Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Full Moon Silhouettes

with permission of the videomaker,  Mark Gee.  This is a stunner. 

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The Blizzard

last  night we were warned by the weatherelves that a major storm was coming our way.  A foot of snow, wind, and in the morning below zero temps. At bedtime it had already begun.  I had visions of mounds of snow being whipped about, turning into other mounds of snow, all over the fields. 
This morning I went out and took a picture.   Somewhere there are weather men, highly paid meteorologists, with very pink cheeks, wondering just  what happened to the blizzard...

Friday, January 18, 2013

this has got to stop

For the past several years many of my most memorable dreams have been in what I think of as  text format.  Usually a newsprint article,  in which I read the article as if it were in front of me and then I segue into a narrator in which  I am also physically present in the dream interviewing or living the article as well.  Yes yes it's weird  but so are dreams of flying.   And this past month or so Ive been 'reading' long long texts nearly every night. Most memorably a week ago, when I had three of them to wade through, in three separate dreams.   Last night I was involved in a newspaper 'bio' of Connie Francis which described in great detail the poisoning death of her husband Brian Finnerty and then  a subsequent "operation" to have her voice box repaired.  Since she had no husband, and none of them were named Brian Finnerty, I have to wonder what and why I'm reading.  

As in all dreams there is often a reason for the dream, or some small section.  Sometimes it's a warning (often those are valid) about something in the body, sometimes they are Disaster Dreams (hi, Ron.) in which the car I'm involved with turns into a disaster movie straight out of Laurel and Hardy, and now and then an extremely silly dream the purpose of which is to inflict terrible puns on the dreamer.

Or maybe I had too many butterscotch bits before bedtime.  Who knows.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

from the archives (3)


(by J. Sprat)

Last week we fixed the door.
Today you broke the floor.
Every time you take a bath
I fear for every lath
and every beam and timber.
I am no longer young or limber
and it’s really getting harder
to avoid your mammoth ardor--

I think we need to talk.
You can no longer safely walk
without causing mass destruction
to the sturdiest construction
from the kitchen to the basement.
This will be the fifth replacement
of the stairs. When you cannot make it
through a door without a jimmy
Then I can no longer take it.
I’ve seen you in your shimmy.
I’d love you more, turtledove,
if there were just a little less of you to love.

Published a million years ago by C.E. Chaffin in Melic Review

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

White Flower Farm

The spring catalog arrived today.  The gardener's wish book that rivals any sears christmas catalog ever published...
I will look at it, and drool, and then look at the prices and gasp.
I will fill out a pretend  order form adding everything that takes my eye.  I might even go so far to put it in the envelope.
Then at last remember that WFF, based in Connecticut,  is zone 5.  They insist we are too.  That means plants ordered for spring usually arrive in a late April ice storm,  or during a period when the ground is frozen so solidly a jack hammer couldnt penetrate it.  Fall plantings arrive long after the ground is, you guessed it, frozen.  Usually under the  snow. 
I write, I call, I email them, reninding them that we are indeed zone 4.  oh, they say we'll change that right away.  Annnnd the plants arrive firmly on the 14th of November.  Just after the fifteenth  hard frost.  And the label says,  "Zone 5".  sigh.