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.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
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.
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.
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?
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.)
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.
(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.
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.
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