25 things going around right now

I guess this 25 list thing got started on Facebook, which is where I first encountered it. I put off doing it for some time, but kept getting tagged by people, so started thinking about which 25 things I would include. So, today I finally did it. It's on my Facebook page, but you can read it here without joining or being obligated. On the other hand, it's kind of interesting--the process, that it. If you try it, let me know...Oh, and by the way, for all you fellow perfectionists, you need to know that you WILL think of something else right after you post your list. Murphy's Law...

25 things going around right now

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

1. I am an avid bird-watcher.
2. I love to cook.
3. I've read all the novels of Charles Williams and Virginia Woolf several times.
4. My favorite place in all the world is the porch of the Island Inn on Monhegan Island.
5. I spent the first 14 summers of my life in a Victorian cottage in Monteagle, TN.
6. I am a writer.
7. I talk to puppets. And they talk back. Really...
8. I once took 20 pounds of lima beans to a workshop so I could finish shelling them.
9. I've never broken a bone in my body, if you don't count my little toe. ('Cause they don't fix those--they just say "too bad.")
10. I've worked in a jewelry store, at a publishing house, two universities, and for the people who make Super Bubble Gum. (No, I did not twist the wrappers.)
11. I've taught approximately 4,000 children, including Mindy, Meg, and Melinda.
12. I am a poet.
13. I stored a Great Horned Owl in my freezer. (It was already dead. Promise.)
14. I'm a SoulCollage® facilitator.
15. I quit piano lessons because my fingers kept locking up.
16. I met my husband playing Baroque recorders in a quartet.
17. I was on the Parmer Elementary School Girls' All-Tournament Basketball team.
18. If you look for me in early October, you'll find me at the National Storytelling Festival, listening.
19. My best friend and I have known each other for 60 years.
20. I quit smoking during Intermission of La Traviata in 1971.
21. I dream about bears.
22. I've read Women Who Run with the Wolves three times. (I know, I need to get busy. I'm behind.)
23. I used to count clipped coupons at a bank, and therefore recognize most of the utility and school districts in the state of Mississippi.
24. I've never met a vegetable I didn't like.
25. I still have my mother's last pair of glasses, and she died almost 10 years ago.

The Hawk

Yesterday afternoon, R went to the kitchen sink for a glass of water and was surprised to see a large hawk just outside the window. It was on the ground, eating a freshly killed squirrel, but caught R's movement and froze. For 5 or 6 seconds, they stared at each other, both motionless. At which point the hawk couldn't stand it anymore, and flew off, leaving its catch.

This morning we saw that the carcass was still there. A while later, I was reading the morning paper in the den and happened to glance up to see the very large hawk sitting on the edge of the birdbath. Brown and white, so powerful, about 16" tall. I whispered for R to bring me my camera, but couldn't move close enough to get a good picture without scaring it, so just set the camera down and stared. In a moment, it hopped down to retrieve the squirrel and flew off. We saw it a couple more times at the edge of the pine grove, enjoying its breakfast at the base of a tree. I've consulted my bird books and the Internet, but still can't decide if we were looking at a Cooper's Hawk, a Northern Goshawk, or something else.

How fortunate to be able to see this magnificent bird from just 4 feet away!

Bright Lights in Winter

Another cold and windy day. We keep a heater in our birdbath during the winter months so that there is a steady supply of fresh water. Some weeks we have to add a gallon of water a day. How they stand to bathe when the temperature is in the teens is beyond me. In the picture, a male Bluebird and a female Cardinal watch another Bluebird take a bath.

Here's who was visiting for baths and drinks this morning, sometimes seven at a time:

Cardinals
Eastern Bluebirds
White-throated sparrows
Nuthatch
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker
Chickadees
Mockingbirds
Bluejays
Titmice
Goldfinches
House Finches
Towhee
Carolina Wren
Robins
Flicker

Zen Laundry

Yesterday a friend suggested that I "notice the colors"
the next time I did the laundry. It was a mostly white
load, but here is my response...

Folding laundry:
five pillowcases,
two white two yellowed
one old one
embroidered by my elderly
neighbor
when I was a new
bride.
Raising my arms to let
the folded sheet fall
straight, I wonder--will I
be able to do this when
I'm eighty? Three more
items on the pile: two
kitchen washcloths, faded
and worn; one navy and tan
beach towel, used to protect the chair from
Charley's claws.
Charley's gone; the shredded
towel remains.

1/3/09

How to work up a sweat in 11 degree weather

I know, I know, just plain, well, silly. Especially for someone who's trying to get rid of a head cold. But sometimes silly is called for. Well, maybe. And we hadn't cleared away that pile of sticks near the heat pump, hadn't raked the leaves, etc. With the husband at the dentist and the heat pump removers/installers on the way, I knew what had to be done. By someone. So I did it.

To stay warm in 11 degrees, I wore a Polartec hat with ear flaps, my Land's End squall jacket with hood, Polartec vest, turtleneck shirt, long underwear top and bottom, jeans, Polartec socks, my faithful Muck boots, and Polartec gloves. Worked non-stop for 30 minutes, and, yes, worked up a sweat. Maybe it'll clear out the sinuses.

Why? Because you know what happens when even careful men take apart and remove a heat pump, then install a new one. Yes, drop things I don't want to appear in my compost pile, things I don't want to have to sift through leaves and sticks looking for. Next time I put off the Fall chores, though, I may want to remember how I spent the coldest morning this Winter.

Capturing multiple moments

I love the way a Pantoum can capture multiple moments and weave dreamy thoughts in and out like basketweaving or collage. So where did all that stuff come from? The Beech tree moment I'll write about another time. This morning on our walk, Baskin saw and "nosed" two Box turtles, but didn't try to "play" with them--the result of 11 years of training. Has he finally learned, or is he just bored with them now? The workshop I did at the cemetery yesterday brought back one of my favorite lines from a Theodore Roethke poem. Why didn't I remember it yesterday? And finally, when I was a child, I would be gently lulled to sleep at naptime by the sound of the washing machine in the basement. I was doing laundry while writing the pantoum, and everything sort of tumbled around together in my brain.

How's that for over-explaining? Oh well...

If you want the formula for writing a Pantoum, here it is:

1 2 3 4
2 6 4 8
6 10 8 12
10 14 12 16
14 3 16 1

Time to put the wash in the dryer. Wonder what will tumble forth next?

The Beech trees, Box turtles, spirits of the dead...with apologies to Theodore Roethke

The Beech tree sings in a light rain,
the dog has finally learned,
and the dead begin from their dark
to sing in my sleep.

The dog has finally learned
to leave the Box turtles alone
to sing in my sleep,
along with the whirr of the washing machine.

Leaving the Box turtles alone,
I visit the cemetery by day,
along with the whirr of the washing machine
as the lives of the dead begin to stir.

I visit the cemetery by day
listening to new voices
as the lives of the dead begin to stir
and write their stories down.

Listening to new voices,
as the dead begin from their dark
to write their stories down,
the Beech tree sings in a light rain.