on Wednesday.
Stopped me dead in my tracks.
She was on a pole, dialing out.
Just like that crow. No answer.
But then she hung up and flew above
To the next pole. Called again.
Hoot. Bark. Wrong line.
Hoot. Hoot.
Landline connection.
She flew to the tree.
A majestic wise duet,
as the nocturnal sun rises.
Don’t almost walk away,
Do definitely fly towards.
Stop.
Listen to the Owls and
Teenage Wasteland: a haiku
Name that tune. We dare.
Not as it seems. Just like life.
Bro, Sis. Secret code.
Best understood while listening to Baba O’Riley by The Who.
Duke’s Poem
From a car
to a star.
It used to be old and blue,
Now it’s converted, like new.
It’s become a super hero,
instead of a gas-guzzling zero.
Because of its original design:
The black fins, the stickers. It. Is. Fine.
They beg to go for a ride.
Oh the joy, no one can hide.
And then you go get an ice cream cone!
This happiness cannot be outgrown.
It makes every kid within us smile,
for a mile all the way up the Nile.
You put on that fun mask,
It’s a must, no need to even ask
The wind in your hair, you’ve never felt so real,
After having ridden in the Batmobile!
Written in collaboration with my Dad, Duke Ellingson.
Samuel Tuffnuts
Sam bear dog,
For your heart he will hog.
He has one unusual bod,
For he is a tripod.
But wait, it doesn't stop there,
For his lower teeth he does bare.
They look like little candy corns,
Those yellow and orange looking horns.
And his breath will knock you out,
I dare you to get close to that snout.
Here's one that will steal your heart,
Sam gets scared from his own fart.
Your nose will know if he's let one get past,
And you'll never see him move so fast.
But he does not bark,
Not even at a lark.
He does, however, sound like a boar,
If he sees a bitch that he can score.
Sam does not discriminate,
For he likes all dogs with no certain trait.
He is definitely one for the books,
But not just for his looks.
His personality is truly unique,
But you should also see him take a leak!!
Is he just standing or is he emptying his bladder?
For a tripod, the joys are usually in the latter.
Sam does enjoy a daily walk,
Watch him fly up the hill and then you too will talk.
About this dog that is truly unique,
Even if he is a napping freak.
And when he wakes - human feces is his feast,
For Sam Bear Dog, he is a beast.
dream Easy
Succumbing to the day. Exhaling the length of a freight train.
Drifting off
like
a
feather
floating.
A car backfires inside the room.
A woman wails in the distance beside you.
Startled realization!
The cicada. Between curtain and pane.
Within you, for certain with pain.
Now suspended between consciousness and .
Narratives plummeting into your depths, brushing as they go past. Across your childhood, along your street. Memories caught off guard.
Stirred up dust from a home recently left. Swallowing your future. Restraining your worthiness. Avoiding your truth.
Sinking
you
deeper.
Into a silence so loud there is no echo.
NYC Midnight 100-Word Microfiction Challenge, 2nd Round
I had 24 hours to write 100 words with the following prompts:
Genre: Horror
Action: Plunging
Word: guard
*This story was written May 17, 2025 for the 2nd Round.
Alice & Vern
Alice and Vern. High school sweethearts, reunited in an assisted living cafeteria.
Former big city chef, microwaving her rice bag. Former hometown insurance salesman, stuffing cookies in his bathrobe. Burnt coffee wafting about, sounds of walkers on linoleum, and blinding fluorescents, setting the ambience for their first meet cute in over 60 years.
Laughter as if there is nothing to mend. As if he’s forgiven her for breaking his heart. Or not, he kisses her cheek, says good night.
Back in her room. A knock. He's standing naked in the hallway. “I don’t remember shit, I know I love you.”
NYC Midnight 100-Word Microfiction Challenge
I had 24 hours to write 100 words with the following prompts:
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Action: Microwaving
Word: mend
*This story was written March 22, 2025 and qualified for the 2nd Round.
Irrational Fear
I have a fear of dehydration,
So I moved to the desert.
I have a fear of making mistakes,
So I’m mispeling thse wrds.
I have a fear of silence,
So I sit in stillness.
I have a fear of the darkness,
So I walked into my shadows.
I have a fear of the unknown,
So I gave up control.
I have a fear of grieving,
So I do it loudly and boldly.
I have a fear of acceptance,
So I opened my heart.
I have a fear of conflict,
So I started speaking my truth.
I have a fear of exposure,
So I wrote this poem.
Dope Rhymes: I thought you need to know.
I thought you needed to know,
today I did upward bow.
Not my first time, nor
my last - I will soar.
Groggy from sleeping pills.
Numb from all the feels.
I tried, I failed.
I pushed up again & I nailed.
Began to buzz
And swept away all that fuzz
That fear, that bullshit
Go away so the joy is all I get
Its all I need
for me to succeed.
To be happy, to be loved by me.
I did it once ANd wait & see
What may happen if
I do it always. oh what a diff.
it will make.
I will open, I will give & I will take.
I will share all the love in the air
And release the burdens that we so often bear.
Urdhva Dhanurasana, hello new friend.
I’ll see you again & again until the end.
🩶
Originally written: 2.14.2024
View original here: www.lindseyellingson.com/body-of-work/dope-rhymes
monsoon senses
To come to your monsoon senses
is to smell the thunder as it pops like a blown fuse,
which awakens the lightning that is so close you can taste its charge on your tongue,
while the rain gently leaks into your heart to soften your expectations,
clearing your mind for the sight of the rejuvenating smell of the fresh water
that prepares the stillness so you can listen to the rainbow tiptoe its way across the sky.
I used to be an Economist
I used to be an economist,
But then I got pissed.
The things we learn in Econ 101,
Is not how this all needs to be done.
It’s full of making an ass out of you and me,
It’s based on theories that aren’t reality.
Sure, to simplify, to understand.
But it’s not even close - an invisible hand?
Bitch, please. That’s bullshit.
The truth is messy and doesn’t fit.
Not within your models, nor any equation,
We’re not numbers and to think so is just an evasion.
I am a heart-filled paradox.
So don’t confine me to your damn box.
I used to be an economist,
Class is dismissed.
What I wrote when I used to be an economist: https://www.lindseyellingson.com/body-of-work/academia
Maybe the Secret to Life is…
Maybe the secret to life is living like a reckless fool while telling everyone you’ve got good genes. And because you’re so reckless, you don’t even realize that your good genes have nothing to do with it. It’s your ability to be present and positive in every reckless breath. It’s inhaling your authenticity and exhaling that which no longer serves you, just like your grandma taught you.
Dope Rhymes: Origin Story
This book was given to me and it’s so fine,
Yoga teacher training, week nine.
Darren, the founder, likes to give for free.
Offered to the class & I said ‘pick me’.
I saw ‘Dope Rhymes’ on the cover
& said yes please, pass it over.
For just yesterday I thought,
It’s time to give writing another shot.
And so here you are,
This book that will take me far.
With so many blank pages to fill with hope
Of rhymes and stories so badass & dope.
Originally written: 12.27.2023
View original here: www.lindseyellingson.com/body-of-work/dope-rhymes