Monday in Indiana brought the promised snow and promised more for tomorrow. My eyes and heart are winter weary. I need green things and brown dirt. I guess the seed catalog will have to suffice on this snowy blowy day.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Snow came as promised-about 4 inches in all, but it was pure powdered sugar snow. It blew off the car with one big "Whoosh" and then the sun came out and glistened all the trees and melted the whoosh from the roadways. Now, that kind if snow I don't mind.. Gone by noon.. well almost...
~Don't Postpone Joy!~
This was listed as "lessons for life" on a tea box. I think one should always read tea boxes, don't you? I was thinking about this phrase and it brought my Granmother to mind. She stayed with us for a while when I was a girl and I remember being amazed at all the lovely nightgowns, dusters, sweaters and dresses that were still in the original plastic. I asked her why she never wore any of them and she replied that "she was saving them for a rainy day and wanted to keep them nice." She prefered to wear patched gowns and fadded print dresses. I decided then that I would never do that. Anything new I recieved I would use it right then and I still hold to that. So take out those company dishes, put the pretty candles on the table, splash on your favorite scent if only for youself. Don't postpone joy!
Chocolate Cherry Kiss
is my favorite flavored coffee for February
"There Will Come Soft Rains"
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground;
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white.
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
- Robert Frost
The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree--
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.
- Sara Teasdale
from Gather ye rose-buds by Robert Herrick
Gather ye rose-buds
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying...
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Goodbye April! You did your best and now the rest is history. The snows of February are forgotten replaced by yellow dandelions. The front yard is bare of yellow, perhaps to keep up with the Jones' (funny our next door neighbors are the Jones') but I've never felt the need to keep up with them. They are a young couple with a brand new baby and a daughter of 7. To keep up with them would be impossible anyway. I am old with a son of 20 and a son of 30.
I saved the dandelions in the back yard for the bunnies, though I've not spied a single one
sampling but bunnies often sample in secret. My plans for a rabbit garden (planted especially for the bunnies) is still just a plan, but with the slipping away of April, the pressure mounts. The question is do I actually do it or let it fade away like so much mist? We shall see.
I visit again this morning with Sara. She is an old, dear friend. Her book of poetry, Rivers to the Sea was first printed `October, 1915 and reprinted again for me in April, 1934. I first met her when I was a teenager. Her words touch me as I read them aloud to the quiet house.
Poetry should be read aloud to experience the full cadence of sound. And then "what is the poet attempting to say", English Lit 101 from long ago.
I can rhyme up a ditty in a few minutes and
do fairly well I suppose, but poems written from the heart and soul of life- Now, those hold the hidden, secret things, disguised as mere words, similes, methofores, the between the lines that beg to be discovered. (Grin)
I enjoy making words beg.
So, in the waning moments of April, I offer this poem by my friend, Sara. I wonder of her mood as she penned this- anger? revenge? satisfaction? Or just a reminder to never leave words unsaid. This poem speaks to me of peace.
Bright April... with rain-drenched hair and peaceful, leafy trees speak to me of peace.
I shall Not Care
When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Tho' you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.
I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough,
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.
A brown wild bunny visits just between
these two trees. I've discovered it's a Mama Bunny with little bunnies!
I could gather sweet buds from May.
But what would the other neighbors say,
If I gather one dooryard sole,
Just sweet buds and not the whole?
Nay, I'll not gather from May nor June,
Patience's garden will have roses soon.
June 12, 2002
Deborah J. Lindsey
Thursday, May 22, 2203
Welcome May! May is half-gone. May has been chilly temperature wise so far. May brought our 26th wedding anniversary and my 51th birthday. I guess I can claim that now. I spent most of yesterday rewriting a story I found tucked away. Writing makes me happy.Why don't I do it more? Good question. Hmm?
Can you guess what this is? You may be as surprised as I was.
Tuesday, June 3, 2003
Happily, I bid goodbye to this wet, cool May..
Welcome June! Come and show me your
watermelon grin. June brings five birthday milestones. My two sons were born in June. Silas on the 7th and Michael on the 30th. 11 years lie between them. June is my sister's birth month as well as my husbands'.
June marks the 3rd birthday of the sassy Miss Bea and the passing of Rocky, the Lop.
Did you guess my riddle?
Here's the answer just in case you didn't.
The mile lapper and valley licker is a
I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step
Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare
To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down the hill
And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop - docile and omnipotent -
At its own stable door.
Always Take Time to Sniff the Flowers
A wet view of the back yard and pond
Here he is- Baby Wild Jack
Surprise! The Front of Our House
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Today I explore a new word <Contiguous> .
I first heard this word in a conversation about how computers use and store files. The word intrigued me. Contiguous!
Contiguous, similar to its good friend, Continuous but not to be confused with. Contiguous if weighed is the more heftier of the two. and I choose contiguous for my application. Application for life.
Continuous by definition is <without interruption> <forming a series with no exceptions or reversals>
And like the Energizer Bunny, it keeps going and going and going... one long lovely strand of life continuing until our time is up.
Contiguous by Webster's definition is exactly the same however, when applied to the computing world, the definition is quite different. Contiguous files are placed in every nook and cranny. until every space is filled.. Contiguous when applied to life must be a life lived to the fullest every day. Every space is filled.
Contiguous-say it three times. Sounds delicious or "harelicious" if you happen to be a rabbit. Reminds me of a HareTale I wrote, called "The Word Smith". Let me see if I can find it.. It must be in my continuous file. <grin>. Goodbye June!
"A house becomes a home when you can write "I love you" on the furniture."
I can't tell you how many countless hours that I have spent CLEANING! I used to spend at least 8 hours every weekend making sure things were just perfect -"in case someone came over". Then I realized one day that no one came over; they were all out living life and having fun!
Now, when people visit, I find no need to explain the "condition" of my home. They are more interested in hearing about the things I've been doing while I was away living life and having fun. If you haven't figured this out
yet, please heed this advice.
Life is short. Enjoy it!
I'm not sure who wrote the intro but I totally agree. As for me, I never spend hours upon hours cleaning this and cleaning that. If folks drop in for a visit (which is rare as hen's teeth) and they are bothered by my true and natural state, I happily offer brooms, mops, dust cloths, spider web grabbers (I have a pristine collection of these items (seldom used, like new as it were)
And now, the poem--
Dust if You Must
(author unknown, so far)
Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
to paint a picture or write a letter,
bake a cake or plant a seed,
ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
with rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
music to hear and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world's out there
with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
you, yourself will make more dust!
It's not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived.
Tuesday, July 8, 2003
The month of July brings these milestones- Velvet's birthday on the 14th and the passing of EarlGrey (like the tea) four days later on the 18th. July celebrates Independence Day with fireworks, barbecues and picnics. This year David and I enjoyed a small display in our town of Greenwood. There was a large crowd of people in the K-mart parking lot. We didn't plan on fireworks. We just came upon them. The display was very nice except for the insistent dueling of two radios both hell-bent on providing the ears of all in range with two different musical styles, neither of which I would consider for a second, even on a good hare day. These foolish radios and their equally foolish operators dampened the whole experience.
(a pox on both stereo systems)
Silas, Age 8
Silas, Age 20
The Story of a White Mule
January 21, 2000 Issue
Coffee's off my list for a while <sigh> .
July's Flavor is caffine free teas,
(there are so many) Lemon Zinger & Red Zinger, Orange & Spice, Raspberry Royal, Blackberry, Peach?
Necessary outings are tolerated with care hats and scarves
pulled close against the biting air.
Oh no! Reading "Snowbound" has unleashed the poet in me.
My husband didn't flinch at braving the elements to take our son to work or even to pick up forgotten items at the grocery. Drive slow, no sudden moves, no problem. but.. I knew he would draw the line if I begged a trip to a favorite park some snow-covered miles away to experience the "silence of the snow".
In the backyard, I can see the pond farther on, snow covered. The weeping willow that belongs to the neighbor is weeping tears-frozen ones. I try to listen to the silence of the snow and the solitute of the trees but am distracted by a hip-hop song, no doubt, lost in the wind by some careless unfeeling person. Drat.The distraction is brief, but the "almost moment" is gone. I stare across the pond and notice another neighbor still has Christmas lights up. <sigh>
I try once again... whose woods these are I think I know,, he lives in the village though,
...the woods are lovely dark and deep, and I have miles before I sleep...
I can feel Robet Frost cringe. It is his poem after all, and this bit of backyard doesn't even begin to qualify as "woods".
A blast of snow suddenly slaps me in the face and I hurry back inside and seriously
consider knitting tiny coats and scarves for any harbingers who came unprepared.
What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
-from "Snow Bound" again.
I toss on another fake sawdust filled log with built in crackle into the fireplace that
makes our home all the more valuable. I watch the package catch and the letters flare-
"Guaranteed to burn 4 hours". Yes, I think. That will do nicely. Besides if the fire log fails to produce as promised and burns to quickly, I still have the :"Burning Firelog video."
March's Coffee is Vanilla Hazelnut
Thursday, April 17, 2003
Hello April. Half gone already.April brings Spring, tax day, daylight savings time and Easter. April is a reflective month, a month to take a breath and take stock. As I sit here and attempt to think of something profound to write, I am struck by the regular routine rhythms that hum around me. All the little tasks we do each day. We find comfort in these routines, these daily dailies. Our hands are happy with familiar jobs. So for the curious adventure seekers who might happen upon these ponderings, here are a few daily dailes in my life.
Monday - Friday (Mornings)
6:30 am... alarm goes off and I rise, start the coffee. Then take my glucose reading and record it. I remove my insulin and related materials from the fridge, so I won't forget. Breakfast is already in progress. It's usually bacon or sausage with eggs, scrambled or poached. Did you know a microwaved poached egg takes 1 min 24 sec? While breakfast is cooking, I make my husband's lunch. There is a certain degree of order and sastifaction in the wrapping, packing, and stowing. Once I slipped a love note in his lunch, but the fork I included was cracked and broke. Hummm? What kind of message did that send?
Then my husband arrives at the table and we have breakfast with Fritz. Fritz is a big white New Zealand Rabbit. He lives in a rabbit home atop a table in my kitchen. Fritz doesn't get bacon and eggs for breakfast. He gets 1/8 cup rabbit pellets.
As do the other three rabbits, ecept Velvet. Velvet gets a few greens. Every Rabbit is up and waiting for breakfast.
Breakfast is over and my husband is off to work. Sometimes, I sneek back to bed. Sometimes, I drink the rest of the coffee while checking e-mail. If I do stay up, somebunny gets a turn out.
The fireworks offered in downtown Indianapolis is choreographed with patrotic music. Missed the downtown display due to a thunderstorm.
Fireworks booming from barges in the Ohio River are the best memories. Jeffersonville, IN and Louisville, KY days, long ago.
While searching for something interesting for July, I found the almost forgotton poem of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow- Paul Revere's Ride. . Well worth a peek. In those far off, home-schooling days, Silas, my youngest son, played Paul Revere, recited the poem and wore a tri-cornered hat. No horse though. Cute. These days he is seeking an independence of his own- his own particulair place in the world. Easier said that realized.
So, I have departed from "profound" writings and written instead of simple things. Actually, whatever spilled from my brain unto the keyboard and POOF onto the screen. WYSIWYG! (what you see is what you get) Much like the "The PopEye Principal" (I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam and if it don't melt your butter, well.....tuff taters baby!) <Grin> After the age of 50, it's perfectly acceptable to adopt and embrace "The PopEye Principal".
I have arrived.
I offer this selection sent to me by a friend who knows the value of "time".
Thanks Jim I hope to locate the author's name for this poem as it cries out for credit.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you;
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you;
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing through.
Thursday, February 13, 2003
The snow remains; ice is predicted. I could be depressed but I'm not. Yesterday, I
heard a harbinger! Sweet singer, brief but brilliant. I heard him again this morning
flinging his song into the frigid air. "I'm here! I'm here!" And it seems to me that if
our finite human ears were fine-tuned enough we could hear the whisper of green growing things just under the snow.
"I'm here! I'm here!"
Friday, February 14, 2003
Today, I'll untie the red ribbon binding valentines from my husband-one for ever year of our marriage. With this years addition, the count will be twenty-six. Each card is lovingly read again and displayed. All are different, some large, some small, but one in particular is my favorite. This valentine is written on plain white paper. It holds words from his heart. Other holidays come and go, often without much ado
but I can be sure, that on Valentine's Day, a beautiful card awaits me.
Monday, February 17, 2003
~Thoughts on a Winter's Night~
Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm...
Borrowed from John Greenleaf Whittier's poem, "Snow Bound"
While we have not been totally snow bound during the Winter Storm of 2003, trips are considered more thoughtfully.
Saturday, March 1, 2003
March came in like a hungry lion devouring the lost piles of February snow. The March Lion is crunching icicles now that still drip from the porch. I can see patches of earth, but I am reminded that he is an Indiana March Lion and he is kin to Old Man Winter. They are in "cahoots'"!
Sunday, March 9, 2003
What a lovely day Saturday was! The sun was so warm and inviting. The temp was mild- a balmy 50 degrees. I shed my coat and played in shirt sleeves! The snow was all melted and hints of green were everywhere and the March Lion was all but forgotten. Spring, at last! Spring at last!
But I'm sure I could see that Lion grinning a knowing, mocking grin. He got me! I ran out into Sunday with only a sweater. The cold wind sent me quickly back inside. 21 degrees indeed! But I am hopeful! March came in like a lion, but he will go out like a lamb.
Monday, March 31, 2003
"March came in like a lion and left like a lamb"
I suppose the old adage is true, at least somewhat. The lamb is frisking and Spring no
doubt is sprung, but that lamb tonight is happy for his woolly coat. Last weekend, snow
was again in the forecast and came in a brief shower of shiny sleet. Then the sun peeped
out and a rainbow appeared. I missed the date Spring arrived, the 21st, I believe. She
slipped in and greened things, overnight it seemed. How did I miss Spring's arrival? I
was caught in circumstances, situations, upheavals- war.
The March Lion brought war and left it for the lamb to contend with. War used to be a far away thing and we were given it in small doses, carefully measured. Today war is without measure, up close and in our faces. The sights and sounds of it fill the rooms in our homes and ride with us on daily errands.
I found this poem long ago when I was a young girl. I believe the Vietnam War was the war at that time in my life. This verse was written in war time as well . The lines still evoke the same stirrings and hauntings in me today as when I read it at 17.
But I am hopeful! March came in like a lion, but he will go out like a lamb.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Only a few days left in July. I really hate to flip the calendar. I don't think I am a superstitious person, but I never like to flip a calendar page early. I don't hestitate to walk under ladders if need be. Neither do I worry if a black cat crosses my path. Perhaps, ecentric, quirky or just plain weird would fit? I took the Meyers- Briggs personality test.just for fun and was amazed at the results.
~I am an ENFJ~
EXTRAVERSION, INTUITIVE, with FEELING and JUDGEMENT
ENFJ's are sociable, intuitive, sensitive and organized. (hmm? I can be in a pinch) These energetic, warm and charming folks are influential, and they make catalytic and charismatic leaders. People often find that they want to do whatever ENFJ's want them to do! (I like this!) Many ENFJ's have a natural gift for public speaking (oh my No Way!) and for organizing people to accomplish a goal-whether in politics, business, religion, teaching, sales, or therapy. (Yeah, I've done that) Responsible, tenacious, idealistic and opinionated, (uh oh-opinionated) outgoing ENFJ's usually work their magic by artful facilitation or tactful persuasion, but they are willing to do battle (Yeah, done that too) with people and institutions they see as wrong-minded or mean-spirited. ENFJ's honor their commitments and expect the same of others. This type paradoxical pitfalls of conflict avoidance and "kinder-than-thou" righteous indignation may get in their way, now and then. Groups headed by competent ENFJ's are marked by well-defined mission, teamwork, open communication, appreciation and support for every member-but they may be well advised to have other types look after the impersonal details.
ENFJ's believe in their dreams and see themselves as helpers and enablers. (Cool!)