Back in the USA

Being up here in Mapleton, Maine, has brought back another memory of a trip out here.  This time I was teaching first grade in Wisconsin.  I shared a huge room in the Library-Media Center, with a reading specialist and another first grade class.  It was back in the 70s, so the thing to do back then was to teach without walls interfering with your ability to span the curriculum across acres of kids so no one could pay attention.

Although there were no walls, teachers spent hours making sure they had the right furniture to create walls and pathways for other classes to weave through their room on the way back from Specialists.
My student teaching was done in a school in Hampden, Maine, that had 4 third grades in one huge room with room dividers that could be slid back to open 2, 3 or 4 rooms up to share a lesson.  It was a strange time, the 70’s.

The teacher I shared my space with in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, was young, as was I.  I had been married for 5 years, and she had been married for almost a year.  We had a great time teaching together, laughing, talking, supporting each other in our failures and applauding each other’s successes.  We worked very well together, and it really didn’t matter that we could hear every word the other spoke as we taught our two classes side by side.  It actually helped in some ways.  We’d be reminded of things we wanted to remember to do or say.  We could watch the other class if we needed a bathroom break.  We could reassure with a look to the other, if we wondered if we were being either too harsh or too easy on a student.  I remember nodding approval to her as she spoke to a student about some inappropriate behavior.  We just had a good way of communicating and helping each other even without words many times.

At the end of the school year, I wanted to go home and visit my parents and in-laws in Maine.  My husband’s job couldn’t give him any time off, so I talked my teacher friend into driving the 1600 miles to Maine.  I decided that going through Canada, as my husband and I had done before, would be the easiest way to go.  That way we would come in at the north to see my in-laws first. We’d come into Maine that way and then travel downstate to my parents’ home.   Then we’d return to Wisconsin through the states.

We set out for our journey, packing backpacks with clothes and the usual necessities.  Then we packed a basket with some snacks, and plastic bags of instant coffee, sugar and creamer.  That way we could stay awake for the 24 hours it would take to make the journey. 

This was before you needed a passport, or birth certificate to get across the border.  You had to stop at a check point on the border and declare why you were traveling and show your driver’s license.  Then you crossed the border, and tah-dah, you were in.

We traveled through Michigan and then took a route through Canada up to Northern Maine.  We would have taken the route through Sault Ste Marie, but my husband and I had done that one before, and there really was a long stretch there where there was nothing.  No restaurants, no motels, no gas stations.  Well, there were some of those places, theoretically.  Or at least that’s what their hand painted signs said they were.

So we didn’t go that way.  Two women traveling alone, before cellphones, it wasn’t a great thing to do.  So we traveled to Detroit and crossed over to Canada there.

We drove and drove and drove.  We came to the Canadian/US border to get back into the United States well after midnight.  We were very tired, and getting slap-happy, as it was exciting to find ourselves within a couple of hours of being at our journey’s end.

Their was only one guard at the US Border that we could see.  He looked at us and assessed the situation.  He asked where we were going, and then were we going to meet any one here.  That seemed a funny question to ask us, so we laughed and told him where we were going to see my in-laws in Mapleton, and no we weren’t meeting anyone here at the border.  He asked us to get out of the car, and we obliged.  No sooner had we gotten out of the car, than a young man appeared out of the darkness and walked up to us.   He asked if we would give him a ride.  We said "No".  He walked back into the night, and we never saw him again.  When he was gone, we began giggling again at the coincidence of being asked if we were meeting someone, and then someone appearing as if we were waiting for him.

At that point, the Border patrol officer began pulling our car apart.  Every item we owned was removed from the car.  Backpacks were emptied.  Because, as I said, we were tired and getting giddy, we sat down on the curb in view of the Border Patrol, and started to giggle even harder, as we remembered the basket of snacks,  and bags of coffee, sugar and creamer on the floor of the back seat.  What would he think of those plastic baggies of white powder neatly tucked under the coffee?  We laughed even more, until we realized we could be here for quite a long time while they tested both us and the sugar and creamer.  After all, it was in the days of drugs crossing the northern borders of Maine...oh, dear!  What were we thinking?  But we still couldn’t help but laugh at the circumstances, and what they would say when they found out the white powders were for coffee highs.

Suddenly, in the middle of his pawing through our purses, he stopped.
He came up to us, and asked, “Are you both teachers?”
We looked surprised, I’m sure, as in unison we chortled, “Yes!”
“How did you know?”  I asked him.
“Lots of pens.  Lots of pens and pencils in your purses.  More than other people.”

He had concluded his search and found us to be harmless, young teachers.  Although he didn’t help us repack, we got to return to the USA, and got to keep our sugar and creamer, and our pens and pencils.

Way Up North

I am up north.  Way up north.  North in Maine.  So that's north a lot.  This is potato country in Maine.  It's a land of sky and potato fields.  It's a land of hardworking people.  It's a cold, frozen land in the winter, and in much of the fall and spring.  The snows in Southern Maine have pretty much gone.  But in The County, as Aroostook is called, it is still snow covered.

Today on our way up, we could see Mount Katahdin clearly.  Often it is cloud covered and barely visible.  But today its peak was pristine white surrounded by dark spruce and pine at its base.  It put me in mind of barnacles - but then I am from the coast.  We wanted to stop for a picture, but the lookout road was snowcovered and closed.  Some footprints led up to the overlook.   Earlier someone had decided to park their car on the side of the highway and hike up to get a better look.  We decided not to risk the ticket.  We've seen the mountain before.  I still like to see it though.  It is like looking at the ocean that changes with the sky and seasons - never the same view from day to day.

We kept on riding.  Pippi came with us.  She, unlike Deb Day's Chloe, got to come on this trip.  (The cat is not going to be speaking to us when we get back.)  Pippi is a good rider and doesn't need to have a bathroom break during our 6 hours on the road.  This is fortunate, as I really don't like picking up dog droppings.  We, however, needed to stop twice.  Coffee, bathroom, Monster drink/orange juice, bathroom, no more drinks, no more places to stop, we're there, bathroom.

After being on the road for 6 hours we arrived at our destination: Mapleton, north of Presque Isle, west of Canada, a nice little town, and the town where I first taught school, and where my mother-in-law lives on her own in her cozy home of 60 something years.

We came for a visit to relax, get the computer working correctly again, watch TV, sit a bit, and talk.  We may play Bananagrams, a game we found at BAMS! on our way up.  And tomorrow, for supper, we'll have the sockeye salmon that we bought and packed in ice for the trip.

Time to head home will come too soon.  It's a long ride.  It's a long time between trips. The summer is really the time to do this.  The weather at any other time is too unpredictable.  The whole time we are planning the trip and the entire time we are here, we keep an eye on the weather.

Snow flurries on their way today.

I remember a time, years ago, when we left Mapleton to go home after Thanksgiving, a few snowflakes had started to fall.  My father-in-law said it wouldn't amount to anything.  It was just a flurry.  It would stop very soon.  I looked at the sky, and wasn't so sure about that.  But because we needed to be back for work the next day, we headed for home in the "flurries".  We never did get out of the storm.  It was not a flurry.  You don't need a yardstick to measure flurries.  You don't need to shovel and plow flurries.  This required shoveling and plowing.  This was measurable in feet.  This required x-ray vision and snowshoes.  Cars and tow trucks littered the highway and embankments. We arrived home safe and sound in body, but mentally a wreck.

So we are keeping an eye and ear out when the weatherman speaks for the next few days.  We will plan our trip home accordingly.

The Most Beautiful Word

The Most Beautiful Word in the English Language

I was reminded of a “word”, of sorts yesterday.  My brother asked me if I remembered the most beautiful word in the English language.  He said I had told him many years ago when we were children...so that was a lot of years ago.  He remembers everything about our childhood years.
I couldn’t remember, until he reminded me: cellardoor.  Yes, now I remember saying that.
Technically that isn’t a word; it’s two words.  But I was a kid.  We said it as one word, like football, mailbox...a compound word.  But I’d never written it, nor asked anyone how to spell it.  So if I’d written it, I’d have probably not even spelled “cellar” correctly.
Say the word softly, running the two words together.  Make sure the primary emphasis is on “door” and the secondary one is on the first syllable.  Got it.  Now do it.  Isn’t it just about the prettiest word you have ever said or heard?  Well, I thought so.  And as soon as he said it, I was brought back to a time long ago in our old kitchen in Woolwich, Maine, on our 10 acre “farm”.
I was reminded of why I probably was even saying the word.  The cellar door was the spot we recorded our heights every year or so.  All four of the D’s lined up with heels snug to the wall while Mom made that line pressing down on the tops of our heads.  Then we’d step forward with grins of anticipation, looking to see how many feet taller we’d grown that year.
Sometimes during the day we’d stop back for a peek, and ask Mom to measure us again, to see if we’d grown any after that grilled cheese sandwich and fruit cocktail.  We never had.  It is funny how you can not see growth but it is happening.
We moved from the house after I started ninth grade.  I’d have to go into our neighboring city, Bath, to go to Junior High and High School, so it was going to be an inconvenience to have to drive me each day.  Nope.  Buses didn’t run out to the country folk back then.  If you wanted to go to school after 8th grade, you had better find a way to get there.  So we moved our solidly knit family, bringing our ruler to measure and our pencil for marking.  But I don’t remember any other place we got measured other than at the "cellardoor" in Woolwich.
What do you think is the most beautiful word in the English language?

I Spoke Up

I think this is what just happened.


With passion and conviction,
I spoke. 
The room held its breath,
And then I held my breath
As the cold rains came. 
I was dampened and muddied,
Chilled and saddened,
But I was not silent.
And for that I am glad.

The March Wind Doth Blow

A couple of days ago I took a walk in our neighborhood, such as it is...

and the sights and sounds were incredible.
I would say I was intrigued by them, but I think I was more enchanted.

It was such a windy day, yet warm and sunny.  In the late afternoon my husband and I took a walk down the road.  It's only a matter of time now, and the mosquitoes and ticks will be sharing the world with us.  This time between dodging snow and swatting insects, between snowshoes and flipflops, is the best time for walking - as long as you can avoid the mud.
You can pretty much walk in the middle of the road here.  We are in a small association, so there are no cars going through and you may or may not run into a neighbor walking their dog.  We saw no one.  Which is nice.  We could concentrate on just taking it all in as we walked.
I have to say, I'm not much of a walker any more.  I have a few hitches and glitches that make it uncomfortable at times, so I mostly meander.  You are not going to get your heart rate up there if you're my walking buddy.  But my husband was patient and we strolled and stretched our way down the road.  It's a banner day.  I hadn't walked this far in ages with him.  I was cringing a bit though, wondering if he would have to go get the car to fetch me home again!
On our way though, my attention was taken off my aches and pains and the distance, as we watched the giant pines swaying and swishing in the wind, and listened to the bare oaks rattling their branches and threatening to break - some actually sending brittle limbs crashing down to the ground.
Our ears caught the happy sounds of a springtime rill heading downhill to the river.  As the clear water leaped over rocks, twigs and brown leaves, I dismissed the thought of how each step away from the house was another one to return.
We strolled on to the end of the cul-de-sac, the beginning of the trip back.
I bent to stretch my back and ease the cramps protesting the length of the walk.  I started to think about the long walk back.  The car was sounding good, but I shook off the feeling, straightened up and walked on toward home.
Over the howl of the wind, the unmistakable screech of a red-tailed hawk gave warning to creatures below.  It's haunting, lingering screech was more chilling than the wind.  We couldn't see him past the tall trees, but his presence was clear.  I wouldn't have wanted to be a mouse or squirrel right then, for although we couldn't see him, I'm sure he would have seen us.  I had no doubt that if I were a small animal with a sore back, I'd have still darted and jumped and scuttled under a rock to escape the piercing eyes of that hunter.
As we retraced our steps, I felt the wind now at our backs, pushing us homeward.  Perhaps it knew I was tired and needed the boost?  Leaves skittered, popped and rolled along behind us, and then overtook us, laughing at us slowpokes as they tumbled past.
They may think they won the race.  But I've heard "Slow and steady wins the race."  I think I won.
But I hope I can walk tomorrow!

Dictionary Poem

Wow!  I'm intrigued again! Or am I tickled?

I noticed yesterday that in the past two posts I’ve used the word ‘intrigued’. 

(See my photo above

for another intriguing moment 

where a leaf melted the ice and

then got blown away

by the strong winds yesterday.) 

I went back to my prior posts to change one of the 'intrigueds', but found I couldn’t think of a better word for it in either case.  I decided that it would be intriguing to search for other ways to say I was intrigued.

And it was.

Voila! A poem for Friday.  I guess you could call it a Dictionary Poem!

My curiosity

is aroused,

 so I must be 

intrigued,

Or could I be

Pulled,

Drawn,

Piqued,

Tickled,

Excited,

Hooked,

Riveted,

Pleased,

Grabbed,

Charmed,
Titillated,

Delighted,
Absorbed,

Enchanted,
Enthralled,
Interested,

Fascinated,
Stimulated,

Captivated,

or

Entertained?

I do know,

I'm 

Not bored.
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How to write a "Dictionary Poem" (invented by me!):  The definition is worked in at the beginning, then a list of synonyms (at least 4) and then the antonym worked in at the end.  It seemed a format that kids could use pretty easily, AND learn some vocabulary for use in other writing later.  I also liked the building of the tower of words, but it doesn't have to be that way.  It can depend on the word.  For instance 'random' could have a whole different look!
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BTW: If you try it, or get your writer crew to try it, let me know!  I'd love to read them and see how the format/method works in other's minds!  Just comment with the poem, or where to find it online, and say "Don't post," if you just want me to read it and not publish.  My comments are approved before posting, not automatically posted.

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Poetry Friday is hosted today at the Gathering Books blog. Go there for some fine poetry links.

 

Spring Cookies

As I walked from the garage to the house yesterday, I caught a glimpse of the leaves on the ground.  My hands were occupied with groceries and mail, so I had to go back after putting my stuff in the house.

I am always intrigued at this time of year when the oak trees finally relinquish their fall leaves.  The tenacious leaves finally fall, landing on snow and ice being warmed by the new rays of a sun beefing up for its full summer power.

The dark leaf absorbs the sun's rays, melting the snow below it faster than its surroundings.

The cookie cutter outline of the leaf is left in the icy dough 

as it sinks into the snow. 

Have You Ever Imagined?

As a child I imagined being able to go places that no one else could go...that were impossible for me to go.  But what's impossible for me, isn't impossible for all, and that's what made it so intriguing as I thought about things as I laid in bed, sat on logs, rowed a boat, and read books.   Enjoy the links.

Have you ever
Imagined walking
On the ceiling
Of your room?
A spider can.

Have you ever
Imagined walking
Into the room
In the mirror?
Alice can.

Have you ever
Imagined walking
On the deepest floor
Of the ocean?
A giant isopod can.

Have you ever
Imagined walking
On the tippy top
Of a very high mountain?
A mountain goat can.

When I was young
I imagined walking
Where no one could go
No one would go
Not yet.

Have you ever
Imagined walking
On the white-gray dust
Of the moon?
No one can.

And then they walked on the moon
Without me.

Baby Booty

I was doing my book chat with my daughter yesterday and we got onto other things later.  One of those was the complaint that Mr. NoNap was still awake.

Mother - Daughter Google Chat conversation:
daughter:  I tried rocking him and closing my eyes (hoping he'd catch on).
But every time I peeked, these big blue eyes were staring right at me.
One of the times I wish my eyes had cameras.
me:  You don't have them yet?
daughter:  No, does apple sell them?
daughter: iEyes
me:  There may be an app.  Oh, yes, iEyes...they come with a patch in case you only want to use one
(. . . pause . . . )
me:  Get it?  Aye, aye, Captain!  Pirates...eyepatch?
(. . . pause . . . )
daughter:  Right

Our complaint is that when a mom, a dad or a grandma wants to capture a moment it would be great to have cameras in your eyes.  It is not our first conversation about this.
Every time there's something cute going on, you have to drop everything and grab the camera, which is never right beside you. Your hands are often occupied with holding the cuteness.  Or the cute happening is going to stop happening before you can get the camera aimed.  To have the ability to blink your eyes and just start the eye camera, or iEye, as we like to call it, would be such a great invention.
I'm ready to draw up the prototype.  Do not steal our iDea, matey.  We're laying claim to the baby booty!  Arrrg.

Book Club for 2

I noticed some links to another challenge called It’s Monday! What Are You Reading.  I am not participating, but was reminded that I am reading a technically YA book right now...and that I have taken too many days off from reading it!  My daughter is going to be way ahead of me.  Fortunately, with an infant in the house, it slows her down some and I can keep up most of the time.

We started reading The Hobbit after a conversation in Google Chat, where I said something about "my precious".  I have used that expression for years since reading The Hobbit, and thought that the creature in the caves was speaking of and to itself.  She thought the creature was referring to the ring. I was surprised that she had read the book and asked her when she had read it.  She said "No," she hadn't ever read it.  She'd just seen the movie.  I had read the book long ago, when I was in my 20's.  So we decided we'd both read the book, and find out the answer in a little mother/daughter book club for two.
A few "chat quiet" minutes later, we had both downloaded The Hobbit.

So evenings, we sit "together" and read.  It's different than when I would hold her on my lap or snuggle up on the bed with those books with the golden spines, or the "chapter" books as she got older.  But there is still something very special about sharing a book with your child even when they are 449 miles away, with a child of their own...and the books are on your iPads.

Sunday, Sunday

I don't do work on Sunday.  I don't have time to write on Sunday either.  So it's Saturday night and I'm scheduling this to post tomorrow/today.
Sunday is set aside for no work, and even when I was teaching, I made sure lessons were planned and all was set for Monday before going to bed on Saturday.
Sunday is church and family.  All morning.  All day.  All evening.
I may run to the grocery store if we need some chips and dip and dessert, but mostly it is not a day for shopping either.
Remember when stores were closed on Sundays?  Remember when people didn't need to shop on Sunday?  Didn't need to work on Sunday unless you worked at a hospital, a police station or a radio station, or were a minister?
Speaking of things closed...Does anyone out there remember gas rationing and gas stations closed on Sundays?
My husband and I were finishing college and had been married for a year when I got a job teaching in northern Maine.  He finished grad school and then got a job in south/central Maine.  They were good jobs.  We were young.  We could see each other on weekends.
So we lived apart for the better part of a year and met halfway between our two places on Friday nights at a motel where they were giving us a good deal on a room.   
"Smith, two nights." 
 "Yeah, right.  Smith."
And we'd get a nice room at half rate for two nights.
We'd arrived in different cars coming from different directions and headed back on Sunday morning going our separate ways again. 
Unfortunately that was the year there was a gas shortage.  There were long lines at gas stations and many closed their pumps for good.  Stations closed early on Saturday and didn't open again until Monday morning.
On Saturday afternoon, as late as possible, we'd fill up our gas tanks for the Sunday morning rides back to our corners of the state.  We each drove about 3 hours, so we had to make sure the tanks were filled.  We had to find a gas station that still had gas and was open.  And it had to be as close to closing as possible, other wise you couldn't drive anywhere during the day on Saturday and still be certain that you would have enough gas to get back home.
It was an interesting time.  We both quit our first real jobs around March and decided to live together in Wisconsin.  After all, we were married.  It seemed the right thing to do.

Waterlogged

Waterlogged

Gray sky
Gray rooftops
Grayed out day
Rain to stay
Creating
Wet smoke
From airy ashes
Pressed down
On the the ground
Creating
Campfire memories
Of marshmallows
And burned hot dogs
And songs around logs
And doused fire.

Dog's Day Off, My Turn

My cat is quiet and no where to be found when I wake up.  It’s a snowy, lazy day.  The dog is anxious to start her day with a quick trip outside, then a hearty bowl of Pedigree with a side of water.
No cat, until the dog goes outside.  He stretches from behind the TV stand to peer out the window and watch the dog in the snow.

I feed both cat and dog, and everything is peaceful, but not for long.  The cat has something in mind to liven up the morning.  Jump to the table, leap to the railing, squeeze through the open stair treads, bound up the stairs to the loft, run a lap around the treadmill, race down the stairs, streak through the living room, jump to the end table, hop to the half wall, sit for a second, and repeat from the beginning.

The dog is on her bed waiting invisibly for the whole thing to be over.Creak.  Ah, the dog's relieved.  It’s going to involve me today, not her.

The cat reaches to the doorknob and the door pushes open.  The bedroom door wasn’t latched.  Pretty soon I hear plastic rustling.  The bathroom door must have been open, too.  There is a trash bag in there that I am filling with expired products from the linen closet to throw away on dump day.
I stride through the bedroom and into the bathroom.  Yup.  There he is chewing on the red handles of the trash bag.  He has a plastic bag addiction.  I chase him out of the room.  He knows it's going to happen, so he gets to make a quick and skittery getaway.

I work around the house some, and he gets on the table and looks at me.  He tries to slide a stack of mail I have on the table to the floor.  I yell at him.  He ignores me.  He starts to eat a corner of the newspaper that is with the mail.  When he can’t get his plastic fix, he’ll go for crinkly paper.  He’s pretty successful at getting my attention, and I shoo him off the table.

He meows at me and jumps on the chair that I was sitting in before I got up to shoo him off the table.
I sit in the chair anyway and he leans back a bit to avoid me.  Pretty soon he leaves.  He isn’t in this for the pats or the lap.  I still don’t know what his game is.  I think it’s just to see how irritated I can get and still feed him.

I work some on the computer in the kitchen.  I write a nice haiku about snow.  I hear cupboards banging.  Looking up I see four doors already open, and he’s over at the more difficult one for him to open stretching up to grab the knobs, banging it as he gets it partway open and it slams shut again.  The others are easier for him, because the knobs are lower due to the drawers being above them.  This one is a corner one at a strange angle, and it has knobs that are up at the countertop edge.  He loves a challenge.  These corner cupboards have been eating at him for years, and this winter he finally mastered them.  (He’s tried opening the drawers by pulling on those knobs, too, but hasn’t got that mastered...yet.)
I ignore the banging cupboard.  It stops.  I hear funny rustling noises and get up to investigate.
There he is.  New game.

He doesn’t usually get inside and look out.

He likes to watch the toilet flush, but I flush the toilet without him seeing how it was done.  There are plastics in the trash, so I try to throw away trash without him seeing how the lid lifts on the trash can.  If he sees it, he knows it can be done.  He knows that a doorknob opens doors to other rooms, but so far they are too big for his paws to turn.   He also knows refrigerators open, but he as of this moment he’s using the wrong side of the refrigerator door.  He’s trying to open it from the side with the round dot that is a hole plug in case you want to switch the direction it opens. It looks like a door knob to him, I guess. 
Silly cat. 
Everyone knows a refrigerator has a handle, not a doorknob
...but some day.

Dusty Doilies Day

Now my railing is dusty.

Invisible hands

Shaking doilies overhead:

March snow, spring cleaning.

I was going to post on the three books that influenced my life and I even wrote some "stuff".  But then the snow was here out the window as I was writing, and I kept thinking about it.  It's hard not to think about it when you are in a house with a sliding glass door beside the kitchen table on one hand and floor to ceiling windows to the right, in the open living room.  I always get the effect of being inside an inside-out snow globe and someone has shaken the outside, or shaken something outside overhead.
So haiku it is.  No books.

What I Learned From My Mother

I learned from my mother how to
grow carrots as big as my little finger
and how to scrub the dirt off a carrot with my shirt
so I could eat it fresh out of the garden
any time I was hungry.
I learned it’s okay if you laugh at a funeral
because you don’t want to cry.
I learned how to type and sew and knit and crochet.
And I learned how to iron shirts and tablecloths.
I learned that you didn’t want to get
your hands near a wringer washer
or your fingers too close to a sewing machine needle.
I learned not to panic when someone or your
dog got hurt,
and that you could and should
comfort the injured.
I learned how to spell and do my homework and
go to bed when you were making too many mistakes.
I learned that you would do better
with a fresh brain,
than with a tired one.
I learned to make roads in dirt for Tonka trucks
and rivers to drain puddles and how to repair
broken porcelain horses.
I learned how to speak kindly
and share even when it wasn’t what you
wanted to do.
I learned how to pick up a hen
to get an egg from her nest.
I learned how to bake brown rim cookies and use a wet
towel and a glass to flatten them just right
before baking.
I learned that I could be a teacher
if I wanted to,
and that I would be a good one if I did it.
I learned how to draw perspective.
I learned that it was possible to learn things outside of school.
I learned that I could know the names of
butterflies and moths and know any other thing I wanted
to know by reading books or observing.
I learned that reading could take me to the Alps.
I learned that I could dance.
I learned that your family name is important to keep untarnished
not only for you, but for the rest of the family.
I learned that it was expected that you would stand up
for any family member if they were
being criticized or treated unkindly
no matter how much your brother had
just been mean or unfair to you the day before.
I learned that it was okay to make mistakes and
that some of the worst mistakes can
lead to wonderful fixes.
I learned from my mom that you can do anything
for a day,
and that life is made up
of mini adventures that you
can not only handle,
but enjoy.
I learned that no matter
what life has dealt you,
you are the one that chooses to make
the lemonade.
I learned that you never stop missing
a mom.

Sun Feb. 26, 10:19 pm
Donna

When I read this Poetry Friday entry at Dori Reads: Poetry Friday: Julia Kasdorf
I wanted to write What I Learned From My Mother.  It was an enjoyable exercise and took me back to so many great childhood days with mom.

Thanks for this Moment

Thank you Diana at One Literacy Coach for my inspiration today...actually yesterday, but I'd already posted.  It was a quiet rainy morning, and I relaxed and had my coffee, my cat, my dog, my book and a quiet house with a nice fire going in the woodstove.  Could a moment in time be better?

Maybe with chocolate.
But that's for another post.

I'm thankful this moment
For this daily slice
I treasure this minute
So cozy and nice.
As rain hits the rooftop
It patters o'erhead
The dog sleeps so soundly;
The embers glow red.
Its warmth stops the cat
He finishes cleaning
It's time for a nap
For curling, not preening.
So I curl up too
My coffee mug steaming
Reading my book
And so close to dreaming
I'm thankful this moment
For a quiet retreat
This moment of time
When all feels complete.

Be happy I didn't end it this way...like I was tempted...

The quiet surrounds
Thanks for the moment.
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a rodent.

Thanks, MsMac, for hosting Poetry Friday today.

February

President's Day, was a couple of days ago.  I guess it's officially George Washington's birthday that the nation celebrates on President's Day, but it seemed to me, when I was younger, the birthdays of Washington and Lincoln were combined to make Presidents' Day.

In February we celebrate the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln (born February 12) and George Washington (born February 22).   When I was a little girl, we had those two days off, even if they were in the middle of the week. Monday holidays had not been invented yet.
Combine two days off in the middle of the week, Valentine's Day, being short by a few days, my brother's birthday and getting to be closer to spring - well, February was quite a wonderful month.
Oh, and sometimes it was a day longer, but still shorter than the other months....Leap Year!
Which it just so happens to be this year.  Wow, an additional day this year.  Will we be able to handle it?
Still...
One day it is Groundhog's Day...the next it's the kites of March!

Friendship

I am on my way up to Gull Haven...

It just dawned on me as I was sitting at the computer, that the dumpster is there, and the walls are being dewalled.  The wrinkles are coming off.  We are getting our blank slate this week!  So I'm getting in the car and heading north a ways and see if I can get some pictures for the Gull Haven blog.  Yippee!

As soon as I get there, I'll add a photo or two to this page and some to Gull Haven from my phone.
Then grocery shopping and maybe some bead shopping just before the groceries.  Wouldn't want ice cream to melt...brb!!

*************************

And I am back.  It was a gorgeous February day!  47 degrees and sunny there, although it sprinkled on the way there.  But that's Maine.  There have been times when it is snowing like crazy at our house, and nothing anywhere else...or just the opposite!  Looks funny on the weather map.  Our peninsulas and islands get different weather than a lot of the state.

I went in the house and talked to the man working on the house.  They've filled a dumpster and need to empty it to finish up.  Maybe 3 more days until the walls are opened up.  It was great to hear him say that the house was really well built.  We had hoped that would be the case.  It was a pretty good bet since we bought it from the daughter of the boatbuilder who built it in 1900. 

It was so exciting to smell the fresh air in it.   The walls were holding onto some musty smells from years of being used as storage space.  It was nice to see the sunshine through the walls.  The downstairs windows were opened up to let the breeze through, and it made the view so crystal clear; no viewing through two layers of dirty windows. 

The sky was clearly doing its best to make the water look good!

February 22, 2012

Heart to Heartwood

I spent quite a bit of time writing about this picture, only to have it deleted.   I sat down and tried to remember the poem I'd written.   I think I have it all.  I first tried to think of all the rhymes I used and then tried to remember some of the phrasing.  I'm pretty sure I have all but one stanza.  I think there was one more.  But obviously it wasn't important or necessary or I'd remember it, right?  And I've rephrased some of it now, I'm pretty sure.  And this is the way you edit!  No, this is the way you remember to save it as a draft when you are typing it to yourself as an email on your cellphone and stop to check the date.

I took this picture while I was out on my "summer day" at the beach in January.  It's my second roots picture and poem.  I'm seeing a trend here.  I like roots.  I'd best get my camera refocused for a little variety, though.

Its fingers reach up to the sky -
They once caressed the earth;
It floated to its place of rest
Now sand supports its girth.

As smooth seat or a playground,
Old and young will find
It comforts and consoles them,
Their tight souls to unwind

In heart to heartwood talks
A burden that's revealed 
Becomes embedded in its core
And in its rings concealed

The weight of all those cares
Will keep it in this spot
But should it ever drift away
It would not speak my thought.



Donna Smith
2/9/2012

I See

From Every Day Poems on Facebook

"Can you find a poem in this photo? If I were to find one, it might be in the woman's stance, or perhaps from an imagined figure in the air above her, or maybe in the folds of that voluminous skirt.

Share your poem, or a link to it, right here in this comment box, so we can easily find it and celebrate each other's words..."   

So I wrote this:

I am still here;
I watch from afar,
I see your loneliness,
I see your scar.
It's still alright;
You can still laugh,
You can still love,
Make whole your half.
Step out of the dark
You'll make your way
There's more for your life
Than you see today.
Did you feel my nudge
As I pushed you to go?
I want you to live.
I want you to grow.
Yes, I will be here
While you are still there;
Step forward knowing
I'll always care.

Donna Smith
2/8/2012

Downed and Upended

I drove past this beautiful hemlock blown over in one of our coastal storms. Their root systems being as shallow as they are and their full-time foliage makes them prime candidates for tipping over in a brisk wind.

Downed
Upended
Downhearted
Uprooted
Down trunk
Up roots
Down branches
Up rocks
Down shade
Up dirt
Down nests
Up tunnels
Down squirrels
Up worms
Downfallen
Uplifted

Donna Smith
2/7/2012

Sick or Tired?

Waves overcome;
The spinning
Confuses;
Taking to bed
Before
Sanity
Loses.
Clarity slips;
Tho brain
Pursues it;
Time slips away
Before
One can
Use it.


Is this the second wave of stomach flu that people are getting around here? Others have had it multiple times.  Maybe that's what I'm feeling today.  Make way for my nap... I should know shortly!

Summer Sun

Hey, Jim Hill!  Thanks for hosting Poetry Friday today!

the summer
sun
was visiting
me
on a

winter day

in January

and I went

out to play

and skipped

in sand

and taunted

waves

and said 

good day

to gulls and

spray

before the

summer sun

returned

to gray

Gingerbread, Laundry and Hems, Oh, My...

What's left...

I CANNOT believe what I just did.  I had a post written about my lack of focus the past few weeks...okay month...and I just did something, and the whole thing deleted...speaking of dumb things I've done this month.  Maybe I should be writing this in Word or Pages and saving it.
Let's try again.
First I need to explain that I've been working on getting stabilized on some BP meds, and they have made me tired, nauseous, dizzy and unfocused.  And to top it all off, I was sick last week.  I'm just saying, I don't think this is the real me lately.
A few weeks ago I tried making gingerbread, and left out the baking soda, even after reading the recipe many times and getting all the ingredients out ahead of time.  I just put the baking soda back without using it.  The gingerbread came out of the pan in a nice flat, hard, uncuttable piece; a gingerbread cutting board of sorts.  We did not eat it.  I broke it up so it would fit in the trash better.
I tried baking something else and made a major error, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was now.  Sigh.  I guess I'm not all the way better yet.
The most recent thing that I did was to change the bedding last week after being sick with stomach flu.  My husband was out of town, so when he returned I wanted to make sure that he would not get sick, and he'd have a fresh, non-germy bed to sleep in.  So I stripped the bed, scooped up the sheets and tossed them into the washer.
At the end of the cycle, I started to throw them into the dryer.  As I did, I noticed that one of the hand towels that I washed with the sheets seemed to have tissue on it.  Great.  I'd washed some tissues that must have been in bed with me.  I hate washing a tissue.  White pieces of paper all over everything!  I looked more closely at the light sheets and noticed that they had the tissue on them also.  I looked in the washer to see if there was tissue on the walls of the washer.  Yup.
But what was that in the bottom of the tub?  A spring?  I panicked.  It was about a foot long and an inch in diameter...a very big spring.   I'd broken the washer!  How could my washer have thrown a spring?
As I looked at it, it looked vaguely familiar.  I'd seen it before.  And then I realized what it was.  It was the ring binder of a book I'd read in bed.  232 pages: 116 sheets plus front and back cover.  118 pieces of paper.  Washed with my good sheets.  The Egyptian cotton 500 count sheets.  My splurge set.
I set the load out on the floor and unenthusiastically vacuumed the inside of my washing machine.  Then I put it through its 3 hour clean cycle.  No more washes tonight.
I picked up the hand towel again to see what could be done.  I took it outside and began to shake it energetically, sending white paper snowflakes into the air, and all over my dark shirt.  When I was out of breath I stopped and examined it again.  The paper fibers were still in the towel fibers, permanently embedded.  Discouraged, I left the mountain of wet laundry on the floor hoping my feeble brain would come up with an answer to the problem.
I remade the bed with my not favorite bedding.
The next day, resigned to the fact that they were going to be way too much trouble to try to de-paper, I picked up the mountain to stuff it into a trash bag.  It was now dried into a nice paper-mache sculpture.   I was pretty sure my decision to discard the evidence was the right one.
Is it any wonder that it took me 3 hours last Friday to work up the courage to hem my husband's two new pairs of pants?  Four legs.  The opportunities were limitless.

Summer in January

It was a great day for the beach yesterday at 51 degrees, and even today at 41 degrees.  The sun was out.  A few people were walking their dogs on the beach, and others were, like me, just meandering around.  But for the most part each of us had our own piece of the ocean to ourselves.  It was a glorious day.

A quiet place to sit

My treasures

I love, love, love the ocean.  It was tough the first few years we lived in Minnesota.  I learned to love it out there too, but it wasn't the same as being near the sea.  I need it.

Soup in the Pot

Kid's View...or mine after passing out on the floor while I was sick.

Oh, my.  I have been so sick this week.  Stomach stuff.  Dizzy.  I still am retaining some of the dizzy and tired.  It seems so long since I've felt well.  I'm afraid I will be quite giddy when I finally feel like myself again.  Anyway,  I started this poem over a week ago while I was feeling good and thought I'd have plenty of time to finish it.  I was thinking about when I was a little kid, and remembering when Mom was cooking on the stovetop (maybe it's all the soup I've had lately), and I had to ask her what she was making because I couldn't see into the pan.  I couldn't even see the stovetop.  Funny that I remember that moment.  I wonder sometimes what makes a moment stick, and so many others get lost in a tangle of dendrites and bits of dandruff.
My goal for February is a poem a day, like I did in April.  Only this time it is going to be only poems that are kid oriented.  Robert Louis Stevensonish or Aileen Fisherish, maybe?... I like them both.

There's something in the cupboard,
There's something on the shelf,
There's something cooking on the stove,
Can't see it by myself.

I cannot reach the glasses,
Nor cookies way up high,
I cannot see what's cooking,
No matter how I try.

Someday it will be different,
I'll see soup in the pot,
I'll easily get my cup out,
For short, I will be not.

I'll be the one to get things
And into cupboards look,
I'll reach into the cookie jar,
And even help Mom cook!

Goldie Locks and the Cat Hairs

Our dog is a Golden Retriever.  So that probably explains everything to anyone who has ever had interactions with such a breed.  Pippi loves people.  She loves cats, in spite of the fact that our cat sees her as a toy.  Hmm.  I'll have to include a picture of Purrsee "loving" our dog. 
Purrsee is a Maine Coon Cat.  If you have a cat with an attitude, you will understand our household dynamics better also.

Purrsee hugging Pippi.

When we leave the house, we put Pippi in charge, but remind her not to tell Purrsee.  We all know who's really in charge, but Pippi likes to think she has some say in what will go on while we are gone.  Twice now we've found Pippi without a tail wag.  We took her to the vet the first time it happened.  He said she had a slight swelling on her tail and to wait a couple of days and see what would become of it.  $175, please.
The tail wag came back in a couple of days.
So this time when it happened, we ignored it totally.  Most of her tail wag has come back.  She kind of twirls her tail in a circle now though instead of back and forth.
When she loses her wag, she looks so depressed.  Her tail hangs, her head hangs.  She eats and otherwise appears normal.  But she definitely needs her tail to wag to be her cheerful self.
Both times this has happened it has been a sudden thing.  One day she's waggy, the next day droopy.  And I'm wondering, as I did the first time, if the cat has anything to do with it.
You see, the cat is large and in charge.  Sometimes the cat will hide around a corner and pop out at the dog.  The dog will go skittering away, feet splaying, and sometimes she falls as she tries to maneuver a corner to get out of the way of the cat.
Sometimes the cat grabs the dog around the neck and bites an ear, or licks an ear (we never know what mood he's in when he starts the game), then runs off.  Purrsee usually only chases her a few feet and then turns around to walk away with an air of superiority about him.  The dog goes to her bed to play with a stuffed toy, like nothing ever happened, a cheerful "I wanted to be over here anyway" look on her grinny face, contented that the cat's attention has wandered to something else.
When we leave the house, I see their two faces looking out the window at us.  The cat's face usually is the first to disappear, leaving the dog to stare wistfully.

Pippi with Puppy

Pippi is such a gentle dog.  She loves stuffed toys, preferably ones that don't squeak.  If they squeak she gets concerned about their health and well-being.  When we come home she brings us one of her toys and will let us take it in our hands (like we really enjoy holding a wet stuffed animal) for a few seconds.  Then she gets nervous about never seeing it again and will request that you hand it back to her by opening her mouth and prancing around you.  She takes it carefully by the ear or leg, walks off a safe distance, sets it gently on the floor, and repositions it in her mouth for better carrying.
Pippi is so careful with her "babies", she would have every toy she ever owned if we didn't periodically get rid of some.  She currently has a Winnie the Pooh, a green swan, an elephant, a lion, a green monster and her Christmas puppy - a golden retriever from Cabela's .  As my husband and I manuever around these toys, it becomes apparent that we will have to cut down on her litter some.  It gets dangerous to walk around the house, and I'm getting so that I don't think I want to break a hip, or anything else for that matter.
The cat has one toy excluding the dog.  He is partial to a ring with a ball in it to bat in circles, with a center pad for clawing.  The entire house is his toy though.  We have open stairs and railings that he can crawl through and around and sit atop for surveying.  He has his jester dog.  He has his maid and butler who keep his bowls full and his litter box clean.  There really isn't anything else a king needs, unless you count that mouse he wanted to keep for a pet.  We drew the line there.  I don't mind playing a maid, but I'm not taking care of his pets.
Mouse is gone.

Okay, so are cats related to owls?

My Dreams

Sliding

Floating

Waiting patiently

Careful movements

Quietly entering

This world.

I dreamt

He

Would be

A son.

First born,

A gentle soul;

Fearfully and

Wonderfully made.

I loved him

Deeply

Before

He knew what

Love was.

Kicking

Somersaulting

Arms akimbo

Feet askipping.

Tumbling into

This world.

Before she had

A name

She was a dream

And I named

That dream

So that when

She came to be

She would have

Always had

A name.

True to

Her name,

God has

Graced her

With a son.

Savviniatory Blatherings

I made a book for our grandson's great-grandparents for Christmas.  I ordered late, so they just arrived.  I am really liking them.  It is basically a photo book of lots of the baby pictures taken in the first 4 months of his life.  I had them printed in 8 1/2 by 11 size in hardcover so they are easy to see and handle.  Now when Great Grammie wants to show off her very great grandson, she can easily point to the "coffee table" book instead of trying to bring up the photos on her computer or iPad.
I am readying to compile the next few months of life, and have begun putting in poems and stories for and about him.  I am so excited.  Don't read this, daughter of mine; maybe it will be a surprise gift for his first birthday.
I also burned a DVD of the book as a slideshow set to music as a gift for parents and the other set of grandparents.  They are more computer savvy, so the book isn't as necessary for showing baby pictures.
Isn't savvy a good word.  Where did it come from?  It sounds like a shortened version of some other word...like savvination, savviniatory...something like that, but it was too long and hard on the tongue, so they shortened it to savvy.
They are more computer savviniatory... He has street savvination...
Yeah, you would have to change that to savvy.
No, really, where is that from?
Okay. Nevermind. It makes sense.  I should have known:
Per the online dictionary:

W. Indies pidgin borrowing of Fr. savez (-vous)? "do you know?" or Sp. sabe (usted)"you know," both from V.L. *sapere, from L. sapere "be wise, be knowing".
There.  I've learned another new thing, sabe?
Wouldn't that make a nice word for Grandfather?  Sapere.  I'll have to tell my husband.  Maybe he'll want to be Sapere.  He's already savvy.

Happy New Year

The new year sneaks in 

Past the old 

And lays claim to 

All that is 

And is yet to be.

Unwritten Thoughts

Sometimes when you are reading other people's material, and you make a connection . . .

like, "yeah, that's totally happened to me",

or  "hey, I'm with you on that one, dude". . .

but you never wrote it down . . .

Unwritten thoughts

Spilled and are lost

All for the want of my pen

Gone to the wind

Float to the sky

Never my musing again

Someday they will

Drift back to earth

Finding some other like soul

With pen in hand

They’ll scribe those thoughts

Claiming a notion they stole


Check out more poetry topics for Friday on Poetry Friday hosted by Julie at The Drift Record

Carrot Pudding Angel

Funniest thing - just before I this happened, I read Christy's posting about the train wiring directions! Goose bumps.  I just had to post!

My husband and I went to RI for a couple of days last week on business.  As we were driving down, I received an email on my phone from my sister.  She had come across my grandmother's recipe for Carrot Pudding, hand written by our mom, on a little piece of paper tucked in an old cook book. Loving the sweetness of seeing it written in our mom's handwriting, she scanned it and shared.

A couple of days before getting the recipe email, I had been thinking about making my grandmother's Carrot Pudding for Christmas, but didn't know where to find the recipe.  Then, here it shows up in my inbox in Mom's handwriting!  I hadn't even told my sister...  I asked my sister if she might also have the copy of the recipe for the White Sauce for the pudding, but all she'd found was the pudding recipe.

On our return home, we discovered that our boiler wasn't working. To avoid steep charges for an emergency call, we waited until morning to call the repairman.  There would be no heat for the night without a nice fire in the wood stove. 

The next day, after the boiler was repaired and was again heating our home, I searched a few of my cookbooks and the Internet for the sauce recipe.  I finally found one that sounded close.  It had most of the ingredients I remembered, so I decided I'd use that.

Today, as I was doing some cleaning in my daughter's old bedroom, getting it ready for Christmas company, I heard what sounded like a low rattling coming from the basement.  I had heard the funny noise yesterday, but ignored it, thinking I'd mention it to my husband later.  Maybe it was the boiler again?  I decided to be a big girl and go check it out, just in case I needed to call the repairman.   But the everything was running smoothly.  I couldn't hear any unusual noise anywhere.  There was no more rattling.

A bit perplexed, I turned around to go back upstairs.  I went by some of the racks with boxes my husband had been going through, cleaning and repacking.  I stopped to look at a toy case with a fairy doll and a little stuffed dolphin that my daughter had when she was 6, over 20 years ago.  I didn't need those upstairs, but they made me smile.

I continued to the stairs.  As I did, I caught a glimpse of a pile of boxes off to the right, next to the basement wall.  The boxes were behind some fans and miscellaneous treasures on the floor.   There on top of the pile was a thick, faded red, familiar looking book.  The page edges were yellowed and the binding frayed.

"No," I whispered, "it can't be." (I really did.)

I shone the flashlight I'd brought down with me, but hadn't needed to use, on the book's cover where I was pretty sure I knew what it said. In large white block letters was "The Good Housekeeping Cook Book"  with a picture of a white baker's hat outlined below the title.
Mom's cookbook!  I didn't even know I had it.

I pushed fans and small boxes aside, and squeezed between them, reaching for the faded red cookbook of my childhood. As I opened it up, there were a few recipes cut from newspapers, and some other cards with recipes in handwriting I didn't recognize, but one scridge of paper was in Mom's pretty handwriting.  I don't know why, but seeing her handwriting is such a comfort to me.  It is something so personal in her absence, like a whisper.   And such a whisper it was.  On the little piece of paper was written my grandmother's Carrot Pudding Sauce recipe.

I'll probably never hear the rattling again.
I hope I do, though.

Guess what? There's going to be carrot pudding this year for Christmas!