Too Much Of A Good Thing (6WS)

its a pretty thing,  called a Beauty Bush.  This is a two year old picture--this year it totally blocked the front door and was just five feet short of the roof edge and something needed to be done.

                                                      So, we moved it.

One giant step at a time

you can see the outline of it on the house

and the space it left  

a short trip across the lawn 

and its new home  

ChiaPet field version

waning crescent 2.3% light

Morning moon,  morning star

the thinnest of edges 

as night lights go

you'd lose your way for sure

sometimes a little light

is worse than no light at all

it can blind you to the possibilities

all around you

Trying to Make It Out Alive (6WS)

now and then around sunset

he takes his favorite flute--

the one that could summon  whales

if there were any to call--

and heads out to his favorite

flute playing chair on the porch

sometimes he calls the whales
tries not to think about what would happen
if one showed up after all

or just plays that one low note

that gets all the dogs barking

across the valley below

and sometimes he just studies the flute

thinks about the music it makes

and the magic it makes inside him
trying not to look up

when a plane drones by

far overhead;

trying to make it out alive

for one more day

he plays the sun down

and if he's timed it right

the moon rises right on cue

and when the stars come out

he knows he's made it

and maybe she'll be home

tomorrow

waning crescent 2

watch the sweep
of wind across the fields
hurrying August
ahead of it
and  clouds
that turn  the crescent moon
to smoke

queen anne's lace

We  mow around this on the side lawn,  and it's turning into it's own little field;  I  noticed this week that other people do the same thing, now.  I like seeing that.

Waning Crescent

As our side of the moon
fades  into the dark sky
I often wonder
what the people
on the other side see

Half Moon

savages once made up stories
about the sungods eating the moon
and crafting a new one
to take its place
i guess when you dont know the answer
you make up one to fit
whether its about a half moon
or a half memory that won't go away

Today we had company and lived (6WS)

They brought the dog, they brought the baby (who is now walking),  we had lunch,  we went for a walk,  we discussed deep throaty matters, and they went home.
I"m exhausted.   Either we have to do this more often, or never again.  =)

Tomorrow, it will have been fun. Right now it's just over.

Three Quarter Moon

I f you knew just where to stand
between the sun and the moon
at the right horizon
on  top of a  very tall mountain
you could make shadow puppets
against the biggest blank wall
in the universe

waning gibbous 2

one slice at a time
it slowly turns its back
and moons us

Waning Gibbous

no full moon tonight
last night was quite enough
for everyone

Go, turkeys, go

about two weeks ago,  nineteen baby turkeys, two mothers.  They join forces sometimes to protect their young,  and in the past it has been a very successful venture.  if you look carefully you can see that one brood is slightly larger than the other, perhaps by a day or two.

this was the day they learned how to Cross a Road safely

They have also invaded my garden, wiping out an entire generation of slugs and icky beetles in one pass,  19 little Hoovers,  bless 'em.

some weeks are a blank wall... (6WS)

Well, sort of...
   

Small things are sometimes the best

Finally found a temp. conversion chart that does not require a degree in math or the ability to remember 6 difficult things about fractions.  Plug in the number,  and you have the temperature in many many forms.  Possibly more than you ever wanted.

http://www.temperatureconversion.us/


>>>>it's also in the interactive list ovah theyah >>>>

and  welcome to Melissa and Mary,  ty for joining

Low whiney sounds

After spending  several days with reading glasses and tweezers trying to manipulate a memory chip that could hide under a broken cornflake,  I am convinced that miniaturization really  has a bottom line; and for me, this may be it.
"Just because we can"  is no longer an acceptable excuse when you realize dropping one of these things on a pile rug means the next entity  to find it could the the vacuum or, god forbid, the dog.

Yes, yes, these chips  can hold the entire Library of Congress and all the music ever recorded and barely make a presence on the chip,  but if the dog sees it as a yummy new edible,  it really wont matter, will it.

(deep despairing sigh)

Change is good yes it is (6WS)

Kicking and screaming I have been dragged into the century of Google Chrome.  It has not been pretty.  Some things work, some things elude me,  some things I would like to take a three pound hammer to.
As with all things Google,  it likes to direct traffic whether the traffic wants to go there or not.  I woke  up this morning to find half the icons on my desktop had been changed to Google icons.  Mine,  it gurgles,  all mine.  

By nature I dislike change.  Adopteds have that problem (considering the traumatic goings on at the beginning, all out of their control) for their entire lives,  to one extreme or the other.  Some of us dislike leaving (home,  friends,  changing schools), some dislike being left behind, no matter how innocent the intent.   So when change is forced on us by outside sources it becomes doubly difficult to handle.  Lotta whining and moaning.

A little voice keeps saying, "It shouldn't be this hard' and another little voice just sniggers.

well this has been an adventure

I'm getting a tad weary of google chrome, and golly it's only been with us for fifteen minutes...however it looks like I may live.   This has not been fun.   Working in Google has always been like walking a narrow tightrope over quicksand,  and this was no exception.

this may be my last post on this blog since i am unable to use the post box and i am getting a runaround from Google about it

however this seems to be working at the moment if I overflow the title box. 
Stay tuned this just got interesting.

I dont even care what it is

                                                                 but i want one

Sometimes It Just Sneaks Up Quietly (6WS)

This morning I realized it wasn't Friday the 5th,  but omg Saturday the 6th,  and  then I remembered why that sounded so familiar.  Ahhh. it's our 45th anniversary.  Rarely do I remember the date, since I have always been a bit vague on 'was it the 6th or the  8th" and get really funny looks from the mister when I ask. 

But eventually one of us remembers,  which is nice,  and then he says 'im sorry I forgot" and I say, "it's okay, I did too" and it really is okay.  In a way, at least for us, it isn't the event itself that looms, its the fact that we're still here to appreciate it. 

45 years.  wow. Me too. 

Lord of the Woodpile

This is my damn woodpile, you get that?  I found it,  I claimed it,  I OWN it.  Anyone got a problem with that?    GOOD.

yay its here

Hapi drum is here

boing boing boingity boingity boing bong bong twang twangtwang  bing bing binnnnggg

tingtingtingting ting taing taing twingtwing tong tong bingbing binnnggg

Too Much Rain, Too Much Rain (6WS)

Universal Gesture

she stands at the wndow
cradling her coffee cup
in both hands

something in a minor key
playing on the radio
makes her close her eyes
go quiet inside

she takes a sip of coffee
laced with music
outwaits the song
one more time

Anticipation is always half the fun (6WS)

Waiting through a long cold winter and a long cold spring and a long cold June,   weeding and mulching and mucking about with plants (this goes here and where the hell are the onions, I know I planted them somewhere),  and suddenly realize you got what you wanted,  and all that hard work really did pay off

Finally bit the bullet and ordered the damn thing--this is all your fault, mr. lavalette,  and I'm very glad it is.
To save myself numerous anxiety attacks I have mentally scheduled this to arrive a month from  now. 

                http://www.hapitones.com/virtual-hapi-ufo-drum.html

(Oh.  And sometimes in the middle of all that anticipation you forget to look up and understand that yes, this is right. This is where I wanted to be.  And isnt it lovely. )

Albert April 1994-June 2013

Came down stairs this morning and found him on the kitchen rug,  in his last sleep.   I buried him in the garden,  with a rock as a marker.   When I think of albert, I always think of these: 

This was his first encounter with catnip, many years ago

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It's Nearly Time For The Solstice (6WS)

                                                         For six months i row
                                                         toward this day
                                                         and then I sadly

                                                         row away

Way too many poppies

If I have to suffer...

http://www.eyezmaze.com/eyezblog_en/blog/2008/06/eyez_labs_seek_ver0.html#monster

wait till you hit level 5 bwahaha

Emergency Waiting Room? Bring a Book (6WS)

unless you're bleeding visibly when you go in,
or are not  in huge amounts of obvious pain,
even if the waiting room is empty, be prepared
to wait. An hour, sometimes, leaving you to wonder
what happened just before you got there
that has tied up the entire emergency room staff.
Your mind starts listening with both ears,
and you hear someone saying, 'burns all over her arms
and face" and you think, 'oh dear' and then you hear
that  rustle-thump of  feet running fast and quietly
somewhere. Suddenly your own scary problems
become less important and, cradling the beeper
in one hand, and the book in the other, settle
in to wait your turn.

Poem: Apostrophe

To Whom it May Concern

you are the nameless, the faceless,
the as-yet-to-be-announced
in wills and deeds, and in notices
that a spouse has left you
and you are no longer responsible
for their debts

you are the legal John Doe
encompassing the as yet unborn,
married, or divorced. All bases
are covered in your name.

the voice that belongs to the speaker
looking out over a crowd
at commencements, award ceremonies,
funerals, the meetings of heads of state
implying by his very tone that he is quite aware
of your presence in the audience,
gazing up breathless and awed
by his ponderous concepts.

the letter that comes addressed to 'BoxHolder',
"Current Resident" or "Present Owner"
and reads, intimately, "Dear Sir or Madam".

The greeting card couched in generalized passion
suitable for any lover, or in adoration that targets
any mother, anywhere, in a one-size-fits-all
tone guaranteed not to offend
even the most offensive recipient

New fawn and mother

The doe came out of the trees to the west and stood very still, watching. I thought, something is going on.  And sure enough about ten seconds later out came this little guy, not more than a day old. The mother let it nurse for about four seconds, then began to walk across the field while the fawn scrambled to keep up.

I tracked them as they walked across the front field, taking  pictures through the admittedly less than pristine windows.  At times she would pause just long enough to let the fawn nurse,  but the message was clear: learn

to keep up, or you'll starve.  Learn to stay close or you'll be food. 

Everything is A Miracle

On the lawn, just under that pear tree, yesterday.  The shells belong to a sparrow or some other small songbird, since the ends barely fit over my little finger tip

How Fog Separates Close and Closer (6WS)

This is the signup box for a genealogy website:  I think something is horribly wrong, here

It would probably help if they told you what they wanted in those boxes...if you contact Help it says,  join our forum to find answers to your questions.  However (yep) in order to join the forum you have to be a member,  and probably donate your first born son or daughter to them as well.  You have to laugh though...

Albert at 19

He sleeps now, on the porch, all day.  Sometimes we go out at dark and forcibly carry him inside for the night.  Now and then he forgets to eat,  so I bring him his food outside,  and yes he's hungry,  he'll stand up to eat, then goes back to sleep.

He's still the first one out in the morning and the last one in at dark.  During the nasty cold weather this past week he would spend 12 hours on the porch, by choice, huddled here out of the wind.  I brought him in once but he just turned on his heel and went back out through the cat door.  My porch. I'll stay there, thankyouverymuch.

He's profoundly deaf, if you want his attention you need to touch him.  He still gets up on the bed before dawn and puts his icy cold paws on my husband's face.  I know he's there when I hear the scream.  He gets confused, now, sometimes puzzled about whatever he's seeing.  Is this out?  Oh, well, it looks very nice, I think I'll go there.  Maybe not. Well,  maybe later. I think I'll have a nap now.

Nineteen years.  What a long trip it's been. 

There has to be a limit

at 6 am the outside temp was 32 degrees.  Happy Memorial Day.   I has my rules about this stuff,  including "i will not mow grass if I have to wear rubber boots,  a winter jacket, and/or gloves" 
I dont care how much the garden needs weeding, it's not something I want to take my woolly gloves off for.  Those are for wearing around the house. 
Boots, too.  The scarf seemed a bit extra.  Too much drama.

Its Been That Kind Of Week (6WS)

I woke last night to torrential drumming on the roof, from  the 57th downpour of the week,  and the distant sound of foghorns.  Nahh, I thought.  That's silly.  What would a foghorn be doing up here? 

I'm Goin Back to Brooms and Dustpans

5 years ago I bought a spiffy hi-tech vacuum for a ridiculous amount of money (for me anyway) and it lasted  until the engine started to smell funny and rattle.  Sooo I took it back last Saturday and traded it in for a newer less expensive but no less hi-tech vacuum.  It lasted two days. 
The bags are crap,  the attachments are hard to put together and it no longer inhales.  (insert smart ass comments here if you must)

Today I went to Sears and picked out a lovely pumpkin colored machine that operates nicely, doesn't require earplugs,  and keeps the fussy parts to a minimum.  Even got  a service plan with it, for once.

Tomorrow I go back to the store where I bought the Royal and see if I can get my money back.  If necessary I will use The Look.

A Strange Place to Be In (6WS)

We are in the final stages of turning our property
into a land trust, one step at a time. it's incredibly
complicated, and expensive, and permanent.
The language is new, and slowly becoming familiar,
as are the rules, the boundaries, and our own sense
of what we want for the future of this place. The process
has forced us to think about what we see this place
becoming, and how we can best preserve that.

Without ever discussing it in so many words,
we have still both had the same sense of a mutual
goal. That in itself is fairly rare and kinda neat.

In the meantime we've met some good people who
have our interests and theirs at heart, since the land
is what keeps us here and the land is what connects
us to them. We have, in other words, a common
ground.  Literally.

And now that we're approaching the reality of
turning this land over to other people--even though we
will be living here (with any luck) for many years more,
we will be in a role I have always seen us in, as true caretakers
for the land, responsible for following the rules we've set
up for later users. In a way that's difficult. We've always
gone our own way;  now we have to share, and every step
will be toward a common and personal goal.

A strange place, indeed, to be in. On the inside looking
out at ourselves looking back. A kind of moebius mirror.

Hang Drum

My Life Sometimes is on Rewind (6WSaturday)

My pillow won't tell me
where he has gone
the soft-footed one
who passed by alone

who took my heart whole
with a tilt of his eye
and with it my soul,
and it like to die

I twist and I turn,
my breath but a sigh
Dare I grieve? Dare I mourn?
He walks by. He walks by.

                       --Theodore Roethke*




*This is is from memory,  and I cannot find the actual piece anywhere online,  which is frustrating. 

Medusa

I had come to the house, in a cave of trees,
Facing a sheer sky.
Everything moved, -- a bell hung ready to strike,
Sun and reflection wheeled by.

When the bare eyes were before me
And the hissing hair,
Held up at a window, seen through a door.
The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead
Formed in the air.

This is a dead scene forever now.
Nothing will ever stir.
The end will never brighten it more than this,
Nor the rain blur.

The water will always fall, and will not fall,
And the tipped bell make no sound.
The grass will always be growing for hay
Deep on the ground.

And I shall stand here like a shadow
Under the great balanced day,
My eyes on the yellow dust, that was lifting in the wind,
And does not drift away.


Louise Bogan

Here we go again

Since the Internet swept us all away on an outward bound boat,  the language has been taking its own mysterious trip.   Nouns are now strange verbs: "to office'  "tweet us"  "twitter your response"  'like" this on facebook.   'I heart New York"

A new entry, I ran across this yesterday in an ad for a new and improved cleaning product:  "is your family healthing?"  "Stop just cleaning, start healthing'.  

We have long suffered catch slogans like "the soup that eats like a meal"  and "winston tastes good like a cigarette should"  and now we are enjoined to start healthing.   (puts head on table. sobs.)

I Have to Mow the Grass (6WS)

May 3rd

                                    which is a  lot more fun than 'I Have To Shovel the Snow"

                                                                         March

Silhouettes redux

Full Moon Silhouettes from Mark Gee on Vimeo.

Yes, please, I'll have another

Over last winter and recently I have become hooked on John Grisham, one novel at a time.  My  last trip to the Salvation Army netted me five count 'em five of  his, and I am in heaven.   If you must get hooked on a writer, it's nice to know you probably will never run out.  He writes well, no obvious grammatical hangups or annoying first person references that never end.

I tend to wait until all the votes are in on an author (and their  books have been turned into paperbacks and then are in the bin at the grocerystore),  and then carefully approach one from the side and a bit to the left.   Outta range, so to speak. 

28 books.  oh snoopy dance of joy.

I Think We Made It (probably)

This

                                                                

and this

and these

                                         (6WS)

The Moon Tonight

The Moon Tonight

I hate this part

She has to go back.  I thought about this all night and this morning and realized that an alpha cat of this magnitude will never be anything less.  Cuffy was that way,  and we spent three years with the house divided in half.  We did it because he was such a special critter and I felt he deserved a place here for as long as he had to llive.   With Chloe,  she's young, affectionate,  extremely accepting of any human in her path.  She needs a place with no other cats.    The greenhouse, frankly, might suit her perfectly, she could become the
Greenhouse Cat. 
Ill still take her in for her shots this morning and make sure she's healthy (my gift to the cat)  but she has to go back. 

Dammit

Chlooooo-eeeee

Her name (now) is Chloe.  I went shopping today and along with groceries I brought home two beauty bushes and  two scabiosa, (plants, not diseases), and a stray cat from the greenhouse.  She is a longhair, extremely friendly with humans,  she marches around as if she owned the joint, and has terrorized the other three cats into hiding upstairs. She even tried to beat up my 11 pound alpha female, Isabel.  Chloe could not weigh more than five pounds, but she sent that poor cat flying.

Im taking her to the vet tomorrow to see what he says about her health, have her shots,  and if she hasn't improved in a few days (with some serious effort on our part as well) then it's back to the greenhouse she goes.  Isabel and Toby can deal with her, but albert is old, and fragile,  if not frail.  And very puzzled.

Sigh.  It's never easy.

It Tastes Better Than It Sounds (6 Word Saturday)

(alternate title :  Now You Know Why I Diet)


peanut butter, onion, and ketchup sandwich (husband)
buttered oreos (for the bad days) ( mine)
Raisin Bran/ chopped apple/ brickle bits (mine)
french toast using Fig Newtons instead (hi, Ron.)
Onion rings and vanilla ice cream (with, not combined) (mine)
peanut butter and Ritz cracker sandwiches (mine)

(feel free to post your own favorites,  please)

Poem

The Muse Named George


He says, "Look, you're having trouble here.
Let me help you work this out."
"No, no," I murmur, chewing the end of my pen,
"I'm fine. Just let me be."

"Well, you KNOW you'll need me eventually.
Why not sooner than later?"
Defeated by his logic, I sigh, put down the pen, and leave.
There are sounds from the other room
a bit like Wrapping Day at Christmas:
paper rustling, little tinkly sounds.

I go outside to mow, to pull some weeds.
Later, have a nap. He wakes me less than gently,
smiling. 'I think you'll like what we've done'
he purrs, smug and cool about it all. "come see."
And sure enough, flowing out of my pen
are words that work, that fit together almost perfectly,
in one steady arc of light that reminds me
of one of those marble fountain statues
of a little boy peeing joyously into the water.

"It's done, now," he says, "except for clean up.
I'll leave that up to you, that's where you really shine,
you know.” And as I settle in, revisions already
spinning out on the paper, he pauses at the door and says,
"Call me if you need me. You always do."

Dove YouTube Commercial

http://mashable.com/2013/04/15/dove-ad-beauty-sketches/#

it makes you rethink how you percieve yourself and how people around you are often far more accepting of the way you look than you are.

it's worth the three minutes. 

Perception vs. Reality

I have a cat that until he came here had always been housebound:  three years and he had never touched grass, or seen snow, or felt the wind rippling his fur.  He had never played Chase The Leaf, or Drink Muddy Water,. or Climb The Tree and Pretend to Get Stuck. His voice box, I am pretty sure, had been removed, since the only sound he can make is a tiny rusty "acckkkk acckkkkk".   In two years he has never voluntarily allowed us to touch him.  If you do pat him, he curls into a ball and waits for it to be over.  When he goes out, he is frightened of wind, refuses to touch snow, and despises rain and cold.

In reading around the blogs and on the net, I see something most disturbing;  women/parents  who treat their own children in just this way.  I can understand being fearful, I can understand holding your breath while your kid goes to the neighbor's, alone, for the first time.  He's scared too.  But it does seem that we have somehow become a nation of frightened people and we're teaching our kids to be the same way.   Play dates, constant supervision, cotton wool carefully placed where they might fall, emotionally or otherwise. 

I blame, partly, the media and the instant-on culture that gets its news in a stream, all day.  We hear about rapes in California, and women in Ohio lock their doors.  We see almost first hand car bombings, police stakeouts,  robberies stopped in progress.  The immediacy is numbing.  Children are abducted or abused or killed and we now hear about all of them, continually.  So we pull the drapes and keep our own kids close.

What seems to have been lost is a sense of proportion, a sense of what is appropriate in our own lives.  It also seems we are now unable to sort out what is truly dangerous and what we perceive to be dangerous.

To teach a  child caution is one thing.  To teach them to fear is to hamstring them for life, unable to function in a difficult world,  and stunned when they finally realize what's out there and how ill-pepared they are for any of it. 

Essay from the New Yorker

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/04/when-words-that-shouldnt-last-last.html?mobify=0

This Is What I'm Doing Now (6WS)

somewhere, sometimes,  never

somewhere the rain is falling straight down
the way it always does
dogs still bark at the wind after dark
the earth still moves in various ways
for various reasons
the wind in the pines reminds me
of the ocean on dark still nights
traveling relentlessly
up the beach           you told me once
that often in your sleep
you dreamt of that sound
only you were at the ocean
and could hear pines sighing
in the wind as the tide
hissed over the sand      the rain
still falls straight down
perhaps on you
sometimes on me
but no longer at the same time
or for the same reasons

crocuses daylilies and bare ground oh my

The first wine is the sweetest

There's nothing like that first sip,  all the piquant flavors still mixed and floating on the surface:  savored slowly,  inhaling the bouquet.  swurpswurpswurpswurp...

Damn but that was worth the wait

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers --Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops at all-

And sweetest in the gale is heard-
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea-
Yet  never-in extremity-
It asked a crumb of me.

About anonymous posts

Lately I have been receiving several 'anonymous' posts, all but one of which contains a link back to either a gaming site, an adult (hur hur hur) dating service, or something other.  Those are not accepted links, all of them being commercial and of doubtful content.  If anyone wishes to post an 'anonymous" comment  which does not require registration or signing in,  please leave a name in the post so that I know you're real.  Even something as simple as "Mary" or "Jeremy" and a brief comment  as to where you found this. 

That may seem like overthinking, but the last thing I want is to find myself overrun with gaming sites, dating services, and all the possible problems those things bring with them as baggage.

Margaret and Helen

Just found this, it's hysterical, well worth the trip to read.  >>>>>>>over there too

http://margaretandhelen.com/2012/annual-report/

Curse the Cursive

Until recently I had no idea that cursive handwriting had disappeared from the landscape.  As I understand it, 44 states have mandated that it need not be taught at all,  and in many states even printing is barely taught as well.  Yes, there are studies that show kids with skills in cursive writing remember better,  they have better motor skills.  They are, as one woman put it, more graceful.  
When I have to remember something my first instinct is to write it down.  I may lose the paper, but I remember what's on it.  I no longer use cursive except for documents or letters,  but it exists in my head.  If I need to memorize anything my first step is to write it out, whether it's a poem or a shopping list.

The fast forward to all of this is a bit other-worldly, and has not really been addressed: any of these children who have no working relationship of cursive writing will also be unable to read it.  That simple.  May not sound like much, but how will they be able to get a job in, say, the field of history?  or as a librarian?  Not all documents are digitized into print mode.  And any older documents that need to be studied are lost to them.
How do you read old letters, old documents, wills, deeds,  legal decisions from the not so distant past?   To further extrapolate, since I am in an extrapolatory mode:  if these documents are unreadable except by a  few "old folks", who will read these when those old folks are no longer there--who will even know how to translate them into 'readable' format?

http://bangordailynews.com/2013/04/07/education/cursive-handwriting-disappearing-from-public-schools/?ref=latest

"Fresh" "Meat" is now on "Sale"

If there never was any doubt in your mind about the reality and the freshness of what is being offered,  this should firmly remove the absence of doubt

6WS (Show My Face "link" in sidebar)

Visuwords

Thought I'd bring this one forward,  I want to add a few things to the list on the right but Google is having trouble (are we surprised) with some of its features.  This one doesnt go anywhere but it's fun to doodle with.

http://www.visuwords.com/fullscreen/

Digitizing the World

(thank you to Ron for reminding me) One reluctant step at a time, we are turning ourselves away from paper to digital everything: no one writes letters, they use email or a Messenger or cell phones. 

Books are now downloaded into handheld readers,  newspapers and magazines almost always have an online presence. 

My dentist is taking 35 years of patient records and digitizing them. I have no idea what he does with the paper records, but its a bundle.  And yet to destroy them would mean no paper backup to the digital backup...If there were a fire, the paper is gone. If there is a power outage the digital stuff is inaccessible. 
The solution would be to also make copies of each and store THEM someplace.  oh yeah.

I see it as causing more work and only creating one extra layer rather than removing anything...

It's Been That Kind Of Week (6WS)

--and at the end of it all you think, "if I had a dog,  he'd have thrown up on the bed at 3 AM,  on the new white duvet cover that I purchased, the day before they went on sale..."

the dog and I are very grateful that I don't.

Scary to think about, maybe

I have been reading  comments across the boards about people who post photos of their very young children, grandkids, and the neighbor's new baby on public sites.  Facebook, Twitter, even blogs abound  with photos of small children and babies, many of them in various states of undress or no dress. Yes babies can get away with it,  but I'm thinking that too many people forget how utterly public these photos are.   Pasting a naked butt shot of your granddaughter on Facebook is the equivalent of posting that same photo in a shop window in a large city.  You cannot control how many people see it, or who those people might be.

Pedophiles and kiddie porn guys regularly haunt such places.  Think about that.  Unless you have a site locked down for family only,  you have no say--or knowledge--about who is watching.  It's not about giving out personal information, although I  think we all do, inadvertently;  we get comfy with our posts, our 'friends', our blogs, and drift a bit.  But when someone starts posting picture after picture of  their kids, be sure someone is going to find them. 

Somebody said, and I agree, keep those pictures in an album, or a shoebox,  and if you have to show them to someone, do it in email. 

It Hurts to Lose Old Friends (6WS)

Anywhere on the net we may encounter people we like, people we dislike, and sometimes those we grow to love.  For whatever reason,  and sometimes you never do find out why, some of them just disappear forever, overnight, without a trace or a word.  

It's a very fine thread that ties us to them;  no bigger than a strand of  spiderweb, in a way;  and once that strand is broken you finally have to accept that Gone is Gone, pack up the memories and move on.  Not that it works quite that easily, or gently.

Someone once said to me, "if something happened to you, how would I know?" 
He made a good point:  there are a lot of people out there that I know by only a first name, or a handle of some sort, and often not even what state they live in.  I guess the only way is to accept them as Five Minute Friends, always aware that the thread one day will break at one end or the other,  and go from there.

So Many Books, So Little Time (6WS)

(thanks to Cessie at 6WS for the inspiration for this)

Whining from the Frozen Tundra

We're down to counting sticks of wood in the shed and there is talk about scraping the snow off the stuff outside in case we need it.  It's the Ides of March  and we have barely a cord left inside.  I had hopes of at least limping into April with a bit left,  but this morning at 6 AM the outside temp was a hearty 6 above zero. O, please.   The house was an equally brisk 52. 

A three stove day, for sure.

But, she says bravely, straightening her shoulders and reaching for a wooly sweater, but it is the middle of March,  the days are getting longer,  the sun is a bit more useful than it has been, and April is out there somewhere. 

And whatever became of the Ides of, say, September...

Where's my mud? Where's my spring?

SPRING FEVER

Here where the slow light softly falls
on barren ground unstirred by spring
and frost still honeycombs the walls
there is no sound, no moving thing:

not yet the brush of leaf and wing,
nor yet the sturdy, dainty bloom
of  poplars prophesying spring.
Here is no spring, not yet, not soon.

Only the lengthened afternoons
gathering up the winter days
and chilly geese beneath the moon--
winter yet, with winter's ways.

Spider update

I found her this morning,  finally  released from her single strand of silk,  fallen into the space between the two windows.   I guess any life, no matter how small,  matters, if only to the creature involved.  And now and then, to others who somehow get involved too.  

small addendum:  the post that  this one refers to has been taken down:  it had become a magnet for seach engines of the spamming variety,  and there seemed no way to end it without actually removing the post itself. My apologies for anyone who happens upon this and thinks, 'what the hell...". 

Six Word Saturday

snow snow snow...

wood wood wood...

http://www.showmyface.com/

snowshoe walk in the woods

from here

to here

and back

People Should Come With Warning Labels

This side up
fragile, handle with care
do not disturb
smoke detector
For external use only
Batteries not included
shake well before using
do not open if package has been tampered with
Private
No Trespassing
No poaching
proceed with caution
no unathorized personnel beyond this point
Yield
dead end/private drive
through traffic
local traffic only
detour
roadwork ahead
blind driveway
No turns
do not feed the bears
surveillance cameras in use
follow all package directions carefully

Major Winter Weather Event

For once they got it right

Yesterday  morning

Today same time

The stonewall disappeared ,  and there's two feet of snow all over everything..  This morning we weren't sure just how much there was: with the wind it was a tossup if we had 8" or 72 feet.

happy man, here

Reporting in

Yesterday my monitor went black and refused to work.  "maybe,' i said, "it's the monitor and not the tower".
"no, no,' he said,  "there's a disconnect somewhere, it could take days to find it" 
"why don't we plug in the old monitor and see"
"no no ", he said,  "you just don't understand.  The tower just isnt getting the signal from the monitor, that's why its' not working. Let me think about this."
"Look, here's the old monitor. let's just plug it in and see."  sigh. grumble fuss.  "I just don't see what good it will do."

"what does it cost to try?"


It was the monitor. 

Now I have a nice new one;  however its one of those silly wide screen jobs,  and it took me all afternoon to figure out how to resize the images so they don't stretch clean across the whole screen.  'You wont like it",  he said. "it just distorts everything".  

nooo  it works just fine *g*

----------------------------------------------------
And now we are sailing into what appears to be either the storm of the century, a storm of historical proportions,  or a huge embarrassment.   In  a way it's like waiting for Santa.  He never lives up to the
buildup,   I sincerely hope this one is equally disappointing...Film, as they say, at 11.

Full Moon Silhouettes

http://vimeo.com/markg/fullmoonsilhouettes


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

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...

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.

from the archives (3)

LOVE SONG TO MY WIFE*


(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

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.

Apologies to Emily

If Emily was Online

how sweet to wait-
in this special place--
mouse in hand-
keyhoard ready-
I stir the keys
no email yet--
the box lies empty
beneath my hope-
to know the words
lie just outside my reach
all of heaven
waits in a keystroke
all of that other place-
with you not here-

Thinking out loud all over the place

The terminally annoying are everywhere.   There was a time when the best they could do was soap your car windows or bash in a rural malibox,  cut off the heads of all  the flowers in your front yard or spray paint the cows.  Now they have expanded into the crevices of the internet,  appearing predictably in every corner, from forums, message boards,  email,  Facebook, Twitter, blogs, and private spaces. 
As always they force choices upon us who only want to travel our own paths quietly,  cheerfully dragging along anyone who wishes to travel the same way.  The choices are almost always unpleasant,  the shockwaves sometimes surprising in their intensity. 

I used to be on a message board a long way from here both in time and purpose, and the administrator traveled a fine narrow path between the very different points of view, often as not finding himself reprimanding hosts and posters alike for their behavior, while realizing the Goad Factor that exists in such a situation. 
And sometimes the decisions are painful. 

Know what I miss, in this politically correct world?  Halloween as it once was wrought, with soaped windows, burning doggy bags on the front stoop,  little kids in immense bands wandering about parentless for a few hours, large shopping bags at the ready.  That holiday belonged to them.   I miss Christmas when people were not afraid to say Merry Christmas to anyone, when you were allowed to display the symbols of your faith and joy on the lawn, in the window,  or in an ad, without reprisal from the now easily offended.
Christmas parties in the schools are now banned.  Too much religion.  Someone Might Be Offended.  Halloween, amazingly, is also banned from many places.  It appears to be the opposite extreme in the eyes of the rigid:  satan worship.  The devil.  Parents are afraid their little wonders will be traumatized by it,  but it's okay for those same little wonders to play computer games with blood dripping out of their online enemies.  Go figure.

We have given ourselves freedom of speech and too many people believe it means their speech, not yours.
We live in one of the most open societies  in the world and are becoming one of the most regimented, one segment at a time. 

Im 67.  I probably will not live to see what happens with the generation now teething, learning to walk,  to talk, to function as adults.  Part of me wishes I could:  they will either close a few more doors or blow those doors off the hinges, the way kids did in the 60s and 70s. 

Merry Christmas, dammit.

Heads up

Instituting a new mode of posting.  I would appreciate anyone posting to either register, sign in, or at the very least identify themselves in the body of the comment box. Somewhere. Anywhere.  It's a courtesy to me, and to anyone else, and I do like to know who is here.  Thank you in advance.

Merry Christmas

Pearl Jam "Better Man"

The words are there:  listen carefully--"she dreams in red"

On The Other Hand...

It well may be that in the night the calendar was indeed turned over and those of us who slept were shifted into a new slice of universe where everything seems familiar but really isnt. The key,  here, is seems familiar.  How do you know it's different if it looks the same?


Apparently there are some well paid mattress inhaling physicists out there who seriously propose the idea that the entire universe is just one big computer simulation.  Our tax dollars at work, yessir.

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/whoa-physicists-testing-see-universe-computer-simulation-224525825.html

12/21/12

And on the last day it snowed, or rained,  or didn't.  Rivers flowed to distant oceans where  fish, unaware of the shortness of life or its sweetness,  continued to swim, propagate, and become cat food.  Life went on as it always does;  no turning the page, no dire predictions of eternal nothing to disturb  the deer, the buffalo,  the eagle. 

There were moments unseen in the darkness when Something crept nearer,  touching this soul and that one gently,  lifting them like fine silk and away into a new darkness.  Babies were born.     In barns everywhere horses stirred in their sleep, or chewed a favorite stall door,  and cows moved against the walls restlessly, as they always do. Chickens laid sleepy eggs, searched their feathers for snacks, clucking softly to themselves in the cold.

In hundreds of dwellings all over the earth people gathered up their possessions and set fire to them, in a glorious ritual of penance,  despair, and  terror.  Some gave their belongings to neighbors, friends, family, the 'nonbelievers'  who would not be there anyway to appreciate the treasures they had been given.  The nonbelievers, no fools  they, said "why thank you"  politely and locked their doors.

Darkness came, the moon rose behind heavy clouds.  People bid each other tearful farewells and fell asleep knowing this would be the last day of their lives. 

The next morning there was the sound of rejoicing,  and then the  great hush of Mortified Silence as  all over the earth people went forth to reclaim their furniture, clothing, and livestock.  Outrage and lawsuits rang forth, and the lawyers rejoiced.

solstice

four days. 
be there. 
prepare to revel.

Something, but what

Something needs to be said,  and yet when I try, realize there is utterly nothing, but nothing, that can be said. No words harsh enough, or soft enough, to mitigate or condemn.   And after all,  words are often like skipping stones across a still lake:  no matter what you say, or how well or poorly, they only go so far and disappear.


Good people died. Babies died.  There it is.

A Good Day

Wednesday around here is half price day at the Salvation Army (my seekrit indulgence);  some days there's little or nothing to appeal, and somedays all the cylinders hit perfectly.

This was the prize find.  They look to be from about the mid nineteen hundreds, maybe older (search says 'vintage" which these days includes me and thee too).  They are listed as salad tongs, but they are also for
getting small cans and boxes down from the top shelves, extending one's reach downward just a bit more, lifting hot jars out of the canning bath,  and annoying the cats...

Found two Lawrence Blocks that are new to me, two silk blouses for the cold days, and a marvelous dark brown floppy cardigan.  Not a bad one in the bin.   That and 50 deg. in the sun, not bad.

Twins of a prickly kind

Late last summer these two baby porcupines appeared,  no bigger than baseballs.  Apparently mother porcupines  release them into the wild at about two months, and then they are totally on their own.  These were twins, something Ive never seen before, and quite adorable. By now they are about 5-6 months old and have grown from baseballs to basketballs.  All fall we have seen them in the fields,  grubbing away at roots and grasses,  and only this past week have they come together again.  Now and then one will waddle over to the other and sit up, peering into the twin's face.  "Dat  you?  Who ARE you?"

And yesterday after the snow melted there they were on the lawn, only a few feet from the house, working on some especially interesting bits of weeds.  When I went out they gently turned their backs and moved away.  It's very hard to catch a porcupine full face,  they keep shifting so that the back is what you encounter.  If you make noise or get too close the back hair rises like a windowshade and there the quills are.  Bite me,  it says.  Go ahead.

But by and large these are gentle critters and we respect that.  We also keep shed doors closed.  Respect is all well and good but so is keeping them away from rubber tires and shovel handles...

It's snowing

 

            First Snow



having smelled the coming snow
it seemed appropriate to go
and so the cows went home alone.
the farmer heard the eager tone

and ran to hold the barn door wide
just before they swung inside,
each to her appointed stall.
outside, the snow began to fall.

behind the snow the sun has set.
the cattle in their bays have yet
to settle in. they move against the walls.
outside, all night, the first snow falls

this all will quickly melt away
before the end of one more day.
but the first snow, whether thick or thin,
is the one that calls the cattle in.