A Cold, Cruel Joke...

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Spring ground snow-covered
Robins eat sumac flowers
Frozen worms laughing
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The Velveteen Rabbit

....."What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

....."Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

....."Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

....."Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.

This morning in the woods, the Velveteen Rabbit crossed my path. I thought back to the little boy who had helped him to become real, and a lump came in my throat, for now the boy is grown and far away, and his toys are of a different kind.

I thought too of the parallel between the Velveteen Rabbit and the aging children who share this space: sometimes they, too, become real. The ones who do, do it gradually, first hiding behind carefully chosen identities, then slowly exposing themselves. I do not love them into reality like the little boy did, but they become real by the consistency of what they write and the messages they leave. They enrich and brighten my world.

You cannot truly love a fictional character, nor can you grieve the death of someone who is “pretend.” This week I learned that Lance, the blogger known to us as Baron Ectar, died very unexpectedly, and I am grieving that loss. He was a good person.
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He was someone who had become real in this pretend world of blogging.



Thank you, Baron, for your thoughtfulness and your willingness to help. Thank you for the music you shared with us. Your introspection and striving to "get life right" were an inspiration.
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May peace be with you and your family.
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You may click here for the full text (with pictures) of The Velveteen Rabbit by Marjorie Williams.

PSYCHO

As I look out at the falling snow, I know that it’s all my fault. Yes, I caused the return of winter.

A week ago, when all was sunny and spring-like, I cleaned out my dresser drawers. Daffodils were peeking up through last fall’s dead leaves and robins were singing as I packed my woolies away and hauled out some t-shirts and khakis. Then – as if I hadn’t been brazen enough in my disregard for PSYCHO – I gathered up all the wool mittens, hats, scarves and socks, washed them with Woolite and gleefully put them in storage… It’s been snowing and I’ve been freezing ever since.

You all know about PSYCHO: wash the car or hang the laundry on the clothesline and it will rain; sign up for an all-day indoor event and the sun will shine gloriously; buy a kite and April’s breezes will turn into doldrums; buy a sled and the snow will melt; plant tomatoes and watch a late frost settle on them; schedule a fall foliage tour and enjoy the two-foot-deep snow dump of a Nor’easter.

Yes, this weather is all my fault. I disregarded the theory of PSYCHO: Personal Stupidity Yielding Cosmically Hellacious Occurrences. I’m sorry.

Home Again

"You can't get there from here." That's the problem with most trips we take.

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Four hours of driving gets us to the Albany airport, where Homeland Security, baggage checking, gate finding, rental car procurement and everything else most people associate with travel begins. Nine hours after leaving home, we arrive in Washington, D.C., only two hours sooner than if we had driven the entire distance.

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Unfortunately, winter traveled with us, but despite that, we had a wonderful few days.

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It was a trip filled with "firsts" for our grandson: first airplane flight, first zoo, first subway ride.

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We saw the cherry blossoms and hiked in Rock Creek Park; the Easter Bunny left some eggs in the yard. It was a chance for four generations to laugh, eat wonderful food and play together.

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On Sunday, we traveled the route in reverse. It was a good trip. We had a wonderful time, but it's good to be home.

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And Things That Go Bump in the Night...

My basement is a bit funky. There’s the usual cellar stuff: bags of potatoes; shelves of canned tomatoes, jam and such; two freezers; woodworking tools, extra plumbing and electrical supplies; an old mini-port-a-potty; a retired foozball game; the water pump; clay pots and potting soil; a washer and dryer and – this time of year – about six inches of water in the low end that was created by pouring a level concrete floor across the cellar's higher parts.

I don’t give the water situation down there much thought. Usually I pump it out, but if ignored, eventually the water seeps back through the cracks in the bedrock from whence it came, and things dry up. This is an owner-built-home, and we owners are pretty tolerant of its idiosyncrasies.

Last week I went down there to fetch a few potatoes for supper and was startled by the kerploosh of some fairly sizable critter doing a running swan dive into the deep end. "Holy shit. What the hell was that?!?" I wondered aloud. The red squirrel that’s been coming to the bird feeders crossed my mind, but as much as I scanned the water for waves or movement, nothing further happened. There is a sort of platform above much of this low area, and the mystery diver must have quickly found a good hiding place (or maybe - I hoped - an exit), so I took my potatoes upstairs and started dinner.

For the next several days, whenever I needed something from the depths of the cellar, I would quietly sneak down the stairs, hoping to get a glimpse of the invading creature, but no sightings rewarded my stealth. The furry Greg Louganis had apparently moved on, and I forgot about him.

Last night, tired and hoping for a good night’s sleep, I worked a crossword puzzle until my eyelids drooped, and then turned out the light. At that moment, all was peaceful and quiet.

Some little time later, I was startled wide-awake: there was an animal – a fairly large, gray animal – walking along the edge of my mattress!

Now you who read here often know that I like animals; I respect animals, but I don’t fear them. Even so, let me tell you that the unexpected presence of a critter about the size of a small beagle strolling along the edge of your mattress in the middle of the night is a pretty unsettling sight!

I grabbed the sheet with both hands, creating a sort of barrier between the critter and my bare hide. “Omigod!! Bob!! Turn on the light!! There’s an animal in the bed!!” I screamed.

Bob (never at his best upon awakening) eventually noted that something was amiss and mumbled, “Can’t you turn the lamp on?” to which I answered with the obvious – and high volume - reply: “I’ve got both hands on the goddam sheet!!!” Finally he managed to turn on a flashlight and then eventually an electric light, but by then there was nothing four-legged in sight. It was as gone as last week’s diver.

I reiterated that there WAS an animal “right there on the mattress beside me!" to which Bob asked (with a measure of concern appropriate to such a dire situation), “What kind of animal was it?” and I say (still a bit wide-eyed), “An armadillo!... then realizing how nuts this sounds, “...or something that LOOKED LIKE an armadillo. My husband, reasonable to a fault, asks, “You saw it in the dark?”

“Uh, hmmm, uh, gee, I don’t know... uh... good point...” and suddenly it dawned on me that I must have dreamed the whole thing. Nevertheless, remembering the basement diver, we did a thorough search under the bed, finding nothing.

Eventually the whole episode began to strike us very funny and soon we were laughing hysterically. It took another crossword puzzle and at least an hour before I was sleepy again.

All this "wholesome living" sometimes gets under your skin, I guess, but this is the life we chose...

Say goodnight, Gracie.


Scottish Prayer (traditional)

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
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Nature Got Attitude...

Opportunists (ferns find a toe-hold)




Co-existers (trillium and wild leeks)




Bully (raging spring torrent)




Adapter (yellow birch tip-toes over old foundry wall)




Peacemakers (hemlocks stand silently above the riverbed)


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Happy "All Fools Day!"

A year ago on this day, Husband and I had dinner at the home of our friends who operate a large dairy farm. On that day, their young Amish hired hands had dropped off a beautiful loaf of fresh-baked bread.

As we were about to sit down to dinner, our hostess cut into the bread...

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...and found this inside it! They may drive buggies and forego most modernity, but the Amish in our area have a great sense of humor.

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Happy April Fool's Day to all!

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Harrumph, said the Wizard...

As if I don't have enough to do today, another blogger - who shall remain NAMELESS (a state his EGO can barely tollerate) - has defiled and debased my hat and all it stands for: Dirty laundry, indeed!! (See "Comments" in my previous post).

Well, Mr. ----, lacking the time this morning to photograph the back end of my horse, I give YOU a brand new award: The Dirty Dirklet. The rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs explaining why you appear to be standing in a pile of steaming horse manure.

2. Link to the bestower of The Dirty Dirklet and apologize for your wanton disregard for the magnificence, intelligence and glorious content of his/her blog and all it stands for. (Include a kind word for the hat).

3. If you have any trouble doing steps 1 and 2, just dial 1-800-EATSHIT

And without further ado, I give you The Dirty Dirklet:

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Please click to enlarge this image - it begs to be seen clearly...

The Thinking Blogger

There are a lot of blogging awards floating around out there, some quite noteworthy because they come from sites that make it their business to peruse and evaluate blogs; others are often the work of pals bestowing compliments on pals. At the risk of pissing off those “noteworthy” evaluators (and forever squashing my chances of winning a “Blog of the Day Award”), let me say that the second category – pals bestowing compliments on pals – is the better kind to receive.

A few days ago I was honored to receive a “Thinking Blogger” award from Robin. She of course had been a prior recipient and was paying it forward. I have come to know Robin through her blog as a sensitive, passionate person, someone very concerned for the environment and the natural world. This is a woman who sleeps with her curtains drawn back so that she can see the stars, and her window open so she can hear the waves on Lake Michigan. I am proud to be in her company, and she does make me think about the things that really matter.

But here’s my problem. As a Thinking Blogger recipient, I’m now supposed to bestow that award upon five other appropriate bloggers, and as you might expect a Thinking Blogger to do, I’m really doing a lot of thinking about whom I should tap.

The basic instructions are these: If, and only if, you get tagged, you're supposed to write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking! Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

My blogging community contains many wise and thoughtful folks, but they’ve already been given the award. Okay, Dirk hasn’t gotten one, but is Dirk the embodiment of the Thinking Blogger? He’s funnier than hell, writes wonderfully, and is always interesting, but in the strictest sense, is someone wearing a flag top-hat appropriate? (Anyway, he has so many awards that I don’t think there’s any room left on his trophy shelf).

Whim already has one. Craig D is really funny and an all-around good guy, but all of those knock-off record label posts didn’t exactly elevate him to rocket scientist inspirational level. Crabby would describe herself as an anti-Mensa kind of gal, so that's not the place to hang up a Thinking Blogger banner (although she certainly is thinking of mischief all the time). And then there are all the artists: Lone Beader, Life at Star’s Rest, The Wild Inside, Foam... And there is my answer... I will choose not to continue the "Thinking Blogger" awards.

Instead, I would like to recognize five outstanding artists. Karan has told me that she is excited to get back to “work” because she’s overflowing with ideas and creative energy. Carmon at Star’s Rest works her knowledge and love of horses into beautiful silver pieces. On the other side of the country, The Lone Beader thinks up miniature masterpieces and creates them with thousands of tiny beads. Foam teaches art and inspires all of us to think about the things that give life its richness and flavor, to see things more clearly. Yes, these are the bloggers I will honor with my version of the Thinking Blogger award.

These, and one other. I invite you to visit my secret site, the place where I try to enhance the wonderful poetry of Shaman with an occasional photo or two. She is also an artist (a sculptor), but this blog is dedicated to her poems. She is not seeking a blogging community, and I very much doubt that she would want a Thinking Blogger award, but she definitely gets me thinking and inspires me. And that makes five.

I'm betting that this isn't what the originator of The Thinking Blogger had in mind, so let's call it

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The Wizard's Hat Award.

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These five women interest and inspire me, and I know that their creative energies are helped by the booster rockets of wisdom and thought. Hats off to Foam, Beader, Wild Inside, Carmon and Shaman! And ladies, you don't have to pay this forward unless the spirit moves you to do so (because it's awfully hard to single out just five of your friends while passing over the others).
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Woodcock...

Meet the bird that says beeeep.

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Woodcocks have evolved to blend in with their surroundings, so that's what they do when danger (a human) approaches: stay very still, imitating leaves and twigs. Many years ago my daughter and her grandpa almost stepped on a woodcock, but that's the only other close encounter I can think of during all the years we've lived here, although I've sometimes seen one flying at dusk (recognizable by its distinctive, round shape) calling its Bronx-cheer-like beeeep.

This bird's body is about six inches in length; his/her beak is about three inches long. For some reason, he was in the middle of a road when I spotted him, perhaps sunning himself, but by the time I had the camera out and ready he had disappeared. I searched quietly and finally spied him about ten feet into the woods. He tolerated two clicks of the shutter and then began to

retreat.

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I was thrilled to be able to take these photos! Please click on them to have a closer look at this beautiful and seldom-seen bird.