Soldier's Return

It is strange how flat and quaint
this room seems to ear and eye
when trudging back after a long
and challenging trip.


The spaces are narrow
and confining.

The colors seem faded and
hidden even more
by the dust that floats
in the air of the sunbeams
that fall through the window.

Are these the walls
that once sheltered
and comforted me and 
protected each confidence?

Why that odd painting
above the fireplace?
Oh yes, it belonged to
Granny and we saved it.

Why is it so quiet here?
Where did the life go?
How can the world
grow and change and
yet this place ignores
and stays the same?

How changed am I.

Each time I fit less and less.
This time I am afraid
I may fit no more.

Adapting

When you are old and Wisdom is the only best friend whom you can trot out eagerly to show others the closeness of your friendship, he usually brings Adaptation along for the ride.  Life will be hell if Adaptation does not hang close.  Adaptation insures that you will not be crabby, tired, or out of touch on the rest of the long journey ahead.  It is the best second friend you will ever have.

I once attended a conference on algology.  (Look that up in your Funk and Wagnells or if you bring along Adaptation you can Google it.  And yes, I saw that yawn.)  Anyway, I am not an expert in this area, but found one of the lectures most fascinating.  It was a discussion how oceanic cellular algae adapts to predators and diseases.  When something starts munching or invading, the algal plant later adds toxins or bitterness to the new growth to discourage more grazing.  Trees and other plants also use this adapting technique.  Howler monkeys in Belize can graze the new leaves in the tree tops in the spring for food, but later in the season the leaves are toxic and will make them ill.  

I have been thinking of this in my flower gardening.  If a plant is being eaten I remove the pest, but if I cannot find the pest I wait and see if it is going to continue to graze.  Many times I notice it usually only hits the tender new growth for a short time, and I am guessing that is because the plant becomes bitter or hard to eat.  This doesn't work for Japanese beetles or other non-indigenous bugs, and I have made the decision that it is because it takes some lengthy evolutionary time for the plant to adapt to the new threat and produce something the bug doesn't like.   So my great grandchild may find the Japanese beetle not as irritating as I do.

You can be a stubborn warrior as you get attacked with age and all of its physical and mental difficulties and changes.  But, if you want to enjoy the rest of the ride, you must compromise and find new ways to adapt to the handicaps.  I like being around people who accept what cannot be changed, keep a sense of humor about it all, but also find some new way (or several adaptations) around the problem and then go forward and get on with the rest of their life. 

Thursday Thoughts (29)--Language and Communication

1. "Walking the dog, and Zara spook"...I overheard from a recent telephone conversation at my house.  Some of you have a clue to what this all means....;-)
2. One of my friends on FB posted that he was "splitting quasihemidemisemiquavers."  I think I must be friends with some really cool young people.
3. People spend more than 700 billion minutes per month on the FB site and, according to Facebook, 400 million of them have logged in during the past month  (sharing and sharing). Keep in mind there are only 309 million people in the United States -- total.
4. According to a recent Newsweek article in 2000 there were 12,000 active blogs and today there are 141 million.
5. In the same article in 2000 there were 282,242 books published and in 2010, 1,052,803 were published.  We are becoming great communicators.
6. I asked for feedback on my blogging, and I got it!  It took so long I almost forgot that I asked.  It was not as harsh as it could (should) have been, but he did mention my age several times, so perhaps was afraid he might give me a heart attack if he was too honest.  I was vindicated for not doing memes.  Writers always need feedback, and this was fairly painless.  He did suggest I needed more Eat, Pray, Love in my style...right!?  Although it made me realize how boring I and my life are and made me change to "compelling comments".
7. Someone keeps posting comments on my blog in Chinese han and I keep deleting them because I cannot figure out what their blog is all about.
8. On the importance of using food to communicate love the less stuff cooked, the better.
9. John Bassinger, retired theater professor, at 76, can recite John Milton's 10,565-line poem by memory.  It takes him 3 eight-hours days to communicate this.  At 76 I think I might be doing something else.
10. If you send an email from an army.mil domain, you are sending an email from the Army. From foxnews.com or from nytimes.com – those emails can be interpreted as though you are acting on behalf of those companies.
11. My husband and I have been married almost 4 decades and we still have problems communicating...but now he says it is because he doesn't hear clearly what I am saying!  He says it has to do with not focusing on me...not loss of hearing.  (That is flattering.)
12. Maybe I should do the pheromone dance that the bees do to communicate my point!
13. And finally, "Home is not where you live, but where they understand you."...Christian Morgenstern.

(For those who asked about the Thursday Thirteen challenge in a prior post---which I am not creative enough to play with any regularity---go here.)

Thankfulness

Every once in a while, especially after losing something precious, I need to make a thankfulness list...

• Tabor is thankful for the clear, safe, and cold well water from her kitchen faucet as she makes her coffee before the sun rises on this summer morning.
• Tamila is thankful for the new yellow bucket her brother brought her this morning to carry water from the well that is a mile down the road.
• Tabor is thankful for air conditioning as the outside temperatures will mimic the low 100s C by midday. 
• Tamila is thankful for the shade of the old acacia tree in her back yard as she must sit there often to prepare her food.
• Tabor is thankful for the luxury of using a cell phone or a computer to communicate quickly with her loved ones that are far away.
• Tamila is thankful that her loved ones in the next village are no longer suffering and she communicates with them silently by prayer each morning.
• Tabor is thankful that her doctor said her leg pain is just a muscle strain.
• Tamila is thankful that her leg pain is gone...for today.
• Tabor is thankful for the flowers in her garden that bring delightful color to her eyes each day.
• Tamila is thankful for the colorful turaco that sits in her tree waiting for a piece of mango.
• Tabor is thankful that she has been given the financial freedom to retire.
• Tamila is thankful that she has been given the freedom to live one more sunny day.

Mind Games

Over the recent 4th of July Holiday weekend both my husband and I were sick.  It was strange because my illness was a raspy sore throat and then a chest cough that only occurred at night.  His illness was a sore throat but also several raging fevers, aches and pains, tender skin, scratchy eyes and general weakness and malaise.  Between playing with our grandchildren the week before and hitting a late night bar crowd for our son's band that same weekend we could have caught this bug anywhere, if we indeed shared the same bug.


What was so unusual was that he was really sick and I was just annoyingly so until days after he got well and then my cough got worse.  Ninety-nine percent of the time he is the one mildly ill and I drag myself from bed to couch for several days complaining and putting life on hold.  


I realized about a decade ago how I draw on his leadership and strength.  Being the mother and Chief cook and bottle washer (bill payer, house cleaner, appointment clerk, etc.) for years, I always thought I was the headstrong and stalwart person while herding our goslings, as perhaps I was.  But our years together and aging senses have caused us to lean more equally on each other through all of life's later challenges.


His appetite was good so I was not too worried.  But at our ages I could not help but think about what it would be like if this illness was serious.  If we were entering the time in our lives when I would be caring for him day in and out as he started on that journey where his body needed more and more rest until he left me, left all of us.  I could not help thinking of that day when I might be left to walk this trail alone.   It was a black and scary thought, but it did not freeze me in my tracks, because I knew it was possible and I knew others shared this journey.


I am luckier than many people because I think I can get my mind around this darkness, even though it is painful.  I have lost both my parents and a younger sister and  I am practical in knowing we all go this way at some time in our lives and I do resign myself to the inevitability of those things we cannot change with the force of our emotions or the demands of our 'needs.'  We face one day at a time and enjoy its jewel like quality for the brief glow it provides.  Life is such a temporary gift that breaks so easily.  While we may wish to curl up in a fetal ball, the sun will continue to rise, flowers will bloom, songs will be written and sung, couples will make love, and children will laugh and play without us.  This is a good thing.  But I do admit, that at my age, death becomes much more than a theoretical mind game or philosophical thought.  Being stoic is not always enough to ease the anxiousness that only visits in the middle of the night.


(I should probably clarify that I wrote this a while back...)

Bye, Barry

I cannot say anymore than others have posted. Yes, we will miss those lovely rambling walks with Lindsay across the woods and dunes and Barry's wonderful writing about his family. Linda, thank you for sharing these past months.  So many others will be posting tributes in the days to come as he touched many bloggers.

Just Asking

While eating a river-side lunch I decided to explore the area. I found these feathers. I think I know what some of them are. But those of you who have an ornithological bent, give me some ideas.  The white feather on the right is the muddy color and not a pure white.  Click on the photo if needed.

Battle Strategy Follow-up---War With the Cardinal

I got the most comments ever on my Battle with the Cardinal post and thus feel obligated to write a follow-up.

Since the rubber snake worked to dissuade the cardinal on the bedroom window last year, I move it to the dining room bay window ledge. Then I g0t the plastic life-size owl that had broken away from its pole down on the dock and put him on the deck next to the lower part of the deck window, Mr. Cardinal's second favorite spot. ( I just have to remember to cover the bottom hole in the hollow plastic owl with duct tape to avoid the wasps using it as a nesting cave!

I searched the internet for photos of owl eyes and printed out two in extra large size that look intimidating, at least to me. One photo I tape to the inside of the dining room window and the other I tape to the inside of the kitchen window. Several days passed and still no cardinal has re-appeared.  I am not totally convinced I have won the war...just this phase which will last who knows how long?

I should explain that prior to this battle strategy implementation my husband and I took advantage of a cool day or two and washed the windows!  Dear me, we have put the fate of all in the hands of the Cardinal as the windows are now sparkling clean and can reflect his image perfectly.


Then we went away on a short trip and I returned to find Mr. Crazy Cardinal back pecking at the windows about the kitchen sink.  Clearly the glaring owl eyes do not work there.  Next stop is to find some kind of spinning device or flag to see if that keeps him wary.

Art One Oh One

I have been learning a new software and have gotten totally addicted to creating "artwork" with it.  Here is my stella-de-oro Japanese style, or what I think looks a little like a Japanese woodcut.  Perhaps to you it looks like a 6th grade cut and paste?


Below is the same photo processed as if found in a church.

My problem is that I do not track the steps in my post-production process to see if they can be duplicated in the next photo.  I just tweak and tweak until I like the look or hate it.

War With the Cardinal, Himself

It seems to be a moist gray morning that has come too soon.  I am awake and do not know why, but push off the light quilt and head into my dark kitchen to make coffee.  Soon the water is hot and the smell of liquid amber fills my nostrils.  I take my cup and sit on the front porch trying to shake away the fog from my mind as the rising sun begins to silhouette the tree tops.  I am wondering why I woke up so suddenly out of a restorative sleep as I sip my caffeine and enjoy the pink and blue sky in early dawn.  In a short time my reverie is interrupted.


Crows are in the right side ravine making a brass band's worth of noise in the high poplar trees.  I cannot see them, but their cawing is most annoying and unusually angry.  They are probably ganging up on an owl or hawk that has landed in the woods.  The band of crows will give him no peace until he leaves this area completely.  These home boys own the block and do not give way to anyone without regard for claws and sharp bills.  The crows' weapons are confusion and backstabbing.


I finish my coffee and head back inside.  As I reach across the coffee table to get my paperback, the morning sleep disturbance mystery is solved.  First I hear a tap, followed by tap, tap, followed by tap, tap, tap.  There, at the dining room window, is that newly grown male cardinal.  He is small but has all his adult red coloring.  He bangs at the dining room window flying up to the top until my appearance startles him and he rounds the house away from me and continues banging at the kitchen window above the sink.  He has been doing this tapping at the window for several weeks, and I have been trying to ignore him.  Except now he starts his communication before dawn!

And now there is a new twist as I see the mess on the window he has left.

I watch closely and see him hanging at the base of the window and notice that his mouth is full of some green juicy caterpillar thing.  It is so disgusting I can barely watch on my coffee stomach as it oozes insect life from his bill.  My husband mentioned he had seen a similar meal in the bird's bill yesterday  So, is this cardinal now spreading this mess across my window attempting to feed his reflection?  Is he gay and thinking this is his mate to which he offers a gift of fresh breakfast?  Is he a childless father driven by an instinct to feed that he cannot understand or control?  Or is he a pacifist and thinking this male antagonist (reflection) can be won over by an offer to break bread (bug) rather than fight?  Is he in love with me and wants to bring me gifts so that I will fill the bird's water bowl on time?  My guess is that he is just crazy!  We have that crazy cardinal gene pool thing going in our woods which you can read about here and here.


He is driving me crazy; well, crazier as well!  My windows are now covered in streaks of bug guts.  I had planned on cleaning them a few weeks past and I now pat myself on the back for my wise procrastination in the heat of summer.  Sun-baked bug protein is just what any of my few dinner guests want to see while eating a meal and observing our sunsets through the windows.

OK.  Clearly the day has started with a thrown gauntlet.  I rinse my coffee cup and begin planning a battle strategy.

The Heat Is On

The tulip poplar trees
Over a hundred feet high
Have begun to throw off
Their golden leaves
Like slow chubby strippers
Resigned to this hot dance
That comes every July.

The sun's spotlight
Obscures their sheltered stage
Of cool green leaves
And dark green shadows
Blinding the eye
With hot light
And turning green to gray sage.

Even the dark coal crows

Sit high like black tree knots

With their mouths open

Panting for some

Relief from the hot

Golden agony 

That is summer.

The bird bath is
The hot new spot.
Take a number
To shimmy on the dance floor.
And then later jitterbug
High in the poplar branches
Drops caught like confetti in the sun.

You also will dance 
If you forget that, for you, 
Shoes are required 
At this annual gala
Unless your feet laugh 
And can jitterbug over hot tar
On the pavement.

Happy 4th!

We may not always get it right, but I am so fortunate to have been born in this country.

What is Hot? Thursday Thoughts #28

My Thursday Thirteen because: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...(Colleen Redmen always gets it tight and right with her Thursday 13 and yes, I know it is not Thursday...at least on this planet.)


What is hot?

1. My back yard
2. My front yard
3. The inside of any car today
4. The new fluorescent coneflower I just bought
5. My granddaughter's temper
6. Burn Notice
7. The steam that put a nasty welt on my wrist from the crab pot
8. The angry lightning from the storm last night
9. My husband's homemade hot pepper sauce
10. Every new #-pad that comes out
11. Dolce-Gabanna men's cologne ads
12. Sam Elliott's voice (Who wouldn't be agreeable to anything he said with that sexy voice?)
13.  Oddly enough the mourning dove in my oak tree...he cannot leave her alone!  Talk about hot and bothered even though spring has long since come and gone.

The Never Ending Story

Tragedy is all in perception and even perspective. Perhaps when you are shell-shocked for years having the blood of another tragedy at your feet, in your face, or, better yet, in the neighbor's yard, you can shake your head in sorrow but move on numbly to the rest of the day without too much angst.  Your perception has narrowed and you are in survival mode.


There are many studies of the numbing that violent games produce in the game player.  There are studies of the personality shells that young children create when living in a crime ridden neighborhood or when trying to survive in an abusive family.  Our soldiers return home only to fight a battle with themselves.


For those of us who do not live where bombs are lobbed into our life on a daily basis, we get addicted to that thrill ride in the entertainment industry forgetting that life is not real in that way.  We want a bigger explosion or more bodies on the ground.  We want larger monsters and bigger weapons.  It is not enough to kill the evil villain the first time.  He keeps surviving and coming back at us again and again.   Get involved with enough shock and awe that doesn't touch you and it becomes an addictive stimulant.


I wonder if our dear Earth also becomes numb in this way.  Or are her earth quakes and weather changes the spanking we deserve?  We keep attacking her with our blundering endless ignorance.


Just to "put in perspective " this oil tragedy,  we have used the earth as an oil toilet in far greater ways, according to the June 14 issue of Newsweek.  The Deepwater Horizon oil well has thus far released 39.1 million gallons with a an outside amount of 94.2 million.  (Needless to say no one can really measure this mess.)  


BUT in:  
1978 the Amoco Cadiz which ran aground released 68 million gallons; 
1979 the Atlantic Empress tanker collision spilled 88.3 million gallons; 
also in 1979 the IXTOC blowout took 10 months to cap and released 140 million gallons; 
1983 the Nowruz which hit an oil platform spewed 80 million gallons; 
1988 the Osyssey broke in half and released 48 million gallons (but far offshore in another neighborhood); 
1989 Exxon Valdez released 10.9 million gallons--the largest in U.S. waters until now
And finally in 1991, the Gulf War Iraqi forces released 252-336 million gallons when they retreated from Kuwait.


See, this is a never ending story.  Aren't you excited?

The Questionnaire

Questionnaire

1.  How much poison are you willing to eat for the success of the free market and global trade?  Please name your preferred poisons.


2.  For the sake of goodness, how much evil are you willing to do?  Fill in the following blanks with the names of your favorite evils and acts of hatred.


3.  What sacrifices are you prepared to make for culture and civilization?  Please list the monuments, shrines and works of art you would most willingly destroy.


4.  In the name of patriotism and the flag, how much of our beloved land are you willing to desecrate?  List in the following spaces the mountains, rivers, towns, farms you could most readily do without.


5.  State briefly the ideas, ideals, or hopes, the energy sources, the kinds of security, for which you would kill a child.  Name, please, the children whom you would be willing to kill.


(Taken from Leavings  Poems by Wendell Berry.)


(And, yes, I am somewhat indecisive/dyslexic on what to do with all these blog template choices!)

Swimming in the Gene Pools

I am certainly blessed with the presence of my daughter in my life.  We live an hour and a half away, but do manage to see each other as often as possible.  I rewarded her with a belated birthday weekend at a B&B and wine tour recently.   I was pleased and somewhat surprised that we still are so in sync with our personalities and interests.  We are more alike than different.  I know this is not true with many mother/daughter relations and therefore I am truly thankful.  This weekend together flowed just like honey.  There were no glitches or differences of opinion or problems.


Her daughter, on the other hand, is very different from both of us and we recognize this in her even though she is only three.  She complains each morning about what to wear and changes at least once if not twice, even if clothes have been chosen and laid out the night before.  My daughter and I are social animals, but my granddaughter takes sociability to the top.  She calls across the street to perfect strangers telling them she is going to ballet,  this time she will not be afraid to participate and look at the nice PINK dress she is wearing.  My daughter and I did not talk to strangers so easily when we were children and we both could care less what we wore.  It was only when we discovered we were girls (probably around 13) that we decided to try to dress nicely.


She was bold and loquacious during her open house visit to her new pre-school.  She met the teachers, told them about her clothes, how she couldn't wear her Princess dress to the open house (school rules) etc.  


She is strong as steel and knows how to get what she wants.  She reduces her 5-year-old brother to tears by killing the line of ants in the backyard.  When her mother tries to get her to stop stomping on them she looks up full of conviction and says, "I don't like them!"  She is all girl.  She favors her two grandfathers over the grandmothers, and the old-timers melt like chocolate drops in the hot sun when she turns on the charm.


My daughter and I smile knowingly, but also know she will use these charms to get what she wants from men throughout life, and we hope we can provide the skills of caution in this art of trade.  We are both fascinated by her because she is so different from us.  When I left her yesterday after dropping off her mother she asked if I was coming to see her at her swimming lesson.  I explained I had to head home to meet grandpa.  She looked down at her pretty pink shoes and then up at me and said, "But, I love you!"


The photo above is my daughter taking a picture of the impending storm as we were dropped off at the fourth and last winery of the day.  Even after drinking wine most of the day, we still managed to stop and notice the changes in the Earth.  (This post was written before Father's Day...sort of incongruous in posting it now!)

Can You Spare a Dime?

The saying that 'life can change on a dime' is familiar to many of us.  I searched the Internet to see where this expression came from.  A dime is thin.  A dime is not much money.  A dime is the smallest in size of American coins.  What does this expression mean?  Does anyone know the origin?


My life almost changed on a dime a few days ago.  After a casual running of errands and some successful plant purchases which I carefully wedged into the trunk of the car to keep them upright, I was heading down the county road toward the bridge that provides access to my side of the river.  Traffic was steady but not crowded with everyone doing 45 and keeping the correct distance.


A nasty storm was building on the distant horizon so people were probably a little eager to get to their destination.


I was following a construction truck full of equipment with three large aluminum ladders tied to the top bars above the truck bed.


Suddenly and without warning the middle ladder flew into the air and tumbled toward my car.  I hit the brakes (not too hard but steady) and pulled to the right side of the road toward the easement worrying about the cars behind me not being able to slow down and hitting my rear.  The ladder hit the pavement on one leg and did a pirouette before falling to the ground.  It then started sliding toward my front tires following me to the right even as I swerved.  Luck was on my side as the ladder came to rest just beside my car as I continued to move by it and came to a stop several yards in front of the now stationary aluminum missile which I saw in my rear view mirror.  It lay at an angle just inside the lane.  


I quickly looked in my rear view and side mirrors.  All of the cars behind me slowed suddenly and began to creep by.  The truck driver in front pulled to the side of the road and then ran back to see me.  He was a big black fellow with a heavy Southern accent.  He was so excited that I had trouble understanding him at first.  He was far more excited than I, clearly worried he might have seriously hurt me.


I reassured him that I was OK as he repeatedly apologized for not tying off the ladder more securely.  


Oddly enough I was not frightened or even concerned, just relieved that it had all happened without great incident and it wasn't until I got home that I remembered my plants were still in the trunk.  I hurried to open the trunk and was amazed to see they had remained tucked upright belying the near accident.


Yes, indeed, life can change on a dime.

The Muse

I cannot think of anything to write about. Hubby has been gone on a long trip and returning shortly.  I have gotten down to wandering around idly and taking photos of fungus in the yard. I post this. Does it stimulate any poetry in your soul. ;-)!  (How about a caption contest?)

Outrunning an Inconvenient Truth

I was trying to work through the 1,000's of photos that I keep taking and then collecting.  I was trying to be honest and delete most of them because they are worse than mediocre.  We fall in love with our mediocrity, I guess, thinking it is a bit of our immortality and representative of our pregnancy with genius in some way.  The genius that, in my case, never gets born.  Anyway, I have many bird photos and a good portion are water birds.  When I took the photo above it made me think of joy.  Running along on the beach with the wind at your back and the waves singing a song is a pleasure in life that everyone should experience.


Now, as you can guess, this photo has the feeling of impending disaster.  I hope this bird can outrun it, but I am guessing time is not on his side.

Truth Be Told

While assisting my 2-year-old granddaughter (shy of 3 by only 2 months) with her daily duties, we got to talking in the bathroom...where women always chat.  At her age they can spend quite a bit of time on the throne and therefore we must fill the time with chit chat.  (She did send me outside a time or two so she could have 'privacy', but then got lonely and called me back.)


While checking out the wallpaper, she informed me that she was a Princess.  (That is certainly the truth.)  She asked if I was a Princess and I replied, "Of course!"


She then pointed to my watch and asked what it was.  Being the former educator I went on a small lecture about watches telling the time of the day for meals and errands and how watches have become rarer because people look at the time (Mommy and Daddy for example) on their cell phones or blackberries and no longer need watches.  I explained that only old people like me still use watches and that is why she doesn't see them very often.


She looked me in the eye and said "You are not old.  You are grandma."


I was quite pleased with this comment, probably reading far more into it than I should have, because on the next downbeat, she looked at my midsection and asked,  "Are you a girl?"