May I Have a Word?

Here's my post for Poetry Friday hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe, and Slice#8 with Stacey and Ruth at Two Writing Teachers.  It's a poem warmup for March Madness Poetry 2013 Competition starting next week:

Ed DeCaria at Think Kid Think is beginning the new March Madness poetry competition for 2013.  On March 11, I'll receive my first word, along with 32 other poets.  The next day the other half of the poet/authletes will receive their words.  We each have 36 hours to write a poem using the word we've been assigned.  Check in next week on Wednesday (the 13th) afternoon and then Thursday (the 14th) to vote on the first set of poems.  Anyone may vote one time. If you have a class of students, get them to read and vote on their favorites, too!  After all, these poems are written for everyone!

Clicking on the link above or on the image at the top of the sidebar will bring you to the competition!

Here is a poem I wrote about the competition just to get me started - no voting yet!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

May I Have a Word?

March Madness Poetry

Begins very soon;

Its commencement is eminent

And all poets will croon,

"May I have a word?"

"Lay one on me," they'll wail,

"A noun or a verb -

Our rhyming won't fail!"

With 24 hours

It's just enough time

To put words together

And make up a rhyme.

Nobody knows what 

Their challenge will be,

We just have to wait

For March 11th to see.

Then starts the march

In the poem parade;

The reading, the voting, 

As best rhymes are played.

A winner is chosen

But that's not the end;

A new word and poet

Are just 'round the bend.

Onward the march

And all of its madness, 

Till crowned be a poet,

The Great His or Her Radness!

Such poems of sweetness

And some that are stinkier;

Till The March Madness Radness

Gets the trophy, The Thinkier.

By Donna JT Smith, Feb. 27, 2013 

Bringing It Home

An old postcard of Hotel Germania

I found this old post card for sale on the Internet, and just had to buy it!  What wonderful memories I have of this place.  It's changed quite a bit, mostly due to my grandparents.

My grandparents were born and raised in Newfoundland.  They lived in Pouch Cove where Grampie was a lobsterman and Nannie was a seamstress.  As a young couple, in the late 1920's, they moved to the states and settled in Chelsea, Massachusetts.  My grandfather had a scrapyard there.  My father told me that he loved being at the scrapyard with his dad and playing in the all the old cars.  My grandfather told me that it was dangerous.  I couldn't imagine any more magical a place to play though!

Nannie was a seamstress, making clothing and doing alterations.  We lived close enough by to visit pretty regularly in their second floor apartment.  I remember watching tv on their new roundish screened television set.  Lawrence Welk was a favorite, along with Howdy Doody.  They were the first to own a tv in our entire family.  They were the first to throw out the old to embrace the new.

My family moved to Maine, and soon after that my grandparents followed.  We moved to a big old house out in the country, but my grandparents moved into a newish 1940's tiny look alike house community in town - which is still there pretty much unchanged from when I was 6 years old.  My grandmother became the manager of a dress factory, and my grandfather worked there, too, first unloading huge bales of fabric and then loading dresses.

Though they had tried to throw out the old life, being from Newfoundland, they still missed the fishing life.  So, unbeknownst to my grandfather, my grandmother bought a little place right on the ocean.  He was livid when he found out...at first.  I imagine she just laughed at his sputtering.  I can hear her laugh now.  Her eyes would twinkle and she'd look down trying not to laugh.  Then she would start a small chuckle that would develop into an uncontrollable belly laugh that made everyone start laughing.  My dad had that laugh, and sometimes when I start laughing and can't stop, I hear her.  And I can't help but laugh all the more!

My grandfather's sputtering was because this "little" place she bought was the Hotel Germania.  It was located in South Harpswell, which in an earlier era had been host to cruising vessels and would drop off summer tourists to stay at these elaborate hotels on the coast.  It was a large building that had not been used in years.

I remember going there and quietly peeking in all the guest rooms and finding a dead bird in the corner of one of the rooms.  I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland as I opened and shut doors to little rooms and nooks. The number of doors to choose to open seemed to be endless.  I had dreams about that big, old empty house years later even.

The dining area was huge.  It still had all its tables and chairs set up, ready to serve at a moment's notice - except there was no water or electricity.  I wish I could remember more about some aspects of the house.  But I was probably only 8 years old at the time, and I was mostly fascinated with this glimpse into the past on a surface level.  I enjoyed the exploring more than the questions of how did they cook, was there ever electricity there and such.  I do know they didn't have bathrooms that worked anyway.  If we needed to go to the bathroom, we had to find a nice quiet spot under the pier.  That was impressive evidently!

They soon set to the task of selling off the furniture and fixtures, removing the long pier, tearing off the huge dining room and paring down to a nice sized home that overlooked Pott's Harbor.  And there, my grandfather set up his lobstering life again, while my grandmother continued to work as manager of a dress factory in town.

We spent many summer days and nights at my grandparents' home on the harbor. Gramp trapped lobsters.  Nannie cooked lobsters, and biscuits, and cabbage with corned beef, and deep dish apple pies.  And I climbed rocks and rowed boats and pulled a trap or two and fished and walked deserted islands, and pocketed bits of glass and rocks and shells, and learned to sew and cook.

And now my husband is Grampie and I am Nannie to our grandchild.  He has begun to recognize our laughs.  I want to bring Pouch Cove and Pott's Harbor to him.  The new is good, but it needs the old to bring it to life.

Arrow shows hotel - not my postcard

* Information found when I was looking for more pictures of Harpswell:
Edna St. Vincent Millay had a summer home in Harpswell.  She died one week before I was born.   Here is a link to her collection A Few Figs From Thistles.  Just so happens that was my grandfather's last name - Thistle.  My favorite poem in this collection reminds me of my post yesterday, though I had never read it before.  It is Portrait by a Neighbor.
Oooh, and I just found http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4399 to get this for your Kindle:

The Lawn Less Mowed

Our first home, well, the first one we bought after a few apartments when we were first married, was a nice little ranch house on Brice's Prairie in Wisconsin.  It was in a small development area on nice flat prairie land between the bluffs and near the river.  At the end of our street was a dairy farm.  I suppose that all the land used to belong to this farmer, since his barn was pretty close to the main road.  We were about the fifth house in from the end of the main road.

It was a pretty drive to and from our home and work in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, where I was a teachers' aide.  I had been a teacher in Maine, but when we moved I had to start over and there were not jobs...but that is another story.  Anyway, the huge bluffs, the flat in-betweens, the Mississippi River - all of these were common sights on our drives.  Beautiful farms tucked away in valleys at the base of the bluffs, and farms perched on top of the bluffs lay like undulating quilt squares.  You know Stevenson's poem The Land of Counterpane...well, that's Wisconsin and Minnesota on the Mississippi River.

We were young and newly married when we bought this first house and were not really versed in the care and maintenance of lawns.  Our older neighbor, however, was.  My husband stopped to chat with him one afternoon.  He had a beautiful lawn, so very well kept.  And ours was a mass of tangle-haired grass with yellow dandelion pigtails poking out all over it.  He told my husband that he'd finally gotten rid of all the dandelions on his lawn.  He was probably prompting my husband to ask how he did it.  Truly, we didn't even think he was trying to hint about anything.  So I can imagine what he thought of us when my husband laughed and told him he'd have more when ours all went to seed.  It really was just a statement of fact. Yes, it was dense now looking back on it.  We really never talked to him again, and I never did meet his wife.  But we didn't stay long there, so that could be the real reason why we didn't get to know them better.

It wasn't long after that conversation with the immaculate-lawn neighbor that we got an inkling of how differently we were maintaining our lawn compared to others.  Early, early morning (if you can call 4 am morning), I awoke to a noise I'd never heard before.  There was a rustling sound and low moans coming from outside our bedroom window.  I woke my husband, and we peeked out the window above our bed.  Just barely visible in the pre-morning light, we could make out white irregular shapes slowly moving about, lots of them.  And now the moaning, with awakened ears, was heard as the mooing of cows.  The scene was coming together as we squinted and listened.  Our front lawn was covered with black and white cows grazing on our lush lawn.  There was not a single cow on any other lawn in the neighborhood.   They had broken out of the pasture down the street and headed straight to our house.  Forget the other 39 lawns in our development. Why would they stop anywhere else?  Everyone knew the grass was always greener,  grew longer and had tastier dandelion greens on our side of the fence.
"Come on everyone, let's go to the Smith's house! "
I wondered how long they'd been planning this great escape.

Or... and this is truly, as I'm writing this, the first time I've thought of this possibility in the 38 years since we lived there...could it have been our neighbor?  Could he have let them out?
Oh, that would have been perfect.  I kind of hope it was!  We deserved it; though we did get the benefit of a well fertilized lawn that night...

We moved to a house farther out in the country shortly after the cow invasion.  Our neighbors there had cows, too, but the cows never came to visit.  We had grown up a little more.  We'd purchased a lawn mower.   No more lawn moo-ers for us! 

Powering Up

Sigh.
I know it's gardening weather somewhere in the world.
But it isn't quite here yet up in the northeast corner of the states.
But two bulbs are up at my house...the solar powered yard light bulbs... They were exposed and shining a couple of nights ago.   We must have finally had enough light during the day to melt back the snow and power them up!  Spring at last!  I can feel me starting to power up, too!
There is such a sense of shivery excitement when I smell spring, and I smelled it this week.  It smells like water and mud here in Maine.  Some people smell flowers and green growing things and associate them with spring.  But here, it is the smell of melting snow (yes, I believe it does have a smell), and the smell of earth warming up - like cookies just starting to bake (yes, earth smell is delicious).
It has a wet coldness to it.  It may still be 30 degrees or less, but the air has changed from dry and flaky to moist and heavy.
What?  Baking terms again?
I guess so.
Let's go with that:  Spring is yummy!
It's a bit of honey sweetness added to the dry winter ingredients before the whole summer baked batch of cookies comes out of the oven.
It may snow again soon...and even much later.  It is snowing again right now.  But these snows of March don't last very long and are being changed into Maple syrup even as I write.  I can feel the awakening, the powering up.
In the north the seasons' changings are powerful and wonderful...
and somehow full of food and baking images today...
I think I'll make some cookies now,
for Spring's sake.

A Leap of Faith

stepping out, leaping,

relinquishing my power

landing in safety

Yesterday at church, I did get my post for today, Jaana.
It was in the message that was preached.  My brother is the pastor of the church, so he brings in many family stories from our childhood as illustrations - and his memory is so much better than mine!

He was talking about faith when he brought up a memory.  The memory of our father and his building up of our trust in him.  When we were very little he used to have us stand on the counter edge in our old pantry and tell us to jump into his arms.
Wow, that was a long way down!  You would look down and see the floor almost a whole kid away from your feet, and Dad's face almost level with yours.  It was such a long way down back then.  Of course, it's a long way down today, too.  I can barely step down from a chair I'm using to change a light bulb.  Jumping down off things certainly isn't what I do anymore.  Wouldn't want to break a hip or an ankle.

I remember watching my brothers just leap off into space and Dad catching them to put them safely on the ground.  They loved it!  They'd do it over and over.

Watching them, I could see that it was really only a small space of a jump before they were safely in my father's arms.  But when I was up there the idea of jumping off was so scary.  I hated it and would stand up there for too long, building up more and more fear of jumping.  I don't remember a day I jumped.  I don't even know if I did ever.  I must have.  My dad wasn't one for just letting things go... But I'm pretty sure it would have been just once. My memory is of watching and wondering at how much fun they were having.

When I stand on high surfaces, my feet and hands hurt.  Even when someone else stands on high surfaces, my feet and hands hurt.  When we sanded and stained our house, my husband used scaffolding to get up to the peak of the cathedral ceiling in the living room, and when he was up there, I had to leave the room. 
I'd rather be on a train than a plane. 
I'd rather play marbles than swing. 
I will dive into water from the side of the pool, but not from the diving board.
I prefer using 6 flights of stairs to riding an elevator.

I like being grounded.  But I don't like being restricted by my fears.  So sometimes I take a chance...a leap of faith so to speak...and I have never regretted those leaps.
Just don't ask me to skydive.
That's not happening.

Son Day

Ok.

Now I'm sitting here and it is just past 11:00 pm Saturday night.  I'm trying to think of something to write because I need something before Sunday.  Sunday is not a day of writing for me.  Sunday is a day of worship, and I use the whole day.

So.

What to write about?  The deer that were in the yard eating the corn my husband threw out of the garage because the mice had found it?  How the buck had caught us watching him from the window and stomped his foot at us before the three ran off into the woods, white tails pointed to the sky? The train ride that nothing happened on, except I got to play lots of "Words With Friends" and "Candy Crush"?  More great things about my daughter and grandson?  Oh, or...  Okay.  Got it.

My son.

I had just gotten back from PA and was in RI with my husband who works in RI, though we live in ME.  I was almost ready for lights out when I got a phone call.  It was from our son who was caring for our animals - Purrsee and Pippi - while we were away.  He works in hospital security and has the 3 to 11pm shift most weeknights, so he had to have been just getting to our house, which is about 20 minutes away from his.

We are out in the middle of nowhere...like there is one road to get to our house -  7 miles of one road, over two bridges to get to the second island off the mainland.  I had looked at the WeatherChannel on my phone earlier in the day and noticed that the weather was going to be bad there again.  It's not the best place to have to drive when the weather's bad.

When I answered the phone I asked him what was up...it's after 11 and it's snowing...there has to be something amiss.  He asked if I had a key hidden somewhere like in the garage or under a snowbank or something.
My heart sank.
That meant that he couldn't get in our house, and it was late.  He'd forgotten to take our house key when he'd left for work, and it was still back at his house a 20-minute-in-good-weather drive away.

I asked him how the driving was.  "Terrible.  Lots of slush on top of ice, hard to stop, hard to keep from being jerked around in the ruts of ice and slush."

Great.

So I told him, don't worry about it.  Just go home and stay there.  The cat is fine.  The dog is...well, if she can't make it until morning, we'll just clean up later.
 
"Just go home and stay there"...again I said it.  "Don't worry about them"...I repeated.

"Okay, mom... I'm getting in the car now...gotta go."
"Just go home and stay there.  Don't worry about them."  Did I say that before?
"Yup."
"Drive safely.  They'll be fine."
"Yup.  I'm getting in the car now..."

Click.

1:25 am - I hear the beep on my phone.
I have a text.  I put on my glasses and grab my phone.

"Pippi has gone out.  Everything's ok."

"I'm glad I didn't know you were doing this or I'd have worried too much."

"That's why I didn't tell you."

He's a smart guy.

Chooch and Smooch

I went to see my daughter and care for her last week after she had her 4 wisdom teeth surgically removed.  We had all been concerned about the possibility of nerve damage in her face and neck, as the first dental surgeon had said that a nerve was very close and possibly intertwined around a tooth.  The second opinion was different, but still a bit of a concern.  The surgery went smoothly and quickly.  There was no nerve damage at all!  She couldn't pick up her son and couldn't carry him around for the week I was there though.  Throbbing and the risk of losing a clot kept her lying pretty low for a few days.

I stayed a week and learned more about my grandson while I was there.  He is quite a kid now.  A toddler of 18 months.  A big deal.  A walker.  A giggler.  A watcher of everything.  A mimicker of every sound he hears...and he hears everything.  I wonder at parents and others who can speak crudely and rudely around young ones, saying that they are too young to understand and they aren't listening and it's going right over their heads.  Nope.  No, it isn't.

But that is for another day.

On the day I want to talk about, we needed a break from blocks, books, trucks, etc.  and decided he could watch tv - Netflicks - Mr. Rogers to be exact.  So she asked him, "Do you want to watch tv?" (Now, mind you she doesn't do this often and there are only 3 or 4 shows he watches ever.  She doesn't even watch tv while he is awake.)  Anyway, he said yash...which is yes, of course.  And then he said, "Chooch."  I asked her what chooch meant and she shrugged her shoulders.  So she turned on Mr. Rogers.  He looked at Mr. Rogers coming through the door, changing into his sweater, and began to cry.  He likes Mr. Rogers.  Why was he crying?  He stopped crying when trolley came in.  Then he started to cry again.  Now what?  He watched again for a few seconds pointed to the tv and again cried, and said "No, no".
I told my daughter that I didn't think he wanted to watch Mr. Rogers for some reason.  At which point her face lit up in a look of understanding!  Chooch was for choo-choo train!  He wanted to watch Thomas!
She quickly changed over to Thomas the Train.  He looked up at the tv and stood with his hands behind his back as the train came on the tv screen.  And then... he turned to look at his mom, and he blew her a kiss!
He doesn't say many words yet, but the ones he does say mean something.  We have to be careful they don't go right over our heads!

I'm In for Everything!

It's a big day today!  It's the start of the Slice of Life Challenge to post every day in March...and it's Poetry Friday....and the March Madness Poetry Competitors have just been named.  I am in for ALL of them!  March has come in like a lion!

So today, check out other Slices at Two Writing Teachers.
And check out some great poetry links for Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Julie Larios at the Drift Record.

Ed DeCaria at Think Kid Think has begun the new March Madness poetry competition for 2013, and I am one of the 64 starting authletes. Poets/authletes had to submit a short bit of a poem to express their desire to be a contestant. I have posted my poem below.

For more information go to Ed's site (link above).  There will be lots of opportunities to read and vote on poems especially written with ages 5 - 15 in mind.  Hey, have your students vote!  Now that would be some authentic voting!

Authletes are paired against each other.  Then each is given a random word and a day to write a poem including that word.  The poems are posted on Ed's site where anyone may vote for their favorites.  Winning authletes will be re-paired with another winning authlete, and each of the remaining authletes will receive a new word to use in a new poem.  At the end there will be one winner...the winner of The Thinkier trophy.  Exciting times!  I am paired with last years winner, Stephen W. Cahill, for this first round of poems!  No pressure!

Here's my submission for entry into the March Madness Poetry 2013 competition:

I couldn't be a mime

And not use words sublime -

Sweet craving all the time,

This need to make them rhyme!

Check into the first round of poems to vote on Wednesday, March 13, with more poems coming from the authletes for the rest of the month.

A Seaman's Woman

I watch the way your
Work gnarled hands
Comb through your
Tangled thinning strands
You reach for your storm-worn jacket
You grab your lunch
and kiss me "Thanks"
Your boots walk heavy
on the planks
I begin my waitful watching.
Sun warms the day
but not the seas
Over the side legs
swing with ease
Though slower than the day we wed.
Our grandson follows
quick behind
Hops in two young legs
At a time.
And runs his hand through tousled locks.
The day begins
for you anew
But it's no longer
mine to view
My life of sea is here on land.
I know the seas
that call your name
I've known that voice
and heard the same
I've baited and wrestled with ropes.
Side by side our
lives together
With winds, waves and
storms to weather
Until Salt and Sweet brought new tides
With life's new
challenges in hand
Though my sea heart
was grounded on land
It beat with you as you kept the tides.
Till you returned
from cold wild sea
For supper and
warm bed with me
These days and years skimmed by.
A son of the sea
Sweet left to marry
But Salt remained
to help you carry
Our name and all the load.
Son of Salt growing,
filling your boots
Puts down his
seaweed roots
And feels that tug on his oar-locked heart
Mirroring your moves,
Old Salty, beware
Your grandson watches
what you share
Becoming his own man of the sea.
And he will be strong
and happy as you
If he finds
his sea-woman true
To share this salt and sweet life.

Donna JT Smith, 2013

I should be writing about my trip and my grandson...but I guess in some respects I am. I started this poem a while ago, finished it, and then reworked it into this rhyming format, which I finished today. Though not men of the sea where I'm visiting  in Pennsylvania, the plot is still the same.

Taking Tricky Trains and Tricky Teeth

Today is taking the train day for me.  I am driving down to Providence and then hopping a train for Philadelphia, then the SEPTA train out to the wilds of Pennsylvania for a visit with my daughter, her husband and their son...my grandson.  My daughter is having her four wisdom teeth out tomorrow, so I am going to be there to take care of both babies - daughter and grandson - and in some respects then my son-in-law (not that he can't take care of himself).

I had three wisdom teeth taken out when I was a bit younger than she, and it wasn't much fun as I recall.  I had one that was really difficult to remove, and I think she has two that are going to be tricky.  I'm not sure what they had to do to mine, but twice now 40 years after the fact, I have had what are either bone chips or tooth chips erupt from my gums.  They have been tiny but painful.  I'm hoping procedures have come a long way since then!

While I am on the train, I will try to update or post some pictures.  I would like to be leaving out of this area, but the Downeaster takes me into North Station, and I want to be at South Station for the connecting train.  To do that, you either have to catch a cab or the subway.  I have done the cab before, and it isn't bad.  There are usually lots of them out there waiting.  But I still don't like it.   I get nervous that I won't catch my connecting train.  And we won't even think about the subway.  I just don't like subways.  And I really don't like them alone.  I'm pretty sure I'll end up somewhere...but not sure where.  I don't travel well underground.  I don't travel well ABOVE ground, for that matter.  That's why I'm not flying there.

So, I have a few last minute things to attend to before we head south.  Brush my teeth and pack my toothbrush is first on my list.   I've already packed my banana, my water and my eticket.

Catch you later!

The House with the Straightened Wall

Today is Poetry Friday, and it's being hosted by Linda at TeacherDance.  Pop on over and read some great poetry and check out links to poetry related blogs by some pretty great teachers, poetry lovers and poets! 

The house with the straightened wall
Stands proudly
And tall
By the sea

The house with the straightened wall
Contentedly
Waits
For me

The house with the straightened wall
Sees its time
Is soon to
Come

The house with the straightened wall
Joins my whispery
Joyful
Hum

© Donna J.T. Smith, Feb.14, 2013

It's Poetry Friday and this is my poem about the house we are renovating, Gull Haven.  It sat quite sadly for a number of years, but is now getting new walls, floors, windows, plumbing, electrical, insulation and love.  It's been a long process, but it is getting close to the time when we'll be able to stay there at least for a few days at a time.  And we'll be there full time when we are both retired.
I posted the first poem here: The House with the Wrinkled Wall.  So this one is like a followup poem to the first poem that I wrote in October of 2011 when we first purchased the house.  By this October we should be finally finished with all the work there...maybe for this summer even.

Blizzard

Kitchen window view this morning

I haven't been in a blizzard since...well, a long time ago.  This looks like a scene from "Little House on the Prairie" where the girls lose their way as they try to make it home after being excused early from school, or the time they had to tie Pa to a rope as he tried to find the garage. (Ha!  Just caught this...garage!...I mean barn!)

It's a whiteout, and the temperature is frigid.  I tried to open the door and take a picture, but the wind blowing snow inside keeps me from getting a shot.  So here it is through the windows! 

Garage entry viewed through the den window

And here's a short video...

I'm sitting at the kitchen table looking back into the living room.  I always like the reverse snow globe effect I get in snowstorms!

To counteract any chill from the storm...
mmmm... hot slow cooking oatmeal...with pecans, blueberries, cinnamon, a bit of raw sugar and a touch of Maine maple syrup...with hot coffee on the side...

Doesn't get any better than a Blizzard Breakfast...

Unless it is the pre-blizzard-plain-old-snowstorm chili we had yesterday, or the post-blizzard-pulled-bbq-beef sandwiches slow cooked last night (assuming this is going to get over today - otherwise it will be the continuing-blizzard-pulled-bbq beef sandwiches).  Hope everyone out there is gathering good storm stories for later telling to grandchildren and great grandchildren!

Stay home and safe, but if you MUST go out, remember to tie that rope around you so you can find your way back from however far you get...or someone can just pull you back and tie you up so you don't do anything else foolish!

Snowstorm

Rose bush - snow's bush

We are getting a blizzard.  But first a small storm that wasn't supposed to happen.  The 6 inches before the 18-24 inches that will happen tonight.  A few weeks ago it rained like crazy for a few days and we lost all our snow cover.  But fortunately, we are getting more snow.  Two storms are colliding, plus a pre-storm snow that materialized on the weather map somewhere between the time I went to bed and the time I woke up.   Surprise!  Glad I went grocery shopping yesterday!

Thank you, Tara at A Teaching Life, for hosting Poetry Friday today.  I'm in with a storm poem I wrote this afternoon watching the pre-storm turn into the blizzard.

The Storm

A pre-blizzard snow
surprised in the night;
It wasn’t supposed
to start till noon's light.

Yet softly it crept
across the bare ground -
White bits swirling down
beginning to mound.

By window I perch
With steaming hot mug
No flurries inside
I’m warm, safe and snug.

Thrust, parry, repeat
snow battles with wind -
And sharp sword of ice
has travelers pinned.

Snow keeps pounding on
and threatens to keep
Us home bound for days
in drifts past knee deep.

Like rainstorm's rainbow
At storm’s end we’ll see
The shimmer of gems
bedecking each tree.

Till then by the fire
I'll refill my cup
And read a good book
Till storm says "Time's up!"

I'd Rather Pick my Nose

A'Pickin' Colors

Awash in bright colors
Drifting away
Aloft in sky blues
Greens carry astray

Aghast that these hues
Create such ado
Affirmed as the choice
Yet I look at anew

Anoint the best shade now
I must be abed!
Another one calls me
I can’t get ahead!

Asleep I should be
But my choices abound
Across the whole spectrum
The options astound!

Afloat in more colors

I wish to avoid -
Appeasing can't happen;

I'm just so annoyed!

Aweigh with the paint chips
Tossed skyward above -
Atop my house floorplan

To land like adove.

Adore where they’ve roosted
I know you’d agree
Aqua should be there
And the browns cast asea.

Amid this confusion
All paint chips aside
Apart from hot pink
The results I’ll abide.

©Donna J.T. Smith, January 29, 2013

I've been trying to pick interior colors for Gull Haven.  It hasn't been easy.
My OLW is "ordered", and this has been the hardest thing to put in order!  This is how I've taken to being able to see if the colors are harmonious...magnetic clips on the refrigerator!  I can see them in different lights during the day and they are in an order so that one paint touches another if it would be seen from a room painted that color.

This is for Kristen at Read, Create, Play!
It looked like she took a picture from my window...

Some snow has fallen off the branches now, but it still looks like we're looking out the same window!

Ms Cabela

 

We went to Cabela's last night.  And look who I saw there!  What an improvement!  I think the gentleman I spoke with last time must have taken my comment about blogging this more seriously than the last three people I spoke to there.   He did a double-take when I told him and said, "Wait.  You are blogging this?"
She is not only sporting a much more up-to-date outfit, but she has developed a bit of an attitude with those new clothes!  Look at that hand on her hip!  I almost didn't recognize her.

She has a nice print top and draped sweater, topping beautiful cream colored slacks. Her brown, leather shoes are practical, but fashionable.  Such an improvement over those clunky black boots she's been wearing for months.  I hope they don't try to sell those boots; they must be pretty stinky by now.

And look how nicely she is accessorizing!  She's got bracelets and even a purse! I don't think she needs a hat.  If only she had eyes, so she could see herself in a mirror now.  It's a good thing she couldn't see herself before though.  I think she would have been disheartened.  Can you be disheartened if you don't have a heart?

I know you would say thank you, if you had a mouth.
You are welcome, Ms Cabela.  Glad to help!  You look maaaah-vell-us.

If you are out of the Cabela's loop, here are the older posts:
1. What Not to Wear...Maine Mannequin
2. Cabela's Again?

Java January

Violet Nesdoly is hosting Poetry Friday today.  Head on over there for thoughts on how "Messy" poetry writing can be, and check out more poetry links!

Here are my contributions to Poetry Friday, a couple odes to morning coffee:

Careful consideration -
    the handle?
    the edge?
    the weight?
must be given to -
    the stripes?
    the words?
    the flowers?
    the animals?
that first morning cup -
    the delicate?
    the rustic?
    the small?
    the tall?
even before my eyes open -
    the old?
    the new?
Somehow it’s always right -
    in my hand!
    filled to the brim!
    the perfect cup!

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

One might surmise
A double sunrise,
But it’s just
My two eyes
As lids slowly rise
Over the steaming hill
of my cup
Surprise!

Earthquake II

I do not want to know what is happening.

On October 17, 2012, we had an earthquake here.  It was not right here but in western Maine and 6 miles or so below the earth's surface.  I was here alone and thought our boiler must have exploded.  But when no hole appeared in the floor nor did smoke emerge from the basement door, I decided a semi must have somehow crashed through the woods and landed in the side of our garage.  Seeing nothing outside and trying to get more clever, I deduced it must have been a huge accident across the river at the iron works.  But shouldn't there be sirens going off then? Though I'd never experienced an earthquake, and there were no reports on the Internet of an earthquake, and given the fact that Maine rarely has an earthquake, I still came to the conclusion that it had to have been an earthquake. I thought earthquakes were felt and not heard... but no, you hear them, too. 

Then yesterday, we had another.  My husband and I were sitting at the table pretending we were at a very nice coffee shop, surfing the Internet and sipping amazing coffee.  Our dog, Pippi, was lying between our chairs, so our coffee shop was just like home.  All was peaceful and calm and then the explosion occurred.  We looked up from our computers and stared across the table at each other.
"Earthquake," I said evenly.  "Just like last time."
My husband had not felt the last one, having been out of state that day.  This one was not as strong, but being closer - like just across to the next peninsula about 6 miles away, and not as deep - it felt and sounded almost the same.
My first brief thought was that something had exploded out of our basement and was now crashing and rumbling through the woods as it escaped.  Being experienced in the ways of earthquakes now, though, I knew what it was and immediately filed a report on USGS before it was even recorded there. There was an aftershock that rumbled through about ten minutes later that we could hear, but not feel.   The dog was not pleased with any of the earthquakes or aftershocks.  She woke up, lifted her head, and, with some concern on her dog face, quietly looked in the direction the rumbling seemed to be headed both times.

In Maine, they have explained that when we have an earthquake, because of the old rocks - the ledge that goes on forever underground here - the earthquake does not have to be of great magnitude to be awe inspiring.  The vibrations travel for hundreds of miles and are loud, due to that huge granite base we are sitting upon.

For hours after these earthquakes, our dog was on high alert.  She paced back and forth last night, trying to stay as close to my husband as possible all evening.  She went down the hall to the office and watched him from the doorway and finally went in and laid down.  She is usually content to sleep out by me as I work around the kitchen or play on the computer.  But not last night.  It seemed she was either concerned about not being able to see both of us in case of another earthquake, or she was actually sensing more aftershocks than we were able to detect.

I will be right here if you need me.

This morning at breakfast, she was especially quick to take up her post under the table.  She never begs, and she doesn't look for dropped food there (though if droppage occurs, she takes care of it).  She just likes being close.

In general, she seems a more relaxed today.  Maybe we can relax for a while, too.  The earthquake aftershocks must be over.  She really doesn't care what I'm doing today.  Napping 'til noon sounds good all around!  I'll open the coffee shop later. 

Cabela's Again?

From this...

To this!

No, not again.  You said it wouldn't be.  You said she'd be dressed better.  You said just wait; you'd fix her outfit.

I'm not thinking a new hat makes this outfit better.

And not only that....

but the hand with the broken finger....

it's gone entirely.

And not just the finger -  and not the hand -

but her whole arm.

Her right cuff is cleverly unrolled now concealing that sad fact.

Each time I've gone in, I've mentioned the mannequin to a salesperson there.  In December, I talked to a person who seemed quite concerned about the mannequin's appearance and asked when I'd be in again.  I told her I might be in just after Christmas.  So she said she'd make sure something was done to help this pathetic excuse for a mannequin.  Well, she didn't use quite those words, but her eyes told me she understood.

Mannequins are supposed to be the epitome of style, the wearers of the latest fashion, the model to which we should aspire.  But I guess if your mannequin has a small head, gray skin tone, no hair,  no eyes, no ears, no mouth and lacks appendages...well, maybe not.

I swear, I will dress her up next time I'm in there.  That last guy that I talked to said I could...

Happy New Year!

We've had a few snowstorms lately, and they sure do seem to mess up life and schedules.  So - an observation for consideration from my window:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our new year may seem
Like a mess to us now
But God’s hand is in it
And He's got a snowplow.

He's tidied the way

And made the path clear

Now all I must do

Is stay on it this year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy 2013!
  

This is my Slice of Life for the first Tuesday of the year.  Thank you Ruth and Stacey for hosting this on your Two Writing Teachers blog.  I have enjoyed almost two years of posting on Slice of Life.  Though I'm retired now, I still enjoy reading of the daily life of teachers. I think like being a doctor or lawyer, when you retire you are still one.  I identify myself as a retired teacher.  Once a teacher, always a teacher.  I've just added things to my repertoire lately that I didn't have time for before!

Wow!  Just checked!  It's my 300th post today!

Snow Day

Can there be a better view of the snowstorm, than from inside a warm house with your grandson and daughter?

I got to keep my grandson and his family here two days longer due to the snowstorm coming up the coast!  Yea!  Poem to follow....shortly.

O Christmas Trees

And now for the Christmas tree decision...well, not a decision of mine...but a decision nonetheless (don't you love that word?  "nonetheless" ... a "triple-dog-dare-you" compound word)...

My daughter and son-in-law surprised us with a tree while we were out.  It was all lit up when we came home.  It is a pretty tree and we will decorate it tonight.

My son just bought his first house on Friday, and it came furnished.  He was working through items left behind and found some Christmas tree ornaments.   So we will use them on our tree.  How interesting will that be... to use someone else's memories on your tree?

Our 16 month old grandson just used a fork, a real metal fork to eat his sweet potatoes.

It's been a big week. 

Sigh.  I'm loving this week.

I think my wrapping is done.  Almost.  That is, I almost thought "my wrapping is done".  I was wrong.  I was almost right.

I have to bake something.

Isn't that tree pretty?

Nighttime reflections

Umble Words

I don't know where this came from - some little dusty corner of my brain.  I don't know why it emerged today.  I wanted to write a Christmassy thing, but this is what happened instead.  Sorry if you were looking forward to something sentimental, sappy, soothing and sweet.  You get this instead...
Umble Words...
by me

words with umble
seem very humble
speaking poorly, one might mumble
carelessly built, a house will crumble
stepping badly leads to a stumble
which can easily mean a tumble
a lack of humor makes one grumble
a lack of food and tummies rumble
unsteady hands will likely fumble
and things will end up in a jumble
is there any word with umble
that doesn't mean we've made a bumble?

©Donna JT Smith, 2012

I know lots of people are on Blog Break.  I'll probably be off for a week, unless I see something that strikes a chord or a nerve, requiring my blogging attention (such as a runaway mitten).

Christmas Stockings

When my son was born, 

I made for him
a Christmas stocking.

When my daughter arrived, 

a second stocking was made.

And each year, on Christmas eve,

the stockings were hung with care,

and opened with delight 

in the twinkling lights

of Christmas morn.

This Christmas

there will be a new stocking,
made with love by my daughter;
a new mom's
Christmas stocking

for her son.

It will be hung with care

on Christmas eve,

And there will be delight

in the morning

once again.

© Donna JT Smith, 2012 

And here is a link back to an earlier post about the things vs people in our lives, that reminds me of Anita's post today on Learning to Be Writers. Cherish every moment this season!  Remember to tell them you love them.

Deck the Hulls - The Musical

Okay, I know I used these pictures before....but then this song came into my head to go with them.  Had to do them again.  Only one person saw this post, so here we go again. This is a double deja vu.  When you are ready...click on the Deja Vu Blogfest and see some oldies but goodies reposted for reconsideration!

One more time, now...Everybody sing!

Deck the hulls with lights so jolly!

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Even trim the traps, by golly!

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Don we now our boots and oilskins,

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

While we sing of lobster boilin’s,

Fa la la la la, la lobster la!

See the rolling waves before us,

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

They delight a New York tour bus,

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Bobbers, buoys and other treasures

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Memories of seaside pleasures

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Fast to sea the low tide rushes,

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Now the high tide inward gushes

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

Stack the traps and buoys together

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

We’ll withstand the lowery weather!

Fa la la la, la la lobster la!

© Donna JT Smith, 2012

And now head on over to Jama's Alphabet Soup for more great Poetry Friday links!

Oh, Motel Tree

Motel Tree

Short version:
I just decorated my house for Christmas.  I went to the spare room closet and got out our tree and plugged it in.  My tree is 18" tall and artificial.  We stopped using a big tree the year of our house fire.  We bought this little tree for our motel room, our home for 11 months, as we celebrated Christmas there, and now it always reminds us to take delight in the little things.  Between our basement flooding the winter before, and the smoke damage, we lost most of our pictures and memorabilia.  Our little tree reminds us that we should take notice of the little things, appreciate them, remember everyTHING you have is replaceable, but that everyONE is not. 
Merry Christmas to all. 
God bless you at this time of year, and each and every day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Longer version, with a bit more background:

A few years back, we had a house fire in our present home. The good thing was, no one was hurt.  We would have been killed that night if we'd not taken a very unexpected trip over night.  Our son, who stayed overnight to care for the pets, would have been killed that night if the tv he'd fallen asleep watching hadn't woken him as it went to static.

A TV in our unfinished basement, not turned on, not used for years, but still plugged in from when my husband had had his office in the basement, had randomly burst into flames.  Although nothing but the tv caught fire, it made enough smoke to coat everything in our house with a black plastic and electronic slime. The house required cleaning that took 11 months. 

At any rate, we took up residence in a small inn, or large motel, in town.  We had two rooms, a very tiny closet - not your regular sized ones in a motel (but we didn't have any clothes, so who cares?) - and a bath.

It was just after Thanksgiving, and we'd been told it would take two weeks to clean the house, so we'd be back in by Christmas.  Well, it didn't, and we weren't.  So we bought and set up a small tree in our motel room (see picture above) to give it that Christmassy cheer.  I sprayed some tree smell around, and voila!

Our son, our daughter and our son-in-law were coming for Christmas, but it wasn't going to be like inviting them over to our house.  Fortunately, there WAS room at this inn, so we booked rooms for them.   When my daughter and her husband arrived two days before Christmas, we decided we could have our Christmas celebration right in the third floor lobby, just down the hall from our room.  We could use the decorated tree that was right there.

As my daughter and I looked at the tree, we decided it had been decorated quickly, and that the wrapped empty boxes beneath it were getting stale.  We set about freshening up the boxes by retaping and repapering some.  Then we started rearranging decorations on the tree.  Rearranging proved to be too difficult, so before we knew it, we had taken ALL the decorations off the tree and redone the whole thing. Some of the decorations seemed excessive, so instead of putting them back on the tree, we decorated around the lamps on the end tables in the area.  As a final touch, we added candy canes to the tree, as we usually have on our own tree, and repositioned the fake gifts. It looked so nice when we were done!  And we'd had our mother daughter decorating party even though we weren't in our own home!

We met with the guys and headed downstairs to find a "kitchen"....which meant we were going out to look for a restaurant for supper!  On our way past the check-in desk the women at the desk asked my daughter and me if we'd had a good time.
"Yes?" we said a bit hesitantly.
"We were watching you decorating on the monitor!"  they laughed.
Oh, yeah.  Forgot.  Cameras everywhere.

The next morning we waved to the cameras and inspected our handiwork again. We  determined that if we moved the boxes to the back of the tree, we could set our real gifts out there in the morning, and put coffee and cups and some sugar cookies out on the end table to snack on. 

And Christmas morning, that is just what we did.  My son had the room next to ours and my daughter and son-in-law had the room directly across the hall.  It was almost like home!   When we got up, we made some coffee in the motel carafe, grabbed our cookies and presents, and still in pj's we went out to the lobby and had Christmas.  A few people passed through, and we wished them a Merry Christmas!

We moved back into our home in October of the next year.  Almost time for Christmas again!  Since then, we've had a fake tree.  And we've always put up our little motel tree to remind us that Christmas doesn't need to be at home.  It can be in a strange place.  It doesn't need to be with lots of stuff.  It can be with none of your stuff.  It doesn't even need to be with family.  Though we had our family, we also had new friends at the motel that became like family to us.

We had everything we needed...it wasn't much, but it was plenty.  This little tree reminds us that we don't need a lot.

But this year, I'm wondering.  Our grandson will be here on Christmas morning.  He's 16 months old.  Maybe we need a bigger tree, not huge, just bigger.  Maybe it needs to be real, smelly real.  Maybe it will remind me that I have a lot.

I'm torn.  What do you think?

Deck the Hulls

Deck the hulls!

Tree trimmings and trappings!

Christmas in Maine... boats, traps and buoys have pretty much migrated inland for the winter months. It's time to decorate... the boats, the traps, the buoys.  Ah, the fresh smell of...hm...not evergreen...is seaweed an evergreen?  It must be!  Now that I think of it, it is green year round.  So, the fresh smell of evergreen.  Yup.  That's what it is all right.

Oh, and these were just on lawns.  Check here on the Bangor Daily News for an article about the town displays.  Enjoy!

Lost Glove #2

Lost Glove #2

On this pole I’ll stay
To show you the way -
You’ll get to the bay
A mile that a’way.

©Donna JT Smith, 2012

Now head on over to Robyn Hood Black's place, where she is hosting Poetry Friday!

1350 Words

Hey, doesn't this look like a paper in a typewriter?

Yesterday I started "The Book".  I wrote some more today.  I now have 1350 words (besides the almost 1500 I've written prior to this).  Maybe that isn't many words to a person who has written published books, but it is to me.

I am slowly discovering my characters' characters.  As I write, they are revealing themselves.  Huh.  I'd heard others say that this happens.  I'd just never tried writing them into existence before.

It reminds me of coloring when I was a child.  I imagined that as I colored, things would come to life or become real.  They were just waiting for someone to help them out.  So I colored and all sorts of things could finally be real - grass, sky, animals, trees.

And now I am writing.  And as I write, people just come, and they are real because I wrote them.  Like a coloring page, they were always there, waiting.  But now I've written them into reality.

I can't stop in the middle, or they will be upset with me, I'm sure.  This is a very strange feeling.  I think I like it.

But they will have to wait a bit now until tonight or tomorrow.  I also have real vacuuming to do.

Washers to Washer

I almost didn't check the pockets.  My husband has a cold, so I didn't want to put my hand in his pocket to see if there was anything in there.  Fortunately I didn't have to.  The weight of the jeans was enough to tell me it wasn't just the normal load.  A shake of the jeans told me I didn't want whatever the contents were to make it into my stainless steel washer tub.  Unfortunately, it meant I HAD to put my hand in that pocket that has held a snotty, virus filled handkerchief.

I carefully unloaded the jean's pocket to find 1 wheat leaf penny, 1 bullet, a scrunched up piece of packing tape, 5 screws, 4 washers, 4 wing nuts and an undefined piece of aluminum.  I washed my hands.

How do they make it into the laundry room unnoticed?  But I've asked that many times over the past 40 years.  I always "almost don't check the pockets".  But in the end, I always do. And I almost always find the treasures before I wash them.

A long time ago I should have started a list of things that have been washed that could have skipped the process.  I just didn't know it would have made a book.

Pink Glove Wave

First Lost Glove of 2012

Thank you, kind stranger, for posting this glove

And lending a hand to reunite love.

Hey, look over here!

I'm up on this post.

I know you'll be sad,

'Cause you love me the most.

You've just walked away;

Abandoned me, left.

You know I am right;

You'll soon be bereft.

I'll wait right here

While you go and shop;

I'll keep on waving
These fingers flip-flop.

And when you come out
I'll still be right here
And we'll reunite
Right, glovey, my dear?

©Donna JT Smith, December 4, 2012

Link to the First Lost Glove of 2011

A link to a blog with my sentiments exactly...on gloves anyway. 

Lone Ranger

Today we could at last reveal who we were to the other writers in the WRiTE Club Challenge.  It was so great to be able to participate in that event.  Next year, YOU should try it, too, if you didn't this year!
If I'd gone on to one more round, I had two options...the story below, or Part 3 that I posted last week. I think I would have gone with this one to change it up a bit.
*************************************************

He strained to hear them.  His eyes were slits squinting in the direction of the sounds.  He at last spied them.  There was nothing between here and there.  Nothing but space.  And if it was done right, the gap would be quietly and quickly closed.  The opportunity for escape would be nonexistent.  He was a master -  deft, adept, agile, quick, deadly.  He’d been described in these terms by the survivors, though he’d always vanished before anyone could figure out who he really was.

He quietly approached unobserved.  Totally oblivious of the danger they were in, they just kept up their inane, incessant chattering.  He was closer than they knew.  Which would it be?  There was one who was facing away from him; that would be easy.  Or maybe the one facing him?  The one almost looking right at him, but not seeing him.  Fool.  They were all fools.  It made it easier thinking of them that way.  His eyes honed in on the one looking in his direction.  That would be the most fun - seeing the surprised look. 

Every muscle was taut in anticipation. He could feel the hairs rising.  He liked that feeling of chills crawling up his back.  He instinctively crouched even lower, although he knew he hadn’t been spied.  It would make the charge all that more powerful though.

He felt himself twitching.  It was uncontrollable and primitive, and seemed to start at the top of him and travel down, down, down to his feet until it seemed that the earth would tremble and give him away.

They were all still there, but they kept moving and changing places.  They were still engaged in whatever it was that they found interesting, but the one he’d selected had turned away. 

“Which one now?”  He paused to look them over again, finally settling on a new object of interest.

”Yes, that one will do just fine.”  He needed to be quick before they switched places again.

The twitching became barely perceptible from the outside, more of an excited vibration.  The crouching was lower.  He could feel his chest touching his legs.  Any lower and he’d be lying down. 

No more waiting.
This was the time!
Now!

“Ne-OW!”

He sprang forward, baring claws and teeth, straight into the flock, glorying in the chaos of the chickadee frenzy.

“Who was that foul feline?”  one chirped from the safety of a high branch.

“I don’t know, but he’s quick,”  a gasping chirp came from another.

“And bloodthirsty!” came a screech from a higher branch.

“I will add that to my list of qualities...”  He purred to himself as he shook the remaining black and white feathers from his mouth and began the long, methodical clean up.