Cumulative

July 27, 2021. Traveling again.  Collectively adapting to togetherness in limited space of the Airstream.  Patterns that worked in the past require adaptation with addition of a 2nd Labrador  – doubling obstacles in hallway and accumulation of fur thus increasing our desire to all get outside!  Of course, periodically we have to maneuver around dogs and each other to clean house.  Usually this realization sends both humans and Labs into a tizzy.  After recent sweeping up of fur and frustrations, I was struck with the absurdity of it all … and how I thoroughly enjoy indulgence in travel, complete with challenges and chores.  A togetherness bonding experience!  Affections in all directions growing steadily.

Where Are You?

Sunday, February 28, 2021. Coming up on one year since we all went into panic and pandemic shutdown. I happened onto this poem I wrote early into the shutdown – set aside to post after all the craziness subsided. Well, it didn’t. Maybe won’t ever. I’m still looking for things … we have concluded RVing makes sense (we isolate just as well in the Airstream as the house) … we now have the first of our 2 vaccines … yet for the foreseeable future we’ll keep masking and distancing.

One big change triggered by 2020 social demands was my husband’s retirement at end of the schoolyear. He did NOT enjoy teaching from home and anticipated (correctly as it turns out) that fall 2020 would not look much different. So he bailed a year earlier than planned. Being continually together, we’ve been discovering all sorts of things about one another we wouldn’t have thought to seek, let alone known what to ask, where to look … resulting in many amusing moments akin to this gloves episode.

Together Now

January 24, 2021. Took a walk this afternoon with my aging and declining Labrador Buttercup.  Walking with her is a great opportunity to reflect on recent triggers, and today I paused half-way to jot down the gist of this poem.  I was triggered by today’s post from Ken Gierke whose poem Now was triggered by today’s post of Memorial by Ron. Lavalette.  My thanks to both.

Ken Gierke @ https://rivrvlogr.com/2021/01/24/now-3/

Ron. Lavalette @ https://rlavalette.wordpress.com/2021/01/24/memorial/

Odd Hours, Odd Moments

May 9, 2020.  COVID-19 makes for odd times, the new normal ever evolving.  I feel my sense of time (days, hours) slipping further and further from the forefront of thoughts and actions.  I’ve begun putting routine tasks on my calendar, but then I forget to open it, and oops!  Two days late dosing the pets with monthly heart-worm preventive.   This poem was written in those hours that challenge my dating the page:  is it still yesterday or already tomorrow?  I had great fun creating the collage, though difficult to choose which of the 40 photos taken of our first 2020 echinopsis cactus bloom.  So many petals, so many angles, so intriguing to steadily observe, wishing I could slip between  petals for a snooze.     

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Summoning Sleep Angels

February 14, 2020:  Insomnia.  Some nights prove unsleepable.   As though I’m being kept awake by invisible energies, wearing down my cognitive defenses that I might receive some message, some vibration from the Universe.  I often happily honor such wee hours … but when the coming day demands I be alert reasonably early … well, then I summon the Sleep Angels.

 

No mistaking the effectiveness of repetitive motion, in a dark room, with a cat purring.  I’ve collaged my trusty glider with an angel photographed 3 years back (knew I would want that image down the line!)

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Haverhill Solo Hours

September 26, 2019.  Periodically, I get lonesome for times, places past.  One such evening, I dug out this poem about just such evenings … and went to work on a collage to capture the primary elements of mini-trampoline, best-ever rocker, parquet floor.  I added a dream catcher to symbolize the only way I can go back.  Haverhill is an extension of West Palm Beach, Florida – where my first husband and I built the house (1970-1973) – where my kids came to be (1974 and 1977) – where the kids and I continued to live after Dad departed in 1979, up until I brought the kids to my origins in Texas (1986).  If I could’ve figured a way to bring that house along to Texas, I would be rocking in it still!

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Porch Seated, Whereabouts Within

January 18, 2019.  Winter weather changes certain habits – like wandering about in the yard looking at the day’s blooms and potential blooms while Labrador Buttercup tends to her morning business.  A heater on the enclosed back porch (our seasonal greenhouse) tempts and I navigate toward the rocking chair near by, leaving the porch door cracked for dog’s return.

Often porch time becomes reflective, more so these past few days as I’ve begun reading Alan Watts.

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Blown Away

May 3, 2018.  Yesterday afternoon I ventured out in weather that could not quite rain but refused to calm down … I had one of those moments of recall that brought me home to write down the memories.  Searching through files, I found photos from 2017 of the same place, on a similar overcast day – which I’ve coupled with a closer view of the prickly poppies prevalent this time of the year.  I go back once a year or so, preferably in the Spring.  My aunt’s house is long gone, but the road remains pretty much the same – near Cheapside, 20 miles out from Cuero TX.

My memories are of the year I lived in the country with my aunt, who worked in town and got home a good 2 hours after the school bus dropped me at the front gate.  I spent those 2 hours daily walking the country road, solo except for cows off in the pasture.  I was in the 8th grade, a pivotal year, and I owe so much to those walks!  One day in particular, the wind nearly knocked me down, but I charged into it rather than go inside to be “safe”.

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Natural Essential Ritual

May 8, 2016.  Yesterday, while listening to wisdom about ways to encourage transcendent experiences, I found myself writing this poem in the margin of my notes.  One of the suggestions was ritual.  My thoughts went immediately to the daily morning routine with our Labrador.   Where better to “wake up” than outdoors just before dawn?  Ritual happens.

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