Wipe your paws, please

picmonkey dogThe Mighty Wonder Buck has a morning routine.  Actually, it’s based on my routine, which has to do with being very much a morning person.  Generally, I’m up at around daybreak or shortly thereafter, and that’s when I’m OFF work.  During the work week, it’s dark, and sometimes the birds aren’t even singing yet, unless it’s an owl, which is pretty cool in itself.

I’ll head outside for pot of tea on the patio, while Buckley noses around and sniffs and, well, does other things dogs need to do first thing in the morning. 

Except when it’s raining.  Then he’s on his own for a quick in-and-outer to do his business, which can be fairly substantial for a 60-pound pup. Because of his long hair and his feathered feet, he tends to track in LOTS of mud.   The mud doesn’t seem to bother him much; it’s just not within his canine Continue reading “Wipe your paws, please”

THE KRAKEN #1

quillEpic poetry, once a valued art form, has seemingly fallen upon hard times.  When was the last time you heard someone, anyone, extol the likes of Evangeline (I know I’ve never read it, but it was one of my mom’s faves), or The Aeneid (I did read that one, and maybe ingested about 70%).  I think of story poems as the opera of the written word: beautifully done, and woefully under-appreciated. 

So for the next several Thursdays in the “Not My Poetry” category, I’m introducing a new, soon-to-be published epic poem in short installments..  The author, Robert L. Jones III (of the blogsite, Pneumythology), playfully describes the writing style as “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner meets Dr. Seuss”, and if you know his site at all, inside of this grown man is a little boy who still loves big scary monsters.

And so, blogging world, I give you—

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From: gizemlervebilinmeyenler.blogspot.com and copied from Alejandro Quijano pintrest (Kinda scary, right?)

The Kraken

By Robert L. Jones III (check it out at Pneumythology)

I. Invocation

The legend hails from northern seas, a tale that few know well,

Where faith and fear blow freely on the gray and changing swell.

Mark well the drift of this account, and come to understand

That humble and heroic things go often hand in hand.

 

Great beauty can arise somehow from ugly circumstance

Till on the heaps of tragedy brave men and angels dance

And find the grace to pause and hear the song that heaven sings,

The offered  joy of common folk, philosophers, and kings.

 

A struggle of the soul that found occasion to express

Its failure and its victory through physical duress,

This tale begins within the depths of ignorant despair

Wherein a monster threatened all who breathed the ocean air.

 

Reports would come to colder ports and spread from place to place

That ships on northern routes had disappeared without a trace.

Alleged survivors’ recollections met with mirth and scorn.

Some said from superstition’s womb the Kraken had been born.

 

The rumors flourished in the minds of those disposed to think

A pair of cold, unearthly eyes observed them from the drink,

And arguments flew back and forth till from a harbor town

Some citizens and seamen saw a merchant ship go down

 

In tangled mass of tentacles and blackened, churning foam,

A masted vessel splintered but a quarter mile from home.

The wreckage drifted in for nights and littered many days,

But not a man clung to the boards that floated in the haze.

 

From then, it seemed that none would dare to walk along the shore.

The legend grew from mouth to mouth in neighborhood and store.

In taverns next to many docks where ships would come and leave,

Men gathered over food and ale to listen and believe.

 

How thoughtfully they chewed their meals, digesting tale on tale.

Such sessions often went till dawn, when, filled with too much ale,

Some stouter men drew courage from within the barrel staves

And so resolved to cast their lots upon the open waves.

 

To gamble thus and play the odds such manly pride knows well.

Courageously misguided steps lead often into Hell.

Some sailed and lived. Some sailed and died, not knowing what it cost.

Some owners of their ships retired with fortunes made or lost.

 

Within the course of daily life, where time can break or mend,

On this delayed trajectory, who knows how it will end?

In times of choice and consequence, but few had thought it through,

And as their lives passed slowly by, the Kraken fed and grew.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT THURSDAY!!

Don’t bother washing the hat

garden last

This spring I put in a new garden.  I’ve already blogged somewhere about it, so I’ll spare the details, but to say it’s back-breaking work (fine, I’ll admit it—especially for this aging back) is without question.  I’ve done it, however, with the hopeful expectation of an improved harvest. 

If I’ve learned one thing living in America’s Heartland, it’s that farmers are possibly some of THE hardest working individuals on kevinthe planet.  Their hands are not soft, and the ball caps on their heads are not nice and clean.  During harvest, they work dawn to dusk (sometimes beyond that), and it takes not only Continue reading “Don’t bother washing the hat”

The “Like” button

wood 2Bob and I have an ongoing debate about the “like” button.  He will peruse a post but not necessarily fully read it, hitting the “like” button “to encourage” the writer, and then of course, he will leave a comment only if he has something more substantial to say.  I’m not saying I’m always above doing that, but I’m more along the lines of “liking” something only if I “read” it.  Perhaps I am being a bit legalistic here?

Akin to that discussion is the “follow” button.  Hitting the follow button is likewise effortless, but authentically following is something else, because to really get to know someone takes time.  I want to “read” what’s on their hearts: how they process and interpret their experiences, and how they position themselves for the future.  I want to understand our disagreements, and guess what!  I might even change my mind on some things, or vice versa—how cool is that?!?

Unfortunately, the various WordPress conveniences seem to Continue reading “The “Like” button”

The welcome mat was threadbare

neuschwanstein-castle-467116_1280

“Years passed, and the king of Egypt died. But the Israelites continued to groan under their burden of slavery. They cried out for help, and their cry rose up to God.  God heard their groaning, and he remembered his covenant promise to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  He looked down on the people of Israel and knew it was time to act.”

Many of us know the backstory, even if it’s just from Charlton Heston’s iconic portrayal, or even Disney’s animated version.  The people of Israel had been rescued from a catastrophic famine by the Hebrew patriarch Joseph who had become the Number Two chariot in Egypt.  God had sovereignly brought the “nation” of Israel (only about seventy people at that time) all the way from the Promised Land to be provided for during the remaining five years of crop failure. 

The only problem was that the remaining five years was over….400 years ago.

Fast forward to the current story.  The Continue reading “The welcome mat was threadbare”

So, You Wanna Be a Writer

quillThis poem, another great one by Dawn Paoletta, (not me, I’m the OTHER Dawn, and you know, not a poet…), pretty much speaks for itself.  Talk about insight, and wit!  Be sure and check out her beautiful place on the planet at Enthusiastically Dawn!  

So, You Wanna Be A Writer (Secrets of a Writer’s Life)

So

YOU

wanna be

a writer?

Well, listen carefully to me

before your dreams are crushed

and ego bruised carelessly.

I’ll tell you what you need to do

and why you shouldn’t care

whether or not your published

or write as a career.

I’ll tell you the secrets

all writers need to know,

how writing in your closet

and writing on the go

will take you on a journey

not unlike Jacques Cousteau.

Listen very closely,

as I preach with my keys-

secret number one

is to write exactly as you please-

forget about the masses,

and what “everyone” will think

ignore your morning chores,

leave the dishes in the sink.

Take your pen and journal

shut the door and sit-

I’m onto secret number two-

in just a little bit.

Conclusion number one is this:

A Writer never quits! 

Secret number two is this,

just be still!

Hurry up, seize the day –

be present where you are-

fill up every moment

as you would an empty jar-

with fireflies,

people’s lies,

and everything you know

capture every moment

as if falling snow.

Each experience encountered

provides an empty box

with a plethora of topics

not unlike a crazy fox-

doubling back on his tracks

and knowing that each step

matters in the sequence

not unlike a writer’s prep.

One more thing I must add now

In all things keep your wit-

Conclusion number two is this:

A Writer never quits!

On to secret number three

I’ll squeeze the best into this test

a thought for you to ponder

a writer

must write

 as sure as birds fly yonder.

A writer wages a war with pen

brings life to his reflections

the ink does birth

the writer’s thoughts

making magical connections,

but every writer needs one friend

to suggest a few corrections.

Otherwise he must stay true

to his own introspection.

The Writer’s only secret

I must now admit

is conclusion number three:

A Writer never quits! 

by Dawn Paoletta (A Writer)

Expecting bird poop

bird picmonkeyAt this writing, I’ve just come in from sitting on my patio before going to church on a beautiful Sunday morning.  I mean B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.   The sky has been swept clean (wish I could say that about my patio…), the birds are singing, the sun is coming up over the horizon, the trees are sporting their new greenery—I even have some new things planted in my garden.  And I had a special treat this morning—two Canada geese flew overhead!  Great!

We live in southern Missouri in what’s called a “fly-over zone”, so the geese are frequent residents in transit.  But we also have a Continue reading “Expecting bird poop”

Somebody pass the dill

newgarden
Things are growing in the new garden!

Once again, I was outside conducting my annual experiments that I presumptuously refer to as “gardening”.  This spring I put in a new plot, and dumped in a bunch of store bought dirt, sorta/kinda had a ever-expanding design of what to plant where.  

I love fresh herbs.  Even just watering them releases a beautifully refreshing scent into the air.  One thing that I was wanting to add to my stash, but have had difficulty with in the past, was dill.  So this year I thought I would just sow a short row of seeds (rather than already half-grown plants from the store) right into the fresh dirt, and “see what happens”.  (Such is my typical gardening strategy…)

What happened is this: Continue reading “Somebody pass the dill”

“This Old House”, (which happens to be mine)

IMG_20150103_172451138I guess some people still think that co-habitation is a smart thing before marriage, you know, to make sure they’re compatible and other such nonsense.  I have a better idea: during some of the home improvements when we first moved into our current abode, I decided then and there that it should be federal mandate for couples to work together renovating an old house prior to being issued a marriage license. 

I daresay fewer couples would continue to “co-habit”.

My husband is meticulous.  I, on the other hand, am not quite so patient.  He’s sees one job; I see ten.  He can focus for hours; I am, well, not usually quite that skilled.  Nor careful I might add.  Blogger brother Wally Fry posted a meme that pretty much hits the mark HERE. (I don’t know where he and his wife, Heather, find these things, but they’re so dag-gum true!)

However, despite my sometimes counterproductive hyperactivity, God’s plan Continue reading ““This Old House”, (which happens to be mine)”