EIGHT TRUTHS & ONE LIE

CHANGING PLACES

When I was a little girl my mother always made me a warm bed and tucked me in when I was sick. She didn't wander far from where I was resting. Good things to eat would appear on the tv tray beside me, kool-aid, peas, lemon ice box pie. Books were read to me, even as I grew older. My every want was gratified. In many ways she is still doing these very same things. She cooks me food, rubs my eyelids and tickles my feet. But things are changing. Today I made her a warm bed. Elizabeth helped her with her pajamas, buttoning and straightening. She helped her cover up, making sure her shoulders were tucked in. Mama is sleeping now. I'm just around the corner. I've made lemon jello in the case she might be able to eat some. Maybe later, I'll rub her eyelids.

POPSICLE TONGUES

KITTIES

Cats just naturally congregate to our house. I'm sure the bowls of Meow Mix help them know where to come. This gray cat had kittens here last year and two of them are still here. Now she has three more. She has just brought them out from under the house. The mama cat has always been very afraid but now she has calmed a lot. I'm sure she knows that she is save and will be fed. Elizabeth was able to pet her today. Her kittens are so cute. I like the one with the black nose.

TWINS

These baby birds each have their own window on the world.

YUMMY WORMS

This tree in our front yard is the home for baby birds every spring. The limb broke in a storm but we leave it as it is becuase we like it so much. So do the birds. This mother bird works in a frenzy all day feeding her babies.

DAISIES

Created for Write Place Write Time under the direction of Teresa McFayden

WHAT TO READ NEXT

With a houseful of books, I have nothing to read. The last book I read - SKELETONS at the FEAST by Chris Bohjalian. It is one of those hard to follow books. It has seeped itself into my head. I'm aching for a sequel set in Israel.

RABBIT FUR

Every night I get the rabbit out of his cage and he sits in my lap. We visit and I give him a good backrub . He clicks his teeth and is so happy. Tonight he seemed to be shedding a lot so I decided to brush him. And I did, at which time fur took flight. The more I tried to get it in the trash can the more it flew through the air. It was up my nose, all over the chair, floating through the air, stuck on the table and love seat, stuck to my hands and arms, covering my clothes. I have a hand held vacuum, the more I vacuumed the more it spread. I found a lint roller and captured some of it, then got it all over myself again when I had to tear off the sticky part of the lint roller. I did that several times. I put the rabbit back in the cage where he shook and scratched, releasing all the fur that I had dislodged with the brush. It is still furry here and there. The next brushing will take place outside!

DIGGING IN THE DIRT

I've been digging in the dirt. I've planted more petunias than anything else, pink, purple, white, yellow, more pink. The rabbit loves them so he should haveey petunias all summer. They are easy to keep blooming and always look pretty.
I love herbs. Most of the old ones came up and are growing. Today I planted two varieties of sweet basil. Nothing smells so wonderful as basil.
Digging in the dirt is my therapy. Dirt doesn't tall back, well, not exactly. Most things I plant tend to grow. They do like water, lots of water.
I don't like weeds. They like me though.

JOHN WELLINGTON HALE

John Hale died 83 years ago today. He was my great grandfather. I wish I could have known him. He was a photographer, jeweler, and a builder and installer of light plants. I have been told many times that he was a man far ahead of his time. I can only wonder what he would have made of the computer, no doubt he would have been wild about them. He loved his children and he was a good man.

BIRD BLOSSOMS

Tiny specks of birdseed
have found
their way
into the cracks
of our picnic table
where the lawn mower
stirred up
the dust that has settled
around the seed
to form a mixture
that even a drenching rain
failed to wash away
serving only
as the most important
ingredient
to form rows of blades
of greenery
growing toward the sun
I wonder
if they will bloom
boasting blossoms
the shape of birds

by Me

THE TRAIL OF MY MOTHER

Traipsing around with my mother is about like following Hansel and Gretel. I could never lose her, the trail she leaves always gives her away. This morning she had a doctor's appointment. Neither of us had eaten breakfast so I got biscuits, gravy for me, butter for her, and we ate in the car. When we got to the doctor's office Mama was sporting crumbs on her blouse and pants. Crumbs and pieces of napkins were under her when she got out of the car. Her mail was scattered on the seat and the floor was strewn with things from her purse.
She was her usual impatient self waiting to see the doctor. Our wait wasn't long but she said she was leaving if they didn't call her next. After her eyes were checked she had to wait for them to dilate. While we waited she rubbed my hand and I went sound asleep. The doctor told her she didn't seem to have any new problems.
I was so sleepy that we found a shady spot beside Pier 1 and we both took a nap. We decided to go to O'Charley's for lunch, mashed potatoes for her, potato skins for me.
On the way home we stopped at the Dollar Store. We got a few things and started home. I told her she needed to gather up her things from the seat and floor. She found papers, kleenex, coins, a nail file, peppermint candy, red hots, a rain hat (sunshine outside), and other odds and ends. While she was stuffing the rain hat in the side pocket of her purse, she pulled out a fork. She couldn't imagine where it came from. I finally figured out that it came from O'Charley's. She was just beside herself, said she was so embarassed. I told her nobody knew it but the two of us. She wanted to know if I would take it back the next time I was in Owensboro. I assured her that I would.
Mama was tired when we got home, we got her things in the house, and she took to the couch. She is probably still asleep.

TWO OF MY FAVORITE POEMS

FELIX CULPA

Too wet to plow, we climbed
the ridge where Jack-in-the-pulpit
and Fire pinks fringed woods' edge.

Spent of love, he lay crucified
across my Garden Path quilt, hat low
on his brow to shade the sun.

Stretched beside him, I thought his feet
the prettiest I ever saw on a man. Upright,
they framed the wet bottomland below.

Blue veins traced a mystery map
to his toes. I wiped them with the long towel
of my hair, woke him to adoration.

A cast of hawks rose on a draft
towing spring in their talons,
snaring us in a greening spiral.

I think of those elegant feet,
boot-shod, mud-logged, entrenched
below shell-plowed, fallow fields.

Summer fades, no word comes, I soon
harvest what he sowed before following war.
Tiny feet beat sad tattoos under my heart.

Preacher calls me Magdalene. I refute
him, knowing her wiser in her choosing,
blessed by loving, not damned.

-Jane Hicks
Jane read this poem to me at Hindman. I asked her to read it several times throughout the week. Even now, I find something new in it every time I read it. The poem is in her book, BLOOD AND BONE REMEMBER
-
AT REID HARTLEY'S JUNKYARD

To enter we find the gap
between barbed wire and briars,
pass the German Shepherd chained
to an axle, cross the ditch
of oil black as a tar pit,
my aunt compelled to come here
on a Sunday after church,
asking me when her husband
refused to search this island
reefed with past catastrophes.
We make our way to the heart
of the junkyard, cling of rust
and beggarlice on our clothes,
bumpers hot as a skillet
as we squeeze between car husks
to find in this forever
stilled traffic one Ford pickup,
tires stripped, radio yanked out,
driver's door open. My aunt
gets in, stares through glass her son
looked through the last time he knew
the world, as though believing
like others who come here she
might see something to carry
from this wreckage, as I will
when I look past my aunt's ruined
Sunday dress, torn stockings, find
her right foot pressed to the brake.

-Ron Rash
This poem is taken from Ron's book, RAISING THE DEAD. I first read it late one night at Hindman. I haven't recovered.

POEMS

I love poems. I don't know that I could choose a favorite one. There are so many that are such a part of my life.


When I was little I had poems read to me every night. I memorized them when I was in school. In the 5th grade we had to memorize SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS. One line in the poem read, When Lucy ceased to be. One of my classmates took the floor to take her turn reciting the poem and the said, When Cucy leased to be. Everybody just fell over laughing. The classmate cried and went home. I still think it's funny.

I've cried over many a poem. I loved every tear.