16 degrees, windchill 2, flurries.
Keep warm, reflect, remember, don’t relive,
forgive, move on.
Work hard to become the change you want to see worldwide:
-Empathy
-Kindness
-Love
-Patience
-Understanding
Uncategorized
The Sim Card
At exactly 8:28 this evening, after returning from dinner and Christmas light viewing with my daughter and grandson, I threw my purse and antique, red, flip top phone on my bed, and let Athena, my dog, out. Shortly thereafter, I inadvertently knocked the phone on the floor between the foot of the bed and my grandmother’s (the one I never knew because she died long before I was born) cedar chest. Rather than moving the chest, I retrieved a long handled duster and gave it a swipe, thinking the phone would fly out intact. Unfortunately such is not the case. First, the back of the phone removed itself from the rest and flew out. I tried once again and the rest of the phone flew out. I picked it up and the notice read, “Insert Sim Card”. I looked at the phone. Sure enough, no Sim Card. Subsequently, I moved the cedar chest, pulled out the bed, retrieved a larger duster and totally cleaned under the bed. I even went to the garage, got the flash light, and looked under the bed everywhere. Still no Sim Card. Finally, in disgust, I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of zinfandel, The Seven Deadly Zins to be specific, and continued to read “There Will Be No Miracles Here” by Casey Gerald. How apropos, except I have never suffered like he has (or if I have, I have conveniently forgotten), I am not black, nor male, nor gay, nor poor (he probably is no longer either), and, comparatively speaking, I am very old.
The Christmas Tree
In childhood, no fake tree for us.
Just after Thanksgiving, the family search transpired.
Mom and Dad preferred Douglas fir, six feet tall.
Dutifully, we kept the tree holder filled with water,
never used real candles. We put on lights, big ones,
blue, green, red, an inch long, then carefully hung on delicate,
colorful, round balls. The most difficult task: the icicles,
long, silver, reflective. They had to go on just so.
Years later, children gone, Mom and Dad bought an
artificial tree, fake Douglas fir, incredibly real in appearance.
When they left Missouri for Arizona every winter after harvest,
they abandoned Christmas trees, gave me the fake Douglas fir.
I still have it. How long? Decades, several at least. State of the art
when they bought it, it requires work, assembly, strings of lights.
Every year, I tell myself it is time to get one of those new trees with lights
already installed, so much easier to take up and down. I never buy one.
I cannot bear to part with Mom and Dad’s tree. One year, annoyed with
putting on lights, I decorated it lightless. I missed the lights. Now every year,
decades later, I assemble it, take the time to string the lights. Some of the lower
branches no longer stay, but I work around that, hang the colorful, delicate
Christmas ornaments I love, collected over years and years, wrap the base in
the red and white cloth given to me from Africa. On cold evenings, like this one,
I turn off the other lights, drink tea like my mother did, and remember my
childhood.
Athena
Most of my posts are poems, things I have learned, travel adventures, or serious comments about the world. This one is more of a personal sharing post. Here are three photos of my dog, Athena. She is a standard poodle and quite fearless and territorial. She will even stand off coyotes. Sometimes this makes me sad because I do enjoy the wide variety of wildlife where I live. However, I like the idea that she is fearless and protective and warns me about anything unusual. Nothing escapes her notice.
When I took this, she had just demolished a bone and fragments appear on her left leg.
She and my grandson playing.
Inspecting her territory in her short summer haircut taken last summer.
I just finished the book “American Wolf”. Most people do not associate their dogs with big predators. Poodles were originally bred to hunt. When I watch her roam the wild around my house, hunter, predator comes to mind. I have watched her chase foxes, coyotes, skunks, you name it. She is clever enough to never get too close to the skunk. The coyote and she had a stand off. Eventually, Athena won. I have not seen a coyote since and that was months ago.
Snow
After nearly none last year, it hit suddenly and dramatically last night: cold, intense, beautiful.
Autumn
dramatic weather changes
one day cold, next one almost hot
late blooms, gayfeather, groundswell,
native grasses blowing in the wind
owls hooting, robins on the patio
praying mantis, walking sticks
working on their last hunts,
other insects singing night songs
Almost Autumn
Golden glow lays over the land
Praying mantis walks up the window
Storm clouds gently glide through azure
New Adventure: A New Teaching Job
Monday I went to my new job, finished decorating my new room with a few posters, a giant puma drawing from one of my former students, and an old National Geographic photo of a giant redwood tree with several men stationed at varying heights. This year I will be teaching English Language Arts to grades 7-10, a writing class, and Spanish 1 and 2. The 7th and 8th graders will be a new experience. However, several have already come by to meet me, chat, hang out. Hard to knock that for starters. It is a nearly new building out in the country surrounded by fields and pasture with a feed lot down the road–ranching country where rodeo is a major activity.
On the east side of my classroom a giant window takes up 1/3 of the wall. A small section of the window even opens. Twice I have opened it and listened to the birds singing outside. The window sill can hold several plants because it is long and at least one foot wide. Plant shopping occurs this weekend. Students begin next week.
Cutting Yucca
Yucca will take over if you let it.
Every summer after the blooms dry, I tackle them with long,
red-handled clippers and cut off long stalks.
Not bothering to put on boots, I set out in black and grey Chacos,
cutting stalks in places unreachable by tractor.
I climb down to a rough area, open these long, red-handled clippers,
chop off the dead blossoms, then look down.
She lies there, her body slightly bigger than the size of my upper arm,
fat, not long.
A snake stretched out, only 1/8 inch from the front of my Chacos.
I look again. Crap. She’s a rattlesnake, one of those short,
stout prairie rattlers, perfectly blending with the grey and brown
rocks and soil.
Slowly, I inch backward, taking care not to fall on the steep slope.
When several feet away, I run to the barn, grab two shovels off their hooks,
run back. She’s gone. I search everywhere around.
I never find her.
Rain
months of nothing
six inches below normal
suddenly late afternoon
downpours, flooding
three waterfalls off canyon cliff
double rainbow
birds sing evensongs
and now this
