What Baskin Knows

How to sleep--
with ears covering eyes
to block the light,
but one eye open
to keep track of parents
because it's important
to know where they are
at any given moment.

How to avoid that pesky cat
when he tries to jump on me.

How to sit really still so
I can watch the deer--
I like to watch them watching me.

Where the moles are,
and with seven acres to patrol,
that keeps me pretty busy.

How to slip through the fence
to "mark" my territory
at the neighbor's mailbox.

How to interpret plain English--
my parents can't even get away with spelling things,
especially not "food," "water," "walk,"
and when they whisper "Look,"
I run to the window to see
what they're looking at.
I even know that "W" means "walk."
I didn't come in on no load of 'taters, you know.

But mostly, I know how to love
without regard for any limits,
how to slow my parents down,
how to take care of the four
most important things in life:
eat, sleep, play, love.

Chiming the Wind

No picture tonight. A word picture, maybe a sound byte. The wind is up, the air temperature is warmer than it has been. Which means that storms are coming. I don't need the weather forecasters to tell me that, though. Outside, suspended from the roof overhang, the Pemaquid wind chime foretells the change in weather.
Bong, clang, bong.
Listen and learn.

If this link isn't hot, paste it in your browser's address window and listen to what I'm hearing tonight:
http://sites.securemgr.com/folder13532/Pemaquidbell.wav

January Dusk

January dusk--
Flinging gold across the sky--
I soar on your wings.

Boundaries

Does a fence keep something out, or something in? In the case of my dog, both. For the past 11 years, we've walked the boundary fence twice a day. He knows where his territory begins and ends. Not that that keeps him from slipping out when he wants to explore the other side. What does the fence do for me? A feeling of comfort, security, familiarity. I know where our land begins and ends. I expect that strangers, even neighbors, will respect the boundary and stay out unless they are coming in for a specific reason, like reading the electricity meter, delivering packages, or saying hello. The occasional dog or cat will stop in to visit. For them, fences are simply temporary glitches. The deer use them for exercise. This photo reminds me that I am ambivalent about my boundaries. If I wanted everyone and everything out, I would have chosen a different type of fence, not one with so many gaps. Do I want people in or out? Yes.

Fences
comfort
security
stay out
hello
visit
everyone
out
in

Olio for Friday

I'm jumping in, feet first, because I can't decide where to start. I may do like my friend Mary suggests and delete the first paragraph when I get warm. Or not. It's not that I'm not inspired, just scattered. So my Olio will be full of whatever's in the fridge, or my brain. I'm above the porch fan this afternoon, in the computer room to be exact, and as I read or type, I keep glancing out the window to check on the progress of the remodeling at the neighbor's house. The new neighbors have taken a well-loved house (lived in by the same couple for 25+ years) and re-loved it all over again. It's beautiful, although I liked the old version also. Ripped off the old wood and put up that Hardy board stuff that's faux wood, aka concrete. We're going to have to do the same thing here, but don't get me started on that--for us, it'll be like rebreaking a bone in order to set it correctly. Like I said, don't get me started on that. Back to the neighbor's house: I love to see someone take an existing house and transform it without tearing the whole thing down. Like when we reinvent ourselves. Any kind of major change is like that, and if we're kind to ourselves in the process, we can transform into the next stage without demeaning the stage we were in before. That seems to be way too many words for what I'm trying to say. I should attempt to write a haiku that condenses that thought, but feel too lazy right now.

House Like a Butterfly, Experiences a Metamorphosis

Ha! I surprised myself. That was going to be the title of my haiku, but then I decided to count the syllables. When I found 17, I said, Hey, Lazy Girl, you just wrote the haiku! So, I'm done. Gee, that was easy. Only it isn't really a haiku, because it doesn't have a season word in it. Maybe if I give the title a title, like "In Winter." I know, Kris, that's cheating. (Kris is the expert on haiku and other Japanese forms in my circle of friends.)

I told you this was going to be an Olio...

So, next is a diary entry. Dear Diary, Today I facilitated Wesley McNair's "The Future" for the second day in a row, and as I listened to the discussion and the written responses of the women in my two writing groups, I realized that I am in exactly in the place I need to be. Just like that. Now, I've realized that before, but today (and yesterday) the feeling sat with me longer. For a moment it felt like that little 11 x 11 room WAS heaven, and earth was on the other side of the door. To paraphrase McNair, "In the deep moment of my looking, there is no future, only right now, all, anyway, I will ever need." (If you didn't read the poem on this Wednesday's Writer's Almanac posting, here's the link: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/programs/2008/01/21/#wednesday. And if it's been moved, look for it in the archives. Then take a line or phrase that resonates with you, and write from it. And here's a peek into heaven's door (taken in August of 2006) at some of my fellow angels:

Spinning a Question

What's the significance of a black, hairy, and very dead spider found on an old scrap of t-shirt behind the dog's cage in the laundry room? I've been mulling over this question for days, since I found it there. Perhaps the better question is, Why did I think it worthy of a photo? I don't know yet, but I do think that the three elements in the picture are worth pondering. Why was the spider next to the bit of twig from a weed? And is that the face of an angel in the holes in the t-shirt? I know, really! Well? Actually, what I've been trying to figure out is, where's the poem in this picture? I know it's there somewhere. If I figure it out, I'll revise this post and let you know. In the meantime, what's in the corner of your laundry room?

What Abigail Knows

When we found Abigail in that wonderful little

garden shop in Asheville, NC, the owners were
reluctant to let her go, so we promised we wouldn't
change her name. She has graced several spots in our gardens; this is her new favorite. When I photographed her sitting here, I was amazed at
how well the weeds were doing. Why is it that I insist on growing those time-consuming perennials, when it's the weeds that are thriving? I suppose that anything beautiful takes work. Does that mean that weeds aren't creative? I've been busy doing some psychic weeding, and that's hard work, for sure. Digging out the dross, so the gold can shine through. Perhaps Abby is reminding me to be patient with the process. After all, she can feel what's going on underground.

Who says nothing grows
in winter? Abigail waits
in the weeds for Spring.

Unknown Language

You ever look right at something and wonder what it said? Maybe not since you began to read, years ago. I know there's a message here, in the bark of this tree. But I can't read it. Can you?



Tree talking to me
but I don't know its language--
leaves me wondering.

why i'm not sure why

Is the 4th day the hardest? Or the 5th? the 10th? Why do people start blogs and then disappear off the face of blogdom? How soon the thrill is gone. Hey, at least we start. Just how many pristine journals do you have sitting on your bookshelves or in your closets? I have my share, for sure. Blogs are no different. I subscribe to one writer's blog. She's smarter than most--she posts only once or twice a week, and it's short. And readable. Now that I'm at day 4, I realize how soon boredom can set in. What's so special about an ordinary day? Only today wasn't so ordinary. It was pretty astounding--so astounding that I'm not even sure what the import is. And I'm not ready to talk about it. It's one of those days that I have to process first and talk about much later, if at all. So what went on today in between my email to lucy (where I pondered "why i'm not sure why") and watching 30 white tailed deer jump over my fence in the light of the full moon? I'm not ready to say...

hibernating this winter
in an emotional minefield
i live in a house of mirrors
and clean them everyday
too much going on
too many nodding heads
why i'm not sure why
drop in and read
(you're welcome)
back and forth
welcome, now go away
don't say anything
I'm not sure why
show up and listen
leave
a handful of people
make no promises
why i'm not sure why

Frustration, thy name is technology

The sun is shining, albeit weakly. There's a strip of blue in the pale gray covering my view of the sky. I say "my view" because some of you are seeing the whole cosmos. That mine is obscured is fitting, because I've wasted the better part of the day trying to solve--once again--a printer problem. Now, I'm no techno-newbie--I've been fooling with this stuff since 1992--so I know at least half of what I'm doing. And I hate, hate, hate it when the know-it-alls leave out those little "minor" steps that they ASSume we all know. Why Apple would choose to omit the driver for my $750 laser printer (for which I just bought a new $135 toner cartridge) from their fancy-schmancy new OS and why HP chooses to leave out big important chunks in their firmware upgrade instructions I just can't fathom. The only reason I haven't thrown the printer out the upstairs window is that the only thing I hate more than Apple and HP right now is throwing $885 away. That and the fear that it might land on my favorite fern. Okay, enough ranting. Hopefully I'll feel better with that off my chest.

Charleythecat

It's cold and getting colder. Charleythecat knows--as I write, he's curled up on the hood of my car, in the garage. His favorite place to be when I return from errands, engine nice and warm. Tonight, though, he'll beg to sleep in the den, on R's tummy. The colder it is, the longer he'll sleep. He knows if he acts up, it's out in the cold.

Intro stuff

I could have spent three days trying to come up with the perfect title for a blog, my first. But I've given up perfection for the month, so I went with the first thing that popped into my head. That one was taken, of course. And the second one, too. I could feel my perfectionism kicking in, so had to hurry. That's when I spotted the porch fan outside the den window. So, no, I'm not sitting under a porch fan in some sunny utopia. I'm under a Polartec throw in the middle of Tennessee on a chilly January day, looking out at a dreary gray sky and an unscreened porch that needs cleaning. But a porch fan can take me anywhere. If you want to stop in every now and then to see if I'm here, you're welcome to sit awhile and let your shadow catch up with you.