“Enter when you will, take what you need, leave something of yourself when you go”
I have a friend I met over a bottle of scotch in a Brandywine Valley bed & breakfast some odd years ago who travels constantly and widely, sending me bits and pieces of the world as he goes. Each picture contains a sense of mystery, or surprising humor, and/or most likely the bicycle he rode in on.
I forget where he said he shot this wide planked shack. It is intriguing, don’t you agree? The sun and scattered leaves promise it is a bright, brisk day, yet, I wonder what musty odor fills your nose when you poke your head through the door, what scurrying varmint lives in the corners, what fingers grab your ankle once you cross the threshold and the heavy door slowly shuts out the light, the long, strong boards slide through the door handle locking you inside…
… you go first…I am right behind you…
One year, many years ago, I spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s in a little cabin up in Marble, CO. It sat at the back of the property of a friend, deep in the snow. There was no heater, but a tiny woodburning stove called Francis (after St. Francis, me thinks) and a pile of kindling and logs, a few good books left by previous visitors (Hinds’ Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard), candles, chili in cans, and long lengths of roads on which to cross country ski. SO COLD at 7900 feet altitude, on the north side of a steep hill, but Francis felt so warm after a couple hours of skiing. The chili warmed my innards…and the deep silence and naps in between chapters in the books calmed my usual hyperactive self… and gratefully there was an electric blanket on the bed that kept me from totally freezing when Francis was reduced to mere coals in the middle of the night.
It was a great Christmas gift from a good friend, whose name I cannot recall (Michelle, I think) who was a customer of the bank…she was older than I, from France, and she loved the Americans who liberated her town in WWII. One of life’s treasures found when looking another way.
Here’s to the day.
May that old sun shine.
And may the birds chirp away.
And later may the stars all align.
May our hearts be light
As we sing through the day,
May our thoughts be bright
And jolly in every which way.
And may tomorrow with its feast
Give us memories fine and sweet.
May all the cooks get to sit at least
After all day on their feet.
Yes, we all are ever grateful
For the good that we receive,
And with every single plateful
May we find cause to believe
Life is good!
Lucia thought to make her friends drool
With the new clothes she bought just for school.
The colors were bright,
But the pants were too tight
And split when she sat on a stool.
I remember 8/8/88. I worked for Alpine Bank in Glenwood Springs, and we all met for an 8.8.88 party at the home of Norm Franke, a VP. We all brought alcoholic beverages, which we poured into a spanking clean trash can, mixed them all up, and toasted that once in a lifetime date, told lame jokes, and laughed our heads off. It was great.
Today, I left a message for Norm Franke on his phone at the bank where he is now a Regional President down here in Denver. It was good to hear his voice on the message. It hasn’t changed from thirty-four years ago. Still friendly, kind, interested. A slight accent of some sort. I googled his name, and found recent pictures. Still tall and thin…a little more grey hair. His wife is still lovely. I left him a message just to say I remember the day, and the fun we had, and I wished him well.
I sometime wonder what my life would have been had I not left Alpine Bank, and Glenwood Springs. I suppose my finances would be stronger. I might not have divorced my second husband who grew up there. Can’t say what might have been. What IS is good and okay.
I’m glad for the memories, and the chuckles they bring.
Another hot – witheringly hot – day.
They promise things will cool to the 80’s on Sunday.
I was up early like every other day this Summer
thinking to water the garden, fill the birdbaths and feeders,
pull the curtains, then sit in front of the a/c unit reading or something before the daily scorch begins
So far, except to go out to bring in the Wall Street Journal,
I’ve sat at the kitchen table listening to the budgies chatter and bicker,
replied to some emails and messenger comments and marveled at how nicely quiet
and cool it is here just now.
I need to plant that new peony…a luscious red which should brighten next Spring’s garden. I’ve put it and its pot in the spot I want it to grow… I’ll plant it…I will…
I need to plant three euonymous shrubs lined up by the fence. I have made the case that I need to water the ground around the pots really well so the soil will be easy to dig. That has bought me some time out of the heat…hah. Of course, there is only me to answer for getting or not getting them planted, so as easily as I can make the case for delay, I can insist that I get up and get it over with. Later…
I should vaccuum, especially where the budgies have tossed their seeds. They are busy having some sort of head bobbing argument just now, I think over the oats and groats treats they both seem to love. OMG, Blueby has now squatted inside the feed cup filling it with her feathered bod so that Greenie cannot get even a nibble. Selfish and bossie she is.
I’m too lazy to get up and vaccuum…too lazy to reach over to refill my coffee mug…am still reveling in the effects of yesterday’s massage.
Now that I’ve written this, I feel compelled to stop with the lazing around, so I shall stop for the time being.
Just take this as a reminder to take time to chillax, as my granddaughter, Ryan Elizabeth, says. It’s a good thing to do.
This was written in response to an email post by my oldest brother which showed photos of some people who should be shunned. Here’s to acknowledging that not all blessed with golden tongues have similar hearts and integrity.
“Whoa… Some of these are actually pretty gut wrenching… all these people should be ashamed of themselves, and shunned by society, rather than idolized. I believe the Amish have it right…shunning is perfect for egomaniacs…or put them out to sea never to touch land again, as done in Hale’s 1863 book, THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.
That picture of the Oklahoma bombing is so sickening…I was at a Professional Mortgage Women’s annual conference in Portland, OR not long after that explosion…came time to acknowledge members who’d died in the previous year…The speaker stood up and just said the date and the time of the explosion, and before she could say even one name of all the FHA personnel who worked in that building and were blown to bits by Timothy McVeigh, everyone was on their feet in support of the few survivors who’d made it to our meeting. Hillary Clinton does not deserve to walk the ground the rubble fell on… Janet Reno went after Timothy McVeigh, but no one else who fed his sick mind. If you read the book, OTHERS UNKOWN, Timothy McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Bombing Conspiracy by Peter Israel and Stephen Jones, the attorney assigned to represent McVeigh, you realize that Reno and her gang made a great show of giving the people someone to blame…that was their only goal. They did not pursue any others, except Terry Nichols who resides in a Colorado Supermax Prison, able to live, breathe, and communicate with his compadres.
And today we hear on the news that Jane Fonda is touting her remorse at having cosmetic surgery. I wonder if she has an ounce of regret at betraying our POWs in Viet Nam.
A Pox on them all…
And now I’ll will cease my daily free association time 😊 keep sharing these, Teddy! They make us think.”
I’ve seen him through the front window, walking. Tall, fairly young – thirty, thirty-five maybe. Neatly, casually dressed. Very straight back. He looks fit and agile, until you realize his head does not swivel on his neck. When he looks left or right, he moves slowly from the waist, his shoulders bring his head along for the turn. Chin locked. Mostly he looks forward. His footsteps are heavy – slight lift, careful placement. Each move deliberate, fully completed before the next move is made. He does not stroll. Does not swing his arms.
The one time we spoke, I was chasing a cat out of a tree away from a bird’s nest as he was passing by. He half turned, half grinned. Said, “Your yard is looking nice.”
I am glad he’s out there making his life work.
I planted it, finally…
Ran the hose and filled the spot with water to soften the soil,
break down the clay, ease the shovel into a hole big enough to accept the root ball;
broke up the bottom roots to allow for stretch and growth,
layered on some soil enhancer to feed it and shield it from the desert dryness of the front yard,
Placed it in the new hole at a distance from the gas line mark,
but not before I studied the yard for just the right spot
equidistant from the sidewalk and the property line and the curve of the front garden.
I imagined it larger, well settled in place, filling that corner with its lovely blue color,
with birds nesting in its branches, flickers calling from its top knot.
I see it decorated for Christmas with lights and ornaments and strings of popcorn.
The squirrels will think it was all done for them, and the popcorn will be gone quickly.
It’s short right now. Just above my knee, but I believe in its future, in its promised height and fullness,
an anchor to the front yard for years and years to come.
I have no idea why it took me so long to plant it. Now it looks like it has always been there.
Leaves me beat
And irritated at the chirping birds
Nelle prayed the decision to move her Sisters was the right one. They lay in sacred ground, some over one hundred years, and per established custom, exhuming them was wrong.
“Please, God… a small sign that You agree with this.”
Then birds filled the trees drowning out her worries, and sunlight shown.