Poetry Monday

Wormsloe Historical Site

Wormsloe Historical Site is outside of Savannah, Georgia where I spent my teenage years.

I lived not far from this place. This picutre makes me salivate for southern life. Except for the bugs and the humidity, I miss it very much, and my-oh-my, how I love raisin pie.

Raisin Pie

There's a heap of pent-up goodness in the yellow bantam corn,

And I sort o' like to linger round a berry patch at morn;

Oh, the Lord has set our table with a stock o' things to eat

An' there's just enough o' bitter in the blend to cut the sweet,

But I run the whole list over, an' it seems somehow that I

Find the keenest sort o' pleasure in a chunk o' raisin pie.

There are pies that start the water circulation' in the mouth;

There are pies that wear the flavor of the warm an' sunny south;

Some with oriental spices spur the drowsy appetite

An' just fill a fellow's being with a thrill o' real delight;

But for downright solid goodness that comes drippin' from the sky

There is nothing quite equal of a chunk o' raisin pie.

I'm admittin' tastes are diff'runt, I'm not settin' up myself

As the judge an' final critic of the good things on the shelf.

I'm just sort o' payin' tribute to a simple joy on earth,

Sort o' feebly testifyin' to its lasting charm an' worth,

An' I'll hold to this conclusion till it comes my time to die,

That there's no dessert that's finer than a chunk o' raisin pie.

Favorite Verse of Edgar A. Guest, Raisin Pie, pg 27

Saturday Sky

"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words." -GOETHE

Oregon skies often start off dark and gray, this one was no different. I went out at 8 AM and took the morning sky in the east. Couldn't stand to post another dark picture, so went out again at 1:30 PM and took the bright blue sky and large white puffy clouds. Aaaah . . .I feel much better!

This was the early morning picture

I'm For Hanging

I'm going to whine a bit about the everyday, mundane things…like laundry. I am fortunate enough to live in a senior's apartment building where there is no washer and dryer hook-up. The laundry room is just at the end of my building and around the corner. Nice new washers and dryers, but they cost.

Unlike having a washer and dryer in my home where I could throw a load in the washer at any hour, I have to share two washers and dryers with thirty-two units (told you I needed to whine). Now I try to do all my laundry in one afternoon and be done with it for the entire week.

This begrudged household chore, and a newspaper article a week ago, brings to mind the pleasures of sheets and pillowcases hanging on the line soaking up the sunshine-fresh-air-smell that I used to love and miss very much. I didn't save the article and it was one of those that I wished I had now. People don't "hang" laundry out to dry anymore. Or so I thought, until I read this article. There should be a revolution. The world wants us to save energy (you know the fossil fuel guzzling power plant kind), so if this so important to global warming why can't we have a choice to "hang or not to hang" in our communities. I realize that apartment life is different, but most of the homes in town, especially the new developments, are restricted from hanging their undies out to dry. One has to take a long drive in the country to see clothes hanging on a line anymore.

I read a blogg the other night that was very much like the experiences I had had growing up, helping my grandmother on washdays (sorry I don't remember which blogg site I was reading, but you'll know who you are if you visit me again). The galvanized tubs of very hot water, the wringer attached to its side, the clothesline…washdays were always an all day affair. Not that I want to do all that again. There are just sweet memories. I like the modern conveniences we have to day.

Even when we I lived in a trailer park outside of Anchorage, Alaska when I was six, we had outdoor community lines in the summer months and in the winter months there was this huge building filled with clothes lines like we had outdoors, only dozens of them lined up the way dryers are in Laundromats these days. There were large floor vents that blew hot air under the clotheslines, which I'm sure was not energy efficient at all. And as a young wife and mother I didn't always have a dryer and when I did, I preferred to hang the clothes outside whenever possible.

Anyway, this article in the newspaper was for "hanging," as a way to save energy, and I am, too. Well, to a point, guess. I am older now, and have trouble with arthritis, and few other itises, but give me a sunny day, and I'd be out there hanging my sheets and pillowcases in the breeze.

After posting this picture I realized that might have been the last time I hung laundry out to dry. That was 1986.

Wordless Wednesday

Answered Prayer or How Gretchen Came into My Life

Gretchen was a literal answer to prayer. I had lost my great white rescue cat in February of 2004 and had a double mastectomy in March. I missed the companionship of a cat, but this time I wanted a kitten. As sick and miserable as I was at that time I couldn't see that there was any way I could go searching for just the right kitten just then. Frustrated, I started including my desire for just the right kitten in my prayers. I had some very precise conversations with God about the kitten I wanted and that it seemed the only way I would get my cat is if He would literally drop it in my lap. I was far too sick to put much effort into finding one myself and often felt silly, and childish asking for such a thing.

By the time I had started chemo in June, my Aunt had gotten a little orange, six-week-old kitten from a friend of a friend. I was now pining even more for a kitten and expressed to her my desire for one, but wanted a female. She thought the lady still had the sister to her orange kitten and gave me the phone number. I called that very afternoon, Saturday, June 13th, and left the message on her machine that I was interested in the kitten if she still had it. At about ten that night the lady returned my call. She had been out all day and apologized for the hour. I didn't know at the time that she lived thirty miles away. Because of my health situation, she and her young son decided to drive out and deliver the kitten to me that night. So at eleven o'clock that Saturday night, this kind lady appears at my door with this peach and gray fluff cradled in her arms. Like it was with my husband and I nearly forty years ago, it was love at first sight. Up until I had actually seen the kitten I had no idea what the color of it was. It didn't matter, she was pretty, and sweet and literally dropped in my lap.

This wonderful little fluff ball stole my heart. In the wee hours of the night, in the quiet darkness of my room, I offered a tear filled prayer of gratitude for my little kitten. She did exactly as I had envisioned during all those months of recovery. She slept upon my shoulder next to my chin. She was totally dependent on me and that helped me to care about living. As she cuddled close to me she gave me strength to make it through those horrid months of chemo.

As the months went by and she grew in size, she inched her way down from my shoulder onto my lap. I couldn't sleep on my sides at that time and had to lie in bed on my back, propped up on pillows, my legs supported by pillows as well. To Gretchen this was the perfect lap position and as soon as I lay down, she was there, in my lap. Today I can sleep on my sides again, and Gretchen has moved to a new position across my waist at my elbow. At eleven each night she declares it time for me to be in bed and follows me about mewing until I get the covers just so then she takes her place. Sometimes in the night I have to change positions, so she patiently waits for me to get comfortable then resumes her place on my other side. She is heavier now, much heavier, and sometimes the weight of her is a bit uncomfortable, but I am comforted that she is there and dare not complain. For this is the cat I prayed for. I was very specific in my prayers and I got a very specific kind of cat.

Next Tuesday will be May 1st. That is Gretchen's birthday. She will be three years old. I also mark my cancer survival with her arrival. Life is full of miracles, and it's okay to be specific with what kind of miracle you want.

Poetry Monday

Out Fishin'

A feller isn't thinkin' mean,
Out fishin';
His thoughts are mostly good an' clean,
Out fishin'.
He doesn't knock his fellow men,
Or harbor any grudges then;
A feller's at this finest when
Out fishin'.

The rich are comrades to the poor,
Out fishin';
All brothers of a common lure,
Out fishin';
The urchin with the pin an' string
Can chum with millionaire an' king;
Vain pride is a forgotten thing,
Out fishin'.

A feller gits a chance to dream,
Out fishin';
He learns the beauties of a stream,
Out fishin';
An' he can wash his soul in air
That isn't foul with selfish care,
An' relish plain and simple fare,
Out fishin'.

A feller has no time fer hate,
Out fishin';
He isn't eager to be great,
Out fishin'.
He isn't thinkin' thoughts of pelf,
Or goods stacked high upon a shelf,
But he is always just himself,
Out fishin'.

A feller's glad to be a friend,
Out fishin';
A helpin' hand he'll always lend,
Out fishin'.
The brotherhood of rod an' line
An' sky and stream is always fine;
Men come real close to God's design,
Out fishin'.

A feller isn't plotting schemes,
Out fishin';
He's only busy with his dreams,
Out fishin'.
His livery is a coat of tan,
His creed—to do the best he can'
A feller's always mostly man,
Out fishin'.
--by Edgar A. Guest (Favorite Verse of Edgar A. Guest, pg 75)

You can tell I haven't spent much time collecting poetry. Well somewhere I have pieces of poetry and cool sayings that I keep that mean something to me, and that I'd like to have right now. Can't tell you where I put them. I'm so organized I can't find a thing. And matching a poem to a picture is even more challenging.

When I had to clean out my Aunt's apartment after she died, I had brought all of her "garage sale" books home. I found this little book of poetry by Edgar A. Guest among them. All of the things he wrote about were simply and easily relatable, for me anyway. I chose this poem because I miss the mountains, fishing with my husband, the clear mountain air and beautiful streams—the trout and graylings we used to fish for. This mountain stream was taken somewhere in Northwestern Montana's back roads. Couldn't tell you where exactly, we got lost that day. It was one of those spur of the moment afternoon rides that we often took when we first moved there back in 1995. We left town to explore and ended up in the Canadian wilderness. For all I know this could have been a stream in Canada. We left with light jackets, two little bottles of water, and a couple of muffins. We had only planed to drive for an hour or so and go home. We didn't get home until midnight. We had taken a logging road that led us into Canada's wilderness where there is nothing for humans, nowhere! We should have taken a hint that this wasn't a good idea when we passed through a dinky little deserted boarder checkpoint and picked up an obscure little map. About fifteen minutes into Canada we also ran out of a paved road. We had nearly run out of gas when we made it out of the wilderness and onto the main highway leading us back to Montana. I'm grateful to this day that my husband has a great sense of direction. It was a beautiful, breathtaking drive, but we could have been lost forever, eventually becoming bear food... however, we made it out, with a lesson learned. Never take a ride anywhere you've never been without food, water, and blankets. Of course cell phones and GPS would have been even better. We didn't have any of those then.

Saturday "Rainy Day" Sky

I love taking pictures of the sky, so just having this particular day set aside for sky pictures is something I look forward to. Believe, me it doesn't take much to make an old lady, who lives in an apartment building filled with seniors, happy. Because the skies are dark and it's raining (this picture was taken at 1 p.m.) my husband suggested I just use something I already have saved. I have lots of sky pictures of the most beautiful days, cloud formations and such, but this has become a challenge to me. To go out on Saturday and take a picture of whatever is happening at that moment. My neighbors, who always seem to be milling about when I go out with my camera, are not shy about asking me what in the world I'm doing. They are used to me always taking pictures of the flowers around, but now my face and camera are pointed at the sky. The look of curiosity on their faces is most amusing. When I was out taking pictures of the rainbow for Wordless Wednesday, one was curious enough to ask me what I was doing? I shrugged, smiled, and said I have a project I'm working on.

I think if I were in a younger community of neighbors they wouldn't take the time to wonder about this strange white-haired lady, or they'd be to busy rushing in and out, to even notice me. Remember, here in my community, it's often found that most of us living in this place are already starting to loose something upstairs. I wonder what they were thinking about me today, in the rain taking pictures of the rain. For sure there's too many cobwebs in her loft, if you know what I mean.

Well I was thrilled to try and find an interesting way to portray the rain. I looked for puddles to reflect the sky, even thought about the water in the birdbath as a mirror, but there just wasn't enough water in either places to reflect the heavy gray sky the way I envisioned it. Perhaps if there'd been brighter skies, or a bit of sun, the clouds would have been recognizable in the waters reflection. Well, maybe next time.

I had a quote I wanted to share today. I read a book by Derrick Jensen last summer titled, A Language Older Than Words. It was sort of a memoir of Jensen's, the subject of the book was about communication. He used communication with the animals around us to illustrate his points. I thought this quote was important and was something I wanted to remember, so I wrote it down in a notebook that I keep for story ideas and things such as this; I just came across it last night.

"I am only so beautiful as the character of my relationships, only so rich as I enrich those around me, only so alive as I enliven those I greet."

I forget that from time to time. Relationships with family, neighbors, those whom I judge at first sight that I think I might not like to have as a neighbor, friends, and the ever-present stranger—the person at the grocery store, mini-mart, gas station, or at the four-way stop sign.

With all that's taken place in the world this past week, I have to reflect upon my own character and remember, "I am … only so alive as I enliven those I greet."
Thank you Derrick Jensen for that bit of wisdom for me to keep.

Wordless "April Skies" Wednesday

Homeless Mike

With dark metallic, golden eyes, and a brooding face, Mike stares out at me from across the room. Hidden in the deep well of hopelessness (the unorganized pile of books and things hidden beside the sofa in a somewhat concealed corner of the living room), Mike seems to wait in vain for the love and attention that had once been lavished upon him not so long ago. In the dimness of his appointed domain, he sends deep thoughts to my brain as I sit in my easy chair, rippling away; engrossed in the late night movie I'm watching.

I suddenly took notice of the poor little black wad of shrunken fur, wondering, was he the cause of the cat fit Gretchen threw in the living room just the other night? Why, he couldn't be, I consoled myself, for it still worried me a great deal about what had sent my little Gretchen into a furry of yowls and screeches at three in the morning when she's the only cat in the house.

Mike concentrated harder. His thoughts entered my mind as a pitiful mourn. "Thank you for giving me a home," he stated first, but then his glowing eyes once again darkened, his sigh arcane. "I was happy once," he said. "I had a place of prominence in a home much like this one. I had loving arms wrapped around me that squeezed me tight. Lavish kisses bestowed upon my small little nose. I miss all that," his sigh deepened.

Our mind links were broken by a distraction from the other end of the house. A familiar stirring, a tiny plea, a noisy crunching, all recognizable after a moment of listening. Gretchen had slipped from her bed, from a nap, and decided to have a snack at her feeding station in the computer room (she has two feeding stations—one for snacks).

Mike seemed to reposition himself, his thought reaching me again. "Yes, it was her that I startled in the night. She doesn't treat me so right. After all, I am a stranger in this place. I lost my home when my master died. I'm grateful you found me and washed me and warmed me. I am grateful for all that."

I rose from my chair and crossed the room. I picked the strange little black cat up and held him for a moment. I remembered he was all alone in the darkness he'd last called home. It was cold, and smoky, and lonely for him there, afterwards. I had not even recognized he'd even lived there. Nine days plus seven he'd hidden, until I had found him in an old cardboard box in the dark recesses of the closet. White Kitten was there with him, but she didn't care. She is soft and pretty and has washed up quite well. Mike is made of odd stuff. His deep black coat, a mixture of fluff and wiry hair, kinda melted in the dryer. "Poor little fellow," I cooed, "I'm sorry I neglected you so. I'm sorry Gretchen has not given you notice, I'll tell her you're here to stay and she might as well welcome you. By way of conciliation, Gretchen has ignored White Kitten, also. She treats her as just another bit of fluff that adorns one of her beds (she has two).

I want you to accept this as your home from now on, Mike. It will take time for Gretchen to come round. She's not used to having someone like you nearby. I think because of your thoughtful eyes, you may be a bit too real for her." And for me, I added secretly.

Mike is adopted you see. He's not like the cats you and I know, of course. He has strange golden eyes that burn into your thoughts and gives you start, a brooding forehead, tiny scrumpled ears and a few thready whiskers. He's more than a deaf and dumb stuffed cat. He has a soul. He's real inside and I've vowed to treat him as so.

Even though he likes his place in the corner behind the sofa, on top of hidden clutter, he comes out now and again, giving Gretchen a shudder, and today I let him sit atop my computer and tell me all his woes.

I re-introduced Gretchen to Mike, today. Still she just hasn't accepted him as real. But I have.

Poetry Monday

This poem is taken from a book of poetry called The Bamboo Trail.
Marjorie was a close friend to my mother and distant childhood memory for me. She and her husband had a tour of duty for the Air Force in Taiwan, and the book is a collection of the poems she wrote while there. Her book was published in 1973.

Black Sands

A Day at the beach,
Was always a treat;
The sun in my face,
Black sands 'neath my feet.

Each time—for a while,
I held in my hand;
Sugar-like softness,
Of volcanic sand.

Sifting it slowly,
Sometimes I would feel
It all was a dream,
The black sands—unreal.

A fairy-tale picture,
All mine to command;
From memory's scenes,
Of silver-black sand.

--Marjorie Kingston Skusa

Saturday Sky in NW Oregon

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!

This idea of blogging is going to take some getting used to for me. I generally try to spend the afternoon writing. On the other hand, while I am writing, I find my thoughts drifting to what I would possible want to blog about that would be of interest to others. I had mentioned earlier that I was trying to read more books in a year's time. I read more books in 2005 than I did in 2006 and that was a disappointment to me, so this year I've determined to read more. Mostly due to suggestions for writers on Nicholas Sparks website. Instead of making a New Year's resolution, which I always break, I have steered away from them for many years now, I made a reading program for myself instead of a resolution that I am determined to keep. So far it has worked, with a few little adjustments. If left to my own devices, I would read only mystery novels. I have a lot of books I've collected over the years that are nonfiction, biographies, and spiritually related. Because I love mysteries so much I haven't given myself much room to grow. So…I decided to design a program for myself. In rotation, I read two fictions, then a nonfiction, a classic (added after the first round), something spiritually minded (this does not include the scriptures that I read from daily), and then I'm free to read two fictions again. I've succeeded two rounds of this so far, but after the second round I realized I need to punctuate the program with more fiction because my stack of mysteries and other fictions I've purchased lately are piling up and it's rather boring for me to go too long with out one. Adjustments were made once more, I've decided to read my two fictions, a nonfiction, fiction, classic, fiction, and spiritual…and so on. At least for a while, until I reduce the number of new books I've purchased since starting this program. I'm always buying new books.

Butt Pictures

The Zebra picture for my Wordless Wednesday was typical of all the animals at the Portland Zoo on a very hot July day last summer. Not a single animal wanted to face the people that day. But since it was my only chance to visit the Zoo for a long time, the first and only other time being right after I moved here in 1997, I took a lot of butt pictures.

I stay as far away from Portland as I can. I have always lived near big cities, but I'm a quiet country girl at heart and don't care for all the hustle and bustle of the cities. When I lived near Chicago, I rarely went downtown. We visited the lake on stormy nights sometimes, the Brookfield Zoo, Fields Museum, Planetarium. Even the small town I'm in now is getting too busy. We have a major route called 99W running right through town and all the city folk take this route to get to the highway that leads to the beaches. On Friday's we have quite a backlog of traffic traveling the main road through town, so much so that a by-pass has been sought after for years now. There is an Australian bunch that wants to come in and build us a by-pass but they also want to toll 99W to pay for the by-pass. That's our only way in and out of this town. It's quite a hot topic around here.

One of these days I'm going to look for a small white house on a hill, or in a little grove of trees, I'll always have to have trees around me, and move farther away from town.

Wordless Wednesday

Etykiety: wordless wednesday

Gretchen Loves Tissue Paper

I was encouraged by Basset Knitter to start blogging.
She's daughter #3.
It's a bit scary for me since I'm the shy type.
Basset Knitter just received the Thinking Blogger Award for her site.
She has always inspired me to think about the things around me.
I love the pictures she posts, especially her Wordless Wednesdays.
I doubt if I will compare with her site in anyway, but I'm willing to give this a try.
I told Basset Knitter that I'd rather write ninety-six thousand words for a novel than spend time blogging.
She said I could do it, that it was a snap.
I hope she's right. She's helping me get this thing going.

I am the author of a two novels that will eventually be a trilogy, about an abandoned kitten. Since I love cats, and stories about them, I had chosen Scrungy's Creator as the title for this website.
I currently have a wonderful cat companion whose name is Gretchen.
Quiet and demure, Gretchen is just the opposite of the scruffy, scrungy little kitten in the beginning of my series. Gretchen is going on three and like most cats, loves boxes and tissue paper.

Because this is the beginning for me, blogging, I mean, I'm not sure how I want to proceed.
I want to make the public aware of my stories; for they are still in manuscript form while they are circulating through agents and book publishers slush piles.
So I guess I am looking for others like me.

I have written two other novels and am currently working on one I've been trying to finish for years.
No cat in these works.
I'm inspired and thrilled with stories about cats.
Shirley Rousseau Murphy and her Joe Grey series are wonderful about drawing the reader into the lives of the cats in her books.
I just finished her latest book Cat Pay the Devil.
Of course, Lilian Jackson Braun is my all time favorite cat stories.
But I love books of all kinds and am forever trying to keep up with one of my daughter's and her husbands interest in books.
My biggest inspiration for reading more books is Nicholas Sparks.