An ordinary day.

February 22, 2015 § 7 Comments

03 05 028

It was an ordinary day.

A thin blue sky floated distant,

unlike a summer sky that hangs so low

you can reach up and poke it

with a stick.

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Putting on the pants.

February 15, 2015 § 2 Comments

Suffragettes on the march.

All we’ve ever wanted are the same opportunities men are given just because they wear the pants (one reason we fought to wear pants too).

We want:

To be taken seriously.

To be given the opportunity to use our talents.

Equal respect.

Equal pay.

But getting out of the shadow of father, husband, or boss has been a struggle because, traditionally, our strengths have been perceived as weaknesses—those on top always create the yardstick that measures worth. « Read the rest of this entry »

Twilight of the book.

February 8, 2015 § 4 Comments

Books and the small animals that guard them.

Books and the small animals that guard them.

I am going to miss the book.

That stodgy brick of wood pulp.

Obstinately linear and unsearchable.

Demanding time and effort.

The U-Store-It of human stories and ideas, taking up space on a shelf that exists only because the book exists.

I like the smell of a book.

The acidic tang of a cheap paperback.

The musty damp scent of a classic, as if the reader were opening a long-closed trunk.

Standing together on a shelf, books are a forest that invites you to wander in and get lost.

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Jump starting summer.

February 1, 2015 § 3 Comments

 

Tomato seedlings.Remember the slap of the jump rope hitting the ground, your cue to run in and jump like heck?

For many things there is a jump-in-moment.

Like now. Here, the noisy flocks of robins are back.

Narcissus are falling over in the front bed, their flowers too heavy for their stems.

Sulphur butterflies are emerging.

And so I know it is time to jump in and start summer.

In case you want to start summer too, this is how to do it.

Burpee seeds.Begin with a mess of seed catalogs. You can pick seeds up locally, but the selection will be modest and you will usually get stuck with varieties someone at Corporate in some faraway city thought you would like.

So. Catalogs.

Perhaps because it was the catalog that always hung over the arm of my dad’s Morris chair (open to tomatoes) I would say that Burpee is the one you must have.

But quantity is important. A pile of paper catalogs is a form of wealth; ask any gardener. And they’re free.

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