Thunderstorms

The motion is what moves us,

Infidelity to earth,

The joy of thunderstorms,

Cleansing pain and discontent

With gleeful disregard

And reckless veneration

of what passes.

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On the Importance of Toasters

An excerpt from

 

Paula and Iris are drinking ‘coffee’ in the office kitchen.

“We’re giving them a toaster”, Paula says.

Iris spins away, spilling her vanilla mint cappuccino.

“What?” Paula asks.

Iris turns back, tears in her eyes, unable to speak.

“What is it?” Paula asks.

Iris breathes deeply, shakes her head, then breathes deeply again.

“I'm sorry. It's just that. I’ve often thought that. If Stan and I had had the right toaster, our marriage might have been saved.”

Paula moves closer.

“What makes you think that?”

Iris wipes her eyes.

“Stan used to get up in the middle of the night and make toast. The toaster we had would leave crumbs on the counter and he would never clean them up. So every morning for seven years, I would get up and clean up the crumbs on the counter. And every morning I would complain about the crumbs, and we’d start to fight and finally he left.”

Paula sighs.

“Did he take the toaster?”

Iris shakes her head.

“I gave it away. Too many memories.”

Paula sits back. She entwines her middle finger around a cheese doodle. Tiny doodle grains fall to her palm, forming images on her hand, pictographs in an incomprehensible junk food idiom. Possibly a ring. Or a circus. Or an octopus. She gazes at the inscrutable figures, wondering at their meaning. Doodle grains. Toast crumbs. There is a significance, a serendipitous collusion of metaphor, that she can’t quite grasp. She knows a marriage depends on it. But whose?

“We gave you that toaster, didn’t we?” she says finally.

Iris rallies, and comforts Paula.

“I don’t blame you,” Iris says. “If it hadn’t been the toaster, it would have been some other appliance.”

Paula and Iris hug. The other employees in the kitchen leave silently and quickly.

“I'm so sorry,” Paula says. “We didn't know.”

Iris sighs.

“Neither did we,” she says. “Neither did we.”

 

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Caroline's at the Farm

Our first great granddaughter, two-month old Caroline Simons, arrived at the farm Tuesday afternoon with her entourage (Mama Erin and Gma Vickie) in tow. Soon our living room was filled with not only us but her Great Grandmother Shirley, Great Aunt Mary Ellen, Great Aunt Chris, and her first cousin once removed Brianna. Everyone cooed and awed over Caroline and took a turn holding her.

A tiny little thing, she is definitely adorable, and I think one of the most active babies I've known. Her little legs and arms are in constant motion Her eyes too are always on the move following all her loving admirers and their noises used to attract her. She likes to be held against your chest looking outward, so she can see everything around her. I do not dare try to walk with her, but she seems quite comfortable on my lap watching all going on. Gpa Gerald is completely captivated even though her mother has not yet agreed that Caroline needs to be out riding the Kubota or tractor with him.

If not for Caroline's visit, Gerald would be the object of most attention around here because he had his first cataract surgery yesterday. (Another is scheduled in September.) So even though it took almost all day with hours of waiting for his turn to see the surgeon, our sympathy and concern for him was probably diluted by enjoying Caroline's presence and commiserating with her when she needed to burp or her tummy hurt her as it frequently does. We go back to see another eye doctor this afternoon and hopefully she will assure that all is well whether he got much attention or not. With Caroline in the house, it has definitely been easier for Gerald to follow doctor's orders to stay in and not be outside working as he usually is.

We had expected to be home yesterday by noon, and it was probably four before we were able to have a lunch, which, of course, was Gerald's first meal of the day. I did not have to cook because our Texan visitors had gone over to Gma Shirley's for supper Wednesday for her chicken pot pie, and Shirley sent home a meal of it for Gerald and me. Oh, yes, and zucchini bread! (Katherine got to enjoy that pot pie too since I took a serving to her.) Because they went last night for Gma Shirley's yummy meat loaf, there is now a meat loaf waiting for us in our fridge.

Of course, we have played the who does Caroline look like game and agreed she looks very much like Josh, her daddy. but with Erin's eyes. I am so glad modern technology allows her to see her daddy over there in South Korea and talk to him as she did this morning. Are there any sounds any sweeter than those a baby makes when looking at you and talking back answering your baby talk? I have gloried with her breaking into smiles during our conversations.

Once they survived getting up at 3 a.m. and arriving at and through the air port Caroline handled her first airplane ride here very well because she slept. In the morning, our three visitors will get back in the rental car to drive to Saint Louis for their flight home; I hope that flight is just as good. Here at Woodsong, our house will seem too quiet and empty for a few days as we adjust to her absence.

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The Gift From Heaven

Today the sky rises as a vault of a baroquian chapel
ringed with clouds and vapors. Where are the cherubs?
There should be cherubs. Somebody cue the Angels.
The purest blue. The flawless White.
Bring out the palette of colors in between.
Look up!!

I’m puzzled on days like this to see so few heads
turned skyward. This is a gift from heaven.
Even the landscape stands in awe.
Where is the orchestra?
On this same day, quite by accident, my eyes find
the last stanza of Shelley’s The Cloud…

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

And the nursling of the Sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain when with never a stain

The pavilion of Heaven is bare,

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I arise and unbuild it again.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

     *     *     *

Enchanted, More or Less — 2017

 

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Latest Comments

Stephen Evans A Visitor to your Planet: A One-Minute Play
19 February 2018
High praise! Thank you.
Katherine Gregor A Visitor to your Planet: A One-Minute Play
18 February 2018
Beckett would be envious.
Stephen Evans A Visitor to your Planet: A One-Minute Play
05 February 2018
I just realized that the last two posts were plays. How true to the spirit of The Green Room!
Rosy Cole A Visitor to your Planet: A One-Minute Play
04 February 2018
Interesting dynamic. Reflects the popular conception of 'democracy'. (Look at it this way, the US is...
Ken Hartke Flipping the Omelet
01 February 2018
One word: Fritatta

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