Index

Reading,

Writing Poetry and Stories,

Words that

Tickle my Tongue

And my Fancy.

Making things

For people I love,

Balloons, Merry-go-rounds,

Butterflies,

Primary Colors,

Pastel Colors,

Songs Sung by Lonely Mice,

Enchanted Castles,

Fairy tales.

Beauties & Beasts.

Frogs

and Princes,

Dr Suess,

Crickets,

Peter Rabbit & Beatrix Potter

Poems by Robert Frost, Emily DIckinson,

Love Poems by

Sara Teaasdale

Books of All Kinds

Rabbits, Bunnies and Hares,

Cold Hands

Warm Hearts,

Faces of Friends,

Splashing in Puddles,

Smell of Earth

After Rain,

Changing Seasons,

Winter, Spring

Summer, Fall

Especially the Fall

Waving at Airplanes

Sunrise,

Sunset

Simple Pleasures

Life!

Did I Mention Bunnies?

Monday, February 10, 2003

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!

"There Will Come Soft Rains"

(War Time)

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.

Sara Teasdale

1920

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.

Goodbye April!

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?

Poems for May

My poem, On Roses was inspired by

Robert Herrick's Gather Ye rose-buds.

I was suprised when I researched the first

and only line I knew of his poem. In fact,

I didn't even know the author's name. Isn't it

remarkable how tidbits of this and that-

poems, snatches of songs, words,

imprint on our brains and lie in shadow until

one fine morning while in the shower or

driving in the car or even with your hands

in a pan of soapy dishwater these

delightful tidbits resurface and shine with

new polished luster? Thanks Mr. Herrick!

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

RAILWAY TRAIN

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.

Emily Dickinson

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)

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".

<sigh>

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."

<sigh>

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.

(more of my Rabbity Routine later)

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.

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!"

Shhhhhh, listen.

Friday, February 14, 2003

~Valentines's Day~

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