books, weather

well well well

deep in the ground and no pump . . .
day 5 here without power and water
although it teased a bit and came on
for approximately 10 minutes, then
it was back to generator power.

took a shower in the RV today,
which consists of military style
wet, turn off water, soap, shampoo
rinse, turn off water, condition, shave
rinse again . . .
60 seconds, my ass.
not when i haven’t see hot water in 2 days.

well – i’ll try not to whine too much
at least i have internet access, refrigerated food
and bottled water.
oh – and i get to make use of all these candles.

how very Virgina Woolf i feel –
no wonder she drowned herself,
she missed running water.
another storm is approaching . . .

family, nature, technology, weather

water and lights

well my pretties . . .
Hurricane Isabel was no joke,
day 3 here with no power
which also means, no water.
i’ve been hiberating like a bear.
amazing how the body will shut down
when there is no regular stimulus
even the hum of A/C and underlying vibration of power.

you would not BELIEVE what i had to do to get online.

my prince of a man went and drove to PA from MD
to get a generator, and soon we’ll be semi-functional
but before this, i had a converter
hooked up to a DeWalt powerdrill battery
and that was connected to my brother-in-law’s laptop
and then, good old dialup as the phones still work.
i have 3 online classes this semester
so . . . i NEED to get on this bastard
and hopefully get to my own resources soon.

food, humor, photography

the ingredients and the tools

An amateur photographer went to a dinner party. He took some prints to show the hostess who exclaimed how beautiful they were saying, “These are great! You must have a very good camera.”

The photographer said nothing.

When the party ended, the photographer told the hostess, “That was a wonderful meal. You must have some great pots!”

Sometimes . . . yes – what you use to get the job or the joy done is the discerning factor. But mostly, it is what is in between those four invisible lines that creates something delicious and delectable to the eye and the heart.

myth, nature, weather

Sweet September

There is this little house on the corner
where an old couple lives.
They tend to a rather beautiful garden
with fountains and a pond and flowerbeds
and lilac brush and such.
They sit there at a tiny card table
with a plastic flower drapecloth over it
and a cold sweaty iced-tea pitcher between them.
He reads the paper and glances up occasionally
while she watches the people
and the cars with people in them go by.
They look like old but hopeful Kool-Aid salesmen
of long ago summers.

hot and fluttery summertime
well – you can leave now
and so can your crashing storms
that bring the trees down
and light up my room at night
when i am dreaming of crunching leaves
beneath my boots . . .

i am SUCH a sweater grrrrl of gray and black and red and brown and tawny and earthy personable colors and depth. I cannot wait for Autumn and leaves and hot donuts and cider and pumpkins and cocoa and yes those boots especially that scrunch into the earth. Warm clothes and cool breeze.

i feel the shift and the cycle and the time for reflection and transformation, though i try to busy myself in the colors and the wonder of this change. i write better, i think deeper, i feel warmer, i concentrate on goals, i see things clearer.

September is my favorite. 9th month. 9 the number of completion in a cycle. 9 like magic and like cat tails and incantations. SEPT- for seven and -EMBER for fire. September used to be the 7th month in the old calendric cycle. And September has the 23rd, the first day of the Fall Equinox. Yummy — my spirit says bring it on. I am washing sweaters already.

who wants to rake leaves?
tsh –
i want to bed down in them
and wear them in my hair.

nature, weather

wings and things

ahhh what a gorgeous day.
77 degrees, no humidity, a cloudless sky
four hours of sleep the previous nite
high on adrenaline and life,
and a field of moths and butterflies . . .

health, myth, nature

darkness

light elvin things
often retreat to dark places.
damp caves and mossy quiet.
seems i am exploring that side just now.

because i cannot see
a breadth of light
i am submerging instead
so i will better appreciate it.

i hope i come out
with some thoughtful gifts.

death, family, health, travel

falling stars

my grandmother died.
i am in Detroit trying to soothe my mother
and i am charged with the writing
and delivering of the eulogy.

they wanted me to sing,
but i’m not certain i would perform anything
other than shudders and the choking back of tears.
best that i speak of light things
and celebrate her life.

if any of you have any advice
or well-wishing or thoughts on eulogies
and funerals, please share them with me.

my grandmother was Protestant,
but never really attended church
she believed in a higher power – god per se
but did not want to be buried with a rosary
or delivered into a church before burial,
so i will be speaking of her at a funeral home.
we bury her on Wednesday.
she was 81.

when people lose someone older in their family
sometimes, the thoughts and emotions are disconnected
— they forget that the person was ever young.
my grandmother was a tough woman, sometimes cruel
but it was also in her home i spent the first 9 months of my life
she saw me even before my own father who was at sea
and in her hallway was a long mirror i always loved
and would push myself against to stand.
i left fingerprints there as an infant
and when my mother and i left to our first home
my grandmother refused to wash those prints off the mirror
for nearly a year.
Irene Paull is her name, and she was a good woman
strong with a deep capacity for memory and tenderness.

photography, writing

lyrical snapshots

while my camera is charging
while i am re-charging.
i’ll just start scribbling the words down,
and deliver prose.

i always liked writing.
pictures are not provided –
well . . . they are coded in symbols
that make words
that hang together in sentences
and create meaning
one has to invent the image in their head.

i hope you can see
what i saw.

health, nature

beauty and the itchy beast

out here in the sticks
the poison ivy is not only a bush
but a thick rope vine that snakes up the trees.
we occasionally hack it down and it mixes with
the bottom layers of leaves and grass.
we forget to haul it away and kill it.

then people like me go traipsing through it
while planting a new flowering crepe myrtle
and shooting pictures of the misty moon
and where the opening in my Birkenstocks are
between the straps are two think patches of
MADDENING RED IRRITATION!

:sigh:
Mother Nature is pretty
and awesome . . .
but she itches like hell.