Category Archives: Uncategorized

H.M.D.

Posted on by

I found the Poetry Foundation looking for a good poem for mother’s day. And I found out it’s worth a stop — their mission is to make poetry more up front in people’s lives. They’ve got a fat archive of poems and a home page they can brag about.

Mothers rock.

Try Poem of the Day, or Poems about Relationships, or take your chances on a Random Poem.

Today they have a sampler of poems in honor of mother’s day.

I particularly like this one by J Lorraine Brown because of the vivid imagery and the reminder that all mothers start out as fearless little girls.

Tintype on the Pond, 1925

Believe it or not,
the old woman said,
and I tried to picture it:
a girl,
the polished white ribs of a roast
tied to her boots with twine,
the twine coated with candle wax
so she could glide
uninterrupted
across the ice—
my mother,
skating on bones.

Flag Wavers

Posted on by

One thing about those Boy Scouts, they really know how to use flags, here’s one now sending a message to his brother who is evidently on a nearby mountaintop. It was this little guy’s job to find out what they get for Mother’s Day.

Here was his brother’s reply.

In case you’re a little rusty on semaphore code, here are the messages along with a translation. The first boy says … SHE WANTS DIAMOND STUDS. His brother flags back, “R YOU KIDDIN’ ME? WE R GETTIN’ CELL PHONES, 4 GOD’S SAKE. Want to do this fun thing at home? Here ya go.

Here Comes Summer

Posted on by

I think I'm going to like this.

Summer starts when I clean off the front porch, bring out the tables stored in the garage, and plant pots to hang from the eaves and crouch in the corners. It is a huge production mostly because I get easily distracted.  Every year, I swear to simplify.

I bought a couple of different begonias and diamond frost for my Big Focus.

This year, I do not replant the geraniums, I simply fasten a hanger onto the pots and up they go. I decide not to mix things, mixing causes me grief since they all have special needs and I always forget what they are.

So it’s one pot — one kind of plant cept for the feature focus. I pull all of my house plants out, yank them out of their stupor, trim them, and stick them in new pots. I hack a couple to the soil line and wish them well. I throw a stub of a dracena into a vase to see if it will root. I am on fire.

I sweep the porch and bring up the hose basket so I don’t have to drag the hose from the side of the house every time I need to water.

Then,  I water everything and every surface. Sig comes home and looks around; he loves the porch. He says, “Looks great, want me to go get some wine? ” Yeah baby — here comes summer.

Party Like a Rock Star

Posted on by

Margarita Ville

1 6 oz can frozen limeade                      6 oz tequila                                              2 oz triple sec

Fill blender with crushed ice. Pour in ingredients and blend until smooth. Rim glass with salt; add slice of lemon or lime. (4 Servings)

Happy Birthday, Sheilah.

(Picture from Seriously Cute )

Get a Break

Posted on by

Groupon, the place that negotiates pretty hefty discounts on food, services, and entertainment, city-by-city is picking up speed. A set number of people in the area have to buy in by a specific date in order for the deal to “be on.”

What can happen is a simple e-mail to a circle of friends and suddenly you have a night out with everyone getting a cost break.  Yeah, I think it is a clever idea, too. It does short-cut the annoying cycle of, Where do you want to go? Dunno. You? I dunno either. You?

(The other day it looks as if a maverick has been tearing up Groupon. After the deal of the day, there was advice on how to survive fairy tales. It suggested if offered a wish, say, “My first and only wish is to eat a wish-granting fish.” It was absolute nonsense. And I’d steal that line in a flash.)

I didn’t whaat?

Posted on by

I scan the spam crop that had collected over-night and see, “Attend high school at your own pace” in a subject line. As I clear everything, I think, Oh sure, right. I shoulda’ remembered to graduate.

That night, I dream that I am at my old high school. I walk into a familiar classroom, slump down at a desk and look down at an exam booklet. The sum total of my knowledge and preparation for this test adds up to Zero.

I feel sick as wave after wave of anxiety rolls through me. I flip through the booklet in hopes of a couple of essay questions, the kind I can usually punt. I don’t see any. My mouth is dry and my hands begin to sweat.

I hear a voice drone, “Reminder, people, your performance on this test is worth over half of your final grade.” I have a C going into this, if I fail the test — I may come out with a D at the end. But if it’s a low C, an F might give me an F in the class. And if I get an F, I may not graduate. I hear my heart rate speed up.

“You may begin now.”

Aargh! I CAN’T DO THIS, I shout to myself. And then I wake up. I stay perfectly still and breathe deeply a few times until my mind grabs onto reality. And that is just one of the ways that spam has shortened my life.

Steve McCool

Posted on by

I met Sig in 1970, and I then, gradually met his family. There was a bank of uncles and aunts; they were tall, striking people with high cheekbones. The women had sparkling eyes and all knew how to cook; the men were really crazy about strong coffee and liked to drink it in sturdy mugs.

When I met his uncle, Steve McCool, my first thought was, I cannot believe how cool it is to have a name like McCool. I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Over the years, I saw Steve at family gatherings – and I was always glad to see him, to sit down beside him and talk about what was up. He was always upbeat, always interesting, always other-centered.

Steve was 93 when he died mid April. His two sons planned a service for him today. It was a perfect farewell for him, it was upbeat and focused on what comes next in the great beyond.  And afterwards, there was a lunch in the Fellowship Hall with all manner of  sandwiches and Lutheran jello salads.

It’s too bad that the guest of honor is not there when you throw the perfect party. Steve would have been so at home with all of the guests, so pleased with the music, so appreciative of the lunch.

And still all I could think about is how cool it was to be named “McCool.” And, I know he would have gotten a big kick outta that.

No Place Like Home

Posted on by

I tried to explain to a friend of mine who was born and bred in Oregon that the Kansas Flint Hills had a lot in common with the Pacific Ocean. Her eyes would invariably start to glaze over when ever I started in on the subject. 

Finally, I simply told her, “You’ll just have to see for yourself.” But, she never got the chance to make the trip.

So every time I get the chance to travel through the amazing grassland sea that is the Flint Hills, I always think I hear the sounds of the waves breaking on the shore.

The Flint Hills were part of a great shallow sea some 250 million years ago and as a result developed a wide swath of underground limestone. The prairie had too much rock to be fertile farm land and so was left for grazing. It was never really developed and now stands as the largest remaining tract of tallgrass prairie in the nation. I’m telling you, it’s worth a slot on your bucket list.

(I found this photo on a web site promoting a bill on recycling in Kansas; unfortunately there was no photo credit.)

Birther Business

Posted on by

Actress Cloris Leachman is 85. I know this because my morning paper has a column called Birthdays. The format never changes. There are always five people featured. First there is a descriptor, then the name followed by age. Actor Willie Nelson is 78. They are in descending order by age. Director Jane Campion is 57. One lucky duck is featured in a thumbnail photo. This time it is Cloris. Actress Kirsten Dunst is 29. I seldom know the last person on the list, today is no exception. Actress Dianna Agron is 25

It would seem any self-respecting editor would have nixed this column idea a long time ago. It’s not like readers all of a sudden jump up and run out to buy birthday cards. But I guess someone thinks it’s pretty important to know Cloris Leachman is 85 today.

Insider’s tip

Posted on by

I ate at IHOP this morning. I wanted a couple of poached eggs and did not want to make them myself.  When I walked in,  I saw that Eggs Benedict with hash browns and sausage was the blackboard special.

Maybe IHOP has changed up their menu? I never think of it as a breakfast destination for a gourmand. I need not have wondered.  Restaurants may come and go, but IHOP holds fast to a bottomless coffee pot and huge portions.

I ignore the parade of pancake stacks topped with syrupy blue or red fruit filling crowned with a huge wave of whipped cream, and order the Two Egg Quickie.

The eggs are perfectly poached and paired with my choice of meat and toast.

The waitress told me I had made a great choice, she “loves the poached eggs here.” When I left she said, “Have a good day. Kid. Stay out of trouble.”