Saturday, April 4, 2009

Birthday

It has been a while since I updated. My plan was to post these on my Birthday, but I missed it so I am posting them a few weeks late. My Gram liked to write short verses for her granddaughters on their birthdays. Here are two she wrote for me:

To Krista Beth Gary

It was a blessed day for me
When I first saw you smile

And felt you put your hand in mine
To walk with me a while.

To Krista on her 9th Birthday

Krista is the morning light
That brightens up my day.
Krista is the sunshine
All along my way.
Krista is my springtime,
That lasts the whole year long.
Krista is my wings.
Krista is my song.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Who Else?

In winter who’ll remember
My bulbs beneath the snow
Who’ll rub my copper kettle
Into a burnished glow?

Oh who will wash my tea pot
As Eddie Arnold sings
And knit my rainbow woolens
Into a thousand things?

Oh who will place my bowls and cups
Where I would have them go
And who will scatter birdseed
When blustery north winds blow?

Who’ll use the little water pot
For growing greens and vine
And shake my pretty towels out
And hang them on the line?

Who’ll play my Elvis hymn songs
And dust my many frogs
And kindling the fireplace
Enjoy the glowing logs?

And who will take my baskets
And hold them in her hand,
And who will read the books I love
And do the things I planned?

You thought I would be leaving?
Why should I go away?
My little house won’t let me go.
So, happily, I’ll stay.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Footnotes

Consider the foot, the part of the body that turns up down by the ankle bone to form an L.

It is always in our sight, peeping out below our trousers or skirts or alternating smartly in our line of vision, left, right, left, right, when we walk.

Feet are ever present. Most everyone has a couple. Some people sit on them just to hide them but it’s quite uncomfortable and they often go to sleep. They might resent it. Mine once tangled over an object on the floor, throwing me down with such force that I broke an arm, so beware and know that they can have a life of their own.

One gets a little rest from them at night and yet of you lie on your back, there they are calling attention to themselves by making two tents in the bed clothes and they will only disappear if you turn on your side.

Feet can toe- in, toe-out, or straight ahead. It is my personal opinion that those that toe-in slightly get a little better traction. Indian women walked this way carrying heavy loads and covering many miles.

There are a lot of different ways of walking; tip-toeing along, springing along on the ball of the foot, jolting, tripping, dancing, skipping, etc.

Feet can tell on you. If they mince along you’ll be thought affected; if they step too high, proud; if they drag, reluctant; if they swing loosely, devil may care, etc. So if you want to appear a certain way, be sure to notify your feet.

Some people who are rather run-of-the-mill when it comes to looks have lovely feet with rosy toes that curl delicately.

The reverse is also true. You can never be sure what disaster the shoes of beautiful people may hide.

If you number yourself among those with ugly feet, it would be considerate of you not to wear sandals that spread your feet over a country mile.

A high instep is supposed to be a sign of beauty. It is said that the arches of Balinese women never touch the cobblestones.

Feet can walk patiently across a continent, advance bravely, or turn and run, all without seeming to have much direction from the head. On the other hand, if you have had a bad day at the office, your feet seem to know it and have to be restrained from kicking the cat when you get home.

When you go to bed tonight and are lying down on your back, look down at your to feet tenting the blankets. Take a moment to salute the faithful pair that have stayed with you all these years. Promise them something nice to wear, some things comfortable and warm and expensive.

Friday, February 20, 2009

The Cold Within

The cold was there in the beginning
To chill the lively thrust,
Blowing it’s white breath
Turning the young and green to marble.
Beneath, the tiny knot still formed,
Pressing back the clammy edge,
Gambling for life, eager to win.
The stream that fed turned slowly crystal,
Though some there were who tried
To stop the slow advance,
No warmth reached far enough
To thaw away the cold.

It is so beautiful this morning;
Everything is cold and still.
The trees, covered with hoar frost,
Are silhouetted on the snow.
Far below the frost line lies the cold;
Remember, it was there in the beginning.

Can a hand reach out
And brush the frost away?
Can a word melt the stream?
Can anything – anything at all,
call forth spring?

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Good Times Then and Now

Winter 1992

I moved to a small Maine town in the fall and hadn’t yet had an opportunity to feel a real part of the community. When a friend asked me to attend a skating party it seemed a chance to get better acquainted with her and make new friends.

Looking back on it, I wonder what or who decided that the ice was safe. In those days it never crossed my mind but the young people who lived near the river had their own ways of knowing.

On the designated evening we collected our skates and bundled up against the cold. It was a beautiful moon lit night. As we approached the river a bon-fire lit up the moving figures gliding over the ice.

I’ve forgotten a lot of things about this time in my life but I remember the flashing skates, the cheerful young faces high lighted by the fire, moonlight and stars, ice like glass and the rhythmic music of skates on the ice.

I could hardly skate at all and was guided up the winding river as far as was deemed safe and back again. I seem to remember a black expanse of open water ahead. Back by the fire games of tag were in progress and the expert skaters were piling up logs to jump over. Jump over them they did, displaying so small amount of skill.

As I listened to the laughing voices, sometimes blurred by the heat of the fire, I realized that these young people from a small rural community in Maine had some-how come to know the secret of what it takes to have a really good time.

I don’t live close to the river anymore but winters still come on and the ice turns right for skating. Recently we bundled up against the cold and in broad daylight trekked off across the snow to find a place to skate. A small pond seemed big enough for tag and we deposited a blanket for sitting on, extra mittens and thermoses of hot chocolate. A hockey stick appeared and a puck. A game of tag got hot and heavy. Neighborhood children joined us. Brightly colored clothing formed a kaleidoscope as skaters flashed by. The sky was a heavenly blue and near evergreens and hardwood trees etched their limb against the snow and the sky.

If you want a bon fire now, you have to get a permit so we didn’t have one but we have the technology to blast the music of the Skater’s Waltz across the pond.

Being the senior in the three generations represented, wisely I didn’t don skates but dispensed hot chocolate and cheered the skaters on.

Things change quickly and one of the reasons that skating in the open air is so pleasurable is that conditions are so seldom right for it and one must seize the moment.

Not everything changes though. The girl that asked me to my first skating part fifty years ago remains my dear and good friend.

(My friend is Alice Bemis Best and the place is Fryeburg Harbor.)

Friday, February 13, 2009

Another Valentine

Valentines Day
(1996)

What joy in giving my heart
To such as you!
I’ll always try to keep it beating
Strong and true.
But if it fails or falters as time
Might well decree
Please love me still and remember
What I used to be.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Valentines Day 2001

Tell me you love me,
Though you might lie,
If you don’t love me
I know I will die!

But if you love me
The treasure my heart holds
Will be yours to spend
Like silver or gold.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Krista Beth and I

Her grandfather says that when we think we are unobserved we act like sisters.

She’s very bright and imaginative with a great sense of humor that makes her fun to be with. Of course there are times when she’s tired and out of sorts and there are times when I’m tired and out of sorts. When we are both tired and out of sorts, although I’m 60 and she is three, we are most happy to see her mother appear from across the way and rescue us from ourselves.

We bundled up and went out to watch the men work on the electric light wires. We stood on a high snow-bank as they worked machinery and one man rode way up high in the bucket and we talked about how her daddy does that same kind of work.

After a few moments of silence on our part she moved over to me, looked up and said, “I thought my Mamma was here, but you’re here.” And she took my hand, satisfied. Perhaps the roar of the engines had bothered her. I wondered what little fear had moved in her mind. It was soon gone and she was sliding down the bank and climbing up again – down and up – down and up – until her pants were wet through.

I wish I could describe the way her little face looks on a cold day. The hood is drawn tight around it with hair back – just a little pink oval with blue eyes. As she stays out it deepens to a lovely rosy shade all over until it glows and is so bright and radiant that it almost seems that you could hold your hands before her face and warm them. Heart-warming at any rate, this diminutive person with little flower face, brought to bloom by snow and cold.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Round Soap

How I need a hot bath and a scrub!
With a smile I climb into the tub.
I relax as the warm waters rise,
And I search with my eyes –
There it is, huddled next to the wall
And as round as a ball!
In my hand it is not a good fit.
I try rubbing my body with it.
But it jumps from my neck to the floor
Away out by the door.
As I drizzle back to my place
How I hate its pink face!
But I grasp it and reach for my toes
And I sigh to myself as it goes
Through my fingers and over my back
Where it lands with a “whack!”
Now I think that all soap should be square
And not fly through the air.
With most things I can cope, I have found.
But not soap that is round.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Power Outage

December 9, 1996

Do you remember the old saying, “Where were you when the lights went out?” (In the dark!) A lot of us were in that situation this weekend when the nor’easter swept through.

I first discovered I was in the dark when I reach for the light for a trip to the bathroom. Thinking to phone in the outage I reached up for my flashlight and pulled the phone over onto the bed, sweeping a glass of water onto the floor with the cord. The line was busy. I heard that Central Maine Power was amazed to find so many people awake at all hours of the night and phoning in outages. Three calls later I found the phone dead. Outside heavy snow was thumping down. The flashlight showed the pines like skinny inverted Vs, groaning under the heavy load of snow with limbs draped over phone lines. It wasn’t very cold and a light misty rain seemed to be coming down. I crawled back into bed.

I awoke with a cold and built a fire, being glad I filled the wood box the night before.

When it was light enough to see outside I went from window to window amazed as usual to find what a night of snow had accomplished. Birch twigs against the sky were like lace. The trees had an angry look as though they didn’t like their burdens and were about to burst their bonds and go free.

I followed my trail of Kleenex back to the stove and decided to eat things that didn’t require the refrigerator door to open. Apples, nuts, graham crackers, [Peanut butter was high on the list] tea, cereal.

I had learned a thing or two from the outage of two or three weeks ago and purchased batteries for my radio so I listened to channel 6 for news of the storm even though it was not as good as seeing cars rolling over and off the road and the storm spotters huddled in their wintry weather gear.

I took a nap. My little dog was stretched full length before the fire and she made it seem like a good idea.

Lunch time. It’s hard to be creative with things outside the refrigerator.

The news mentioned outages all over the state except here. Dirty dishes are mounting in the sink.

Finally the phone rings and we cam compare experiences. I give myself a treat by having a long conversation with my daughter in Rumford who is also without power and has more snow than we do. My daughter next door is jealous that I found fluff to go with my peanut butter.

I tried to read and did for a while but the days are so short and the dark settles in so early I gave it up. I have plenty of candles and one oil lamp but my eyes are not good enough to read by them.

I discover that just the sound on channel 6 doesn’t tell the whole story.

I got to bed and listen to hear the hum of the refrigerator but it doesn’t happen.

Sunday morning with light rain. I roads are slushy and few venture out. The question ~ when will the lights go on? I walk around impotent vacuum cleaners and gather up Kleenex and clear away ashes from the front of the stove.

I take a nap. My very thoughts bore me. Toward evening my daughter next door things I’m getting depressed and asks me over for T.V. They crank up the generator and hitch it to the TV and there is the telly! There was nothing on for a while, a meaningless football game but in our deprived situation it looked good. Then came some news but the best morale booster was when we decided to break into a Christmas present meant for Mark and treat ourselves. We watched TV and ate chocolate covered nuts and it was almost as good as going to a movie.

I came home and built up the fire and as my dog and I enjoyed the warmth – “It was a miracle!” The lights came on and the refrigerator hummed. I did the dishes.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Broken Leg

1974

There is a lot I don’t know about having a broken leg.

When, cast off,
Does person
Bounce of ceiling,
Like a balloon?

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Diana and the Sourdough Bread

My Aunt Diana told me I could post this one!

“What a good day for cooking.”
Diana said,
“I think I’ll make some
Sourdough bread.”

She measured and sifted
And stirred and beat,
Thinking how well
They all would eat.

Praising the mixture
To the skies
They sat around waiting
For it to rise.

A feeble bubble showed
And then
It died. She mixed
It all again.

Was it to cold
Do you suppose?
She warmed it up
And then it rose.

Of the starter dough
She took a cup
And after making the bread
She baked it up.

Jen grew thoughtful
After taking one bite
“Sourdough bread
And sour is right!”

On tasting it
All Kathy said was “Yuk!
May I please be excused
Before I up-chuck?”

Tom studied the bread
Upon his plate
“It isn’t the best
I ever ate.”

She laughed with them

And didn’t pout
When they asked her to pour
The starter out.

That evening in
The cheerful room
Diana alone
Seemed full of gloom.

The girls began to
Feel sad too.
Tom said, “Honey,
What’s troubling you?”

She sighed and said,
“If you must know
I feel I have murdered
The starter dough.”

“Oh no,” they all cried,
“It will live in the sea
Where the fish
Will feed on it bountifully!”

Next morning:
“Look down by the sewer!”
She heard them say,
“The sourdough has risen
And is heading this way!”

Friday, January 9, 2009

Siberian Express

Thursday, January 6, 1988

The new year came in on the “Siberian Express,” windy and cold. We haven’t walked this week because it’s been below zero. Everything snaps and hums. The train coming down the track a quarter of a mile away is first felt as a slight tension, then a vibration as of a tightly strung wire. Next the humming of the rails becomes stronger then fades as it winds through the woods and hills. The cold seems to intensify the sound as the train gathers speed and comes nearer, pulsating and thrumming along the tracks, then groaning and chugging, louder and more loud, until it seems to take over and is split down the middle by the shrill whistle. For a moment more it roars along then clack-clacks into the distance, fading away. A distant whistle and it is gone.

I like to hear the train in the night. It is as though a friend had come near.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Resolutions

January 1, 1998

I resolve not to give way to age, defeats, or disappointments and carry on. I will speak my mind and I hope to make new friends and not be afraid of rejection. The world needs love. I still have it to give.