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.

Part 3

And here's one more part  It could have been the last, the end, that's all.  But I have started part 4, and have thoughts about part 5.  I will not be posting those.  And after a few days I will be taking these parts down.  I can't have part of "The Book" up here.  It may be time to just work on it while I post "other stuff".
Read these in order if you came here by chance.  Here are the links: Part 1, Part 2.  Let me know what you think.  Really.  Pretend you are an editor, or a reader (which shouldn't be too hard to do, given that you are reading this).  I will not be hurt so much that I can't recover, but I may be nudged just enough to become a better writer.

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

Ghost traps...
That’s what they were now.
Sitting there dead on the bottom of the ocean, cut from their lifelines. 

The morning those yellow and white silent guards were freed from their watery posts above the traps, was the best morning ever.  The ocean was sparkling as we thumped across the bay.   The haul was lighter than most days, but in a day or so, when the bait in the abandoned traps was gone, things would get back to normal. 

For a while those shells of traps would be picking up some stupid lobsters; the ones that didn’t know any better than to wander into a kitchen with no food.  But, like a “timed release” cold capsule, the hinges on the traps’ escape panels would dissolve, and the traps would never steal another lobster from my grandfather.

For now, Gramp was pleased. The Cammy May would not be trolling these waters.  Gramp’s fields were his alone again.  Macy would think twice about plopping traps down in another man’s waters now.  Or one would hope.

I’m pretty sure in years to come it will still be a mystery as to who cut the lines to Macy’s traps.  I’m sure Gramp thought it was Garrison, next door.  Garrison would have seen Macy’s buoys as he made his way out past my grandfather’s to his own.  It wasn’t like Garrison hadn’t taken matters into his own hands before. You just don’t mess with people’s livelihoods here without consequences.  Sometimes it was worse than cut lines.  I’d heard of boats getting all stove up and other “accidents” along the coast where lobstermen were feuding.

Garrison and Gramp were good neighbors to each other.  Not friendly friends, like “payin’ a visit and having a cup of tea” friends; just good neighbors who would give you the shirt off their back...or cut someone’s trap lines if they were in your way.

I’m pretty sure Garrison, must have had his own ideas as to who cut the lines.  He probably thought it was Gramp himself.  But they weren’t about to ask.  It wasn’t a thing people talked about or bragged on.  It was just settled quietly, no questions, and you just went on doing what you do.

The Marine Patrol called Gramp when Macy reported his lines cut, and the matter was looked into for a couple of days - well, more like minutes. and was set aside.  It was just one of those things that happened when you didn’t play by the unwritten rules of the sea.

Most likely no one’ll ever know who cut the lines that night.  Did I say night?  Hey, it could’ve been morning.

I’m older than they think; I’m not stupid. I know the rules.  All’s fair in love and lobster wars.

I smiled to see Gramp in the dooryard painting the greens on some new buoys, humming up a storm.  I scrambled to find another paintbrush, then stood shoulder to shoulder with him, adding my low whistle to his tune.

And More

And here is my second entry, that gives a bit more of the story from yesterday's first entry.  I have one more part I was debating about entering if I got to the final round.  Maybe I'll post that, too.  Or maybe I should keep it for "The Book"!

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

Biscuits were in the oven baking up golden as the evening sun. 

I heard the familiar chugging as I set the supper table.

“Men’ll be in any minute... Potatoes, cabbage, corned beef.  Biscuits almost ready... Butter. Salt.”   I rubbed my hands down my faded floury apron.

The scrape of their boots trudging up the steps to the porch, the screen door slamming as they entered the mudroom and hung up gear - they were as comforting as any sounds I’d ever heard. Breathing came easier when I knew they were safely returned to shore.

Silently, they went off to wash up; husband to the kitchen sink, grandson to the upstairs bath.

“Coffee or tea, Cap?”  I asked, bending to get the biscuits from the oven.

“Tea.”

They sat at the table in silence as potatoes and biscuits were handed around, and the corned beef and cabbage were dished out. 
 
“Set his traps in mine,”  Cap’s words were low and released slowly.  I barely caught them.

“What...who?  Who’d do that?  Not the new guy?” I could feel the life draining out of me.  Cutting in on another lobsterman’s fishing territory was dangerous business.

“Ayuh. Macy.”

Lost in his stormy thoughts, our “dinner conversation” was ended; I knew there’d be no drawing him back.

Pushing his plate aside, Cap picked up the newspaper and went to the living room.  Jesse quietly excused himself and retreated upstairs to listen to music or read, or whatever he did up there when it was too quiet down here. I sighed and cleared the dishes. 

In the soapy water, my fingers felt around on the sink bottom for forks or knives.  There were no little buoys attached to tell you they were submerged down there.  I laughed to myself and drained the sink.

I settled into my chair next to Cap’s, and studied his weary face.  It had been a hard day added to hard years - good years though.  I yearned to erase those worry lines and smooth the time wrinkles.

It was early, but Cap folded the paper, and pushed himself out of the chair, straightening slowly.
 
“Guess I’ll turn in.”

“I’m just going to sit up a bit,”  I reached into the sewing basket by my chair.

“ ‘Night, “ he whispered, kissing my forehead.

The stairs creaked under his weight, and then I heard the bedroom door close.  I waited until there were no more sounds from above, assured he was asleep. 

Dropping my sewing back into the basket, I headed for the door.  I grabbed my coat, and found his knife and flashlight in his gear.  I silently slipped out into the darkness, heading for the boat.

A few cuts and Macy’s buoys would be gone, and his traps dead on the ocean floor.

“No little buoys to tell you where they are...”  I laughed to myself.

My Entry

I had two entries on DL Hammon's Cruising Altitude 2.0, WRiTE Club in the writing challenge over the past two months.  I made it pretty far.  Unfortunately, for me, but fortunately for others, I was out for this next round.  There are two good writings going up this week (TTh) to vote on.
But now that it is done, and since it has been online already anyway....I'm posting my first 500 word story here now.  And tomorrow I'll post the next part of it (which is what I submitted for Bout 4).  Let me know what you think.  Could I expand this into a whole book?  I think I'm shaking.  Should I try to turn from teacher to writer in my retirement?  There's that shivery, shaky thing happening again.

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

I could see his jaws working, chewing on the toothpick.

“Nerve a’ him.” 

He spat in the water.

Daylight was just spilling on the waves as we came into open waters.  There among the red of my grandfather’s buoys were yellow ones indicating traps below; unwelcome traps set alongside my grandfather’s.

Many had seen Mark Macy as he arrived to register the “Cammy May”.  His questions about the best places to set traps had gone unanswered.  Who in his right mind would tell him that?  Besides, if it was good, it was taken.  Someone finally told him a possible location - not the best, not even a good one.  It hadn’t been fished for the past five years for a reason. Macy’d have to earn and learn his way into good fishing, just like everyone else.

But now the newcomer to Springer’s cove had invaded Gramp’s traps.  Somehow he must have “learned” that the other location was dry.  Had he sensed their amusement?  Had he overheard talk down at Hershel’s Bait?

My grandfather pulled his traps, edging his boat around the yellow infestation.  The haul was good, but not as good as most days.  Our live-tank was three quarters of the normal haul, enough to pay bills, I was pretty sure, but not enough to have some aside for winter.

Finished, Gramp steered homeward, moving fast, cutting through the caps.  He was quiet, staring straight ahead, no familiar tune from his grim lips as we turned into the cove.  The gutteral chugging of the slowing engine almost calmed my pounding heart.  Pulling up alongside the pier, I spied light from the kitchen window.  My grandmother would be setting the table for evening meal.

“Set his traps in mine,” was all he said as he sat down.

“What?  Who?  Who’d do that?  Not the new guy?” Grandma’s face grayed.

“Ayuh. Macy.”

Picking at my food, I tried to make myself eat.  I understood the seriousness of Macy’s actions, but at fourteen, I couldn’t think of anything helpful to say or do.  After supper, I escaped to my room.

The sound of the phone gave me a jolt.  Had I fallen asleep?  Breakfast smells told me I had.

I heard my grandfather’s voice low and steady.

“You sure?”

Pause.

“No, don’t know.”

I tossed the covers back, slid into clothes and scrambled downstairs.  With breakfast remains still on the table, Gramp was getting gear ready to go earlier than usual.  I grabbed bacon and toast and followed him out to the pier.  No words were exchanged as we untied the lines and shoved off.

Slicing silvery calm, we made our way out of the cove.  Gramp’s face was emotionless, and I held my breath as we neared his spot. 

No yellows.  I exhaled slowly in relief.

“Been weeded,” was all he said, his blue eyes dancing like sunlight on waves.

Macy’s lines had been severed, leaving ghosts traps to rot on the ocean floor.  But somewhere yellow buoys were floating free.

Is It Tuesday Already?

I have been cleaning out junk and dusting spots that haven't known the unfiltered sun for their whole life in my home.  I have just a bit more to do.

On Thursday, we are having the largest Thanksgiving group we've had in a long time...  19 people...maybe 20.   Children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, great grammie, friends...our two newest relatives will be there...Felix and Zeta.  Everyone ranging from 5 months to 85 years.  And we are going to have the best time ever! 

A new coffee carafe arrived yesterday for our coffee maker.  Now we can make lots of coffee. I just bought extra flatwear so we have enough extra for company.  My son gets it when we are through using it.  He's buying his first house in a few weeks, so he needs more than two forks now!

My daughter and her husband will be here late tomorrow, as far as I know.  They will be sleeping in the loft.  So they need a bed. The new mattress will be delivery by UPS any minute. On Friday the new mattress pad for it arrived. They need curtains up there, too.  There haven't been curtains there until today... 14 years it's taken to do that.

My mother-in-law will be sleeping in the guest room.  That is all set with fresh sheets, candies, tissues, cozy comforter....  My husband just left for the bus station about 45 minutes away to pick her up.

I'm so excited.  I have to get back to tidying and cleaning.  Tomorrow is pie baking day!

Everyone in Bloggerville...have a wonderful Thanksgiving!  And even if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving where you are, I'm sure you are still thankful about something...so celebrate your family and the blessings you have been given in your own special way anyway!

Sharing the Sun

Sharing the Sun

Two friends,
Happy friends

Lying in the sun;

Sharing in its warmth
Till the day is done.

Best friends,
Warm friends
Dozing in the glow
Of a wood stove fire
When the sun is low.

Fuzzy friends,

Forever friends

Blanketed in fur;
One gives a sigh,
One returns a purr.

Donna JT Smith

Burrito

Gramps is a purchased puppet for our Junior Church programs.  We needed a donkey for Christmas.  And we needed two really.  One for the puppets to introduce the Christmas program and one for the program that is big enough for Mary to "wear" when traveling to Bethlehem.

So here he is - Burrito, the transformer donkey.  He's really two pieces (cleverly concealing the two parts with his blanket.  The puppets can ride on him on Sunday to get the kids revved up for the next program.

Then for the actual program there will be a wider blanket covering the front to back on one side and some fake "Mary legs" on the other side.  Mary will be able to stand in the middle, belly area, to walk down the church aisle with Joseph leading him.  I haven't finished the actual joining of the two parts and adding the shoulder straps to keep him up, but those are definitely the easiest parts.

With no pattern and never having made one before, it was a challenge to cut and sew this into being.  He was totally from scratch and cut freehand.

From head...

yarn mane

to tail...

yarn tail

I'm pretty pleased with how he turned out!

I'll try to remember to post a picture of him in his "Mary costume" when I'm done.

Voting at WRiTE Club

Speaking of voting...

If you haven't been to DL Hammon's WRiTE Club yet, there's still time and plenty of good writing to read and vote on!  The first round consisted of 72 writing pieces of 500 words or less, 2 writers pitted against each other, until it was down to 36.  Then those 36 winners of the first bout were rematched down to 18.  The remaining 18 were allowed to edit their pieces if they cared to before the third bout.

So this is a good place to jump in if you haven't before.  These pieces will be up until Sunday on three websites (to spread the traffic around).  After that the 9 winning writers (plus the entry that didn't make it, but got the most votes) will submit a new story for the next round.

You can always go back and read the original entries if you care to.

BUT - Before you vote, you must sign up on the Linky here or it won't count as a vote:
Cruising Altitude 2.0

Then go on to the bouts and VOTE for the one that knocks your socks off!  Or at least tickles you somehow.
Today you can vote on Bouts 1 through 6.

Bout 1
Bout 2
Bout 3
Bout 4
Bout 5
Bout 6

As it gets down to the wire and more people are eliminated, a fresh batch of eyes to read entries would be wonderful!!!!!

Coffee or Cat Food

I hate when I wake up and need coffee.  But I need coffee.  Because I'm not really awake.  Got on the computer as soon as I physically got up.  Stared at it a while.  Realized it was Monday, so I clicked on the WRiTE Club button to vote on the next round of stories.  The cat yelled at me for not getting him food yet.  Now he's on the table right in back of my laptop screen, looking at me.  He's been rubbing on the stack of papers on the table and thinking about pushing them onto the floor.  That always gets my attention.  Sometimes I've rewarded him with food when he has done that.  Because he's persistent.  And he doesn't need coffee to be awake.
I think I will stop staring at this computer, and start the coffee and feed the cat.  Or maybe feed the cat, then start the coffee.  That's probably safer, though it delays my coffee...I think I need to go with safer.
I should set the coffee to come on automatically tomorrow morning, so I can vote at the polls (corrected spelling from poles - is anyone actually AT the poles' polls?)  with a better mind than I have right now (see previous parenthetical remark).  I'm sleepy.  I need cat food.

Poetry Friday! Yay!

Welcome to Poetry Friday from Coastal Maine!  I'm so excited to be hosting my first Poetry Friday.  You may link directly below by clicking "Add Your Link".  You may comment in comments also, if you like, but I won't be putting up links from there.  Just click on the links to go to the poetry site and let them know you read their post!
Did I mention that I'm excited?  Never tried this before.  This is up early, so if you need to post earlier than Friday...feel free!

November

October is gone and
Summer's long past
It's not yet December
With winter's white cast
It's plain old November
No leaves and no snow
Don't want it to stay
Just want it to go.
No sandals, no beach 
The sun isn't bright;
No snowmen, no boots
The time isn't right.
It's too cold for one,
Too hot for the other;
No wonder November
Is so much a bother.
I so wish November
Could be more like spring
And we could be happy
With what it would bring.