Robin (of Pensieve) invites one and all to join in July's Poetic License as she introduces her own style of poetry. Read about it here. The abbreviated version is: the style involves the five senses, reflection and some play on words.
I never follow the rules entirely - but my work is close enough to join the thousands(big smile) who will participate by linking to Robin's post on Friday.
Yesterday we had our first rain of the summer. These thoughts were lingering in my head long before her invitation arrived. So, it was easy for me to be pensieve about
Dawn's pitter-patter on the skylight and the echoing murmur in the downspout stirs me from my slumber.
The dampened breeze through the opened window feathers my cheek and teases my lashes until they open.
Countless aqua dribbles explore the dusty trailed pane while triumphant drops bounce through the screen to sparkle on the sill.
Earthy scents waft on the gentle zephyr, replacing the night's stale haze with a pungent invitation to breathe in deeply and reminisce.
Savored moments linger as the first summer rain quenches nature's parched spirit...and I am refreshed.
(ps. Robin will be linking all participants to the Poetic License on Friday!)
I saw the grin on his face when he walked through the door. At first I thought he was just a happy old fellow.
A short conversation later I realized that he was slightly lost and considerably reality challenged. I pointed him towards his correct destination on the opposite side of the parking lot.
He took two steps away then turned back.
“You’re sure a nice lady,” he approached. “My name is Ernie. What’s yours?”
“Pamela.” I told him as I shook his extended hand and attempted to smile; I hoped it did not reveal one of those “Oh dear, this is inevitable” grimaces.
His eyes brightened – and he slipped into the chair beside my desk.
“Oh, that’s a beautiful name,” he gushed.
Then he put his hand over his heart.
“Pamela is my soul-mate’s name,“ he said with a serious face and a deep sigh. “She’s in the Looney Bin. She shouldn’t be there, though. Someone was just jealous of her and that is why they put her there.”
He added a few more sorry facts, and then looked at me expectantly.
“I’m very sorry that happened,” was the best I could muster
His demeanor switched abruptly to the original wide grin and he leaned in closer.
“Have you seen Indiana Jones?” he asked in a conspiratorial undertone.
I was somewhat startled by the subject change but responded appropriately by shaking my head ‘No.” I also mentioned that my husband wanted to take me to see it and then I began to shuffle things on my desk.
He bent his head, arched his eyebrows, and darted his eyes back and forth in a secret agent impersonation.
Very loudly he whispered, “Well, I know that loose lips sink ships… but I just have to tell you … I’m in it!”
“The movie?” I kicked myself for even giving him another opening.
Excitement required him to draw a deep breath before he nodded his head in self-congratulations. Then he excitedly tapped his pointy fingers on his chest.
“I’m him… Indiana Jones.”
“Wow!” I recovered from a brief speechless moment and added, “Imagine that.”
There was more posturing before he eventually shook the hands of two of my younger co-workers, tipped his hat, and walked out the door.
When he was safely away, we all laughed – especially about Pamela in the Looney Bin.
A week later I was away from my desk when I saw him again walk through the door. .
“Hi Ernie,” I called from the opposite end of the room, “you’re on the wrong side of the parking lot again!”
A bewildered expression crossed his face and he was clearly puzzled.
“Have we met?” he queried.
“Yes…. You were here last week,” I clarified.
He seemed more at ease then, and promptly asked for my name. I couldn’t help being somewhat playful with him.
“Aha!” I giggled, “My name is the same as your lost soul-mate.”
Befuddled once more, he scrunched his eyebrows in concentration.
Then he broke my heart with his next revealing words.
He had a goal: To ride the STP (Seattle to Portland) in one day after he turned 60. He did just that last Saturday.
There were 9 riders in his group. One was a 5 foot short woman - she's behind him in the photo above. The youngest was age forty something and the four oldest were 60.
They were on their bicycles by 5 a.m, and all but one had crossed the finish line by 9:30 pm. Our daughter Amanda and our friend Kim (whose husband also rode) drove the sag vehicles and kept the riders fed and hydrated.
This is the 7th time my husband has completed the 200 mile classic. He and his group added another 3 or 4 miles when they chose to take their lunch break at a park off the route.
He said he's never felt better.
I thought his entry number was poignant. He does look like a 30 - 60. Don't you agree?
My computer is humming - (I think it's humming the tune to "Crossing My Fingers.")
There is toothpaste on the hand towels in the bathroom. A grandparent will automatically know that means the grandchildren are visiting.
Curlymop (4) and I sat on the patio Friday night and watched an acrobatcatching insects above the yard. She hopped up and did a monkey walk around the chairs.
Me: Why are you walking silly? Curlymop: So the bat won't eat my butt. Me: That bat won't eat people. It eats insects. Curlymop, silent for awhile then says: I'll feed it Spagetti O's. Me: How about Batsgetti O's. Curlymop: How about Buttsgetti O's. Me ( giggling) thinks -- Okay she wins!
The Contessa is no longer a cone head. She walked around like a drunk while required to wear it. When her stitches were finally removed, she was frantic: Groom Groom Groom! Time for hairball medicine again.
The hubby attempted to capture the stray with a live trap from the animal shelter. There was no activity around our house for a week and we believed the animal may have moved on.
But! NO! As soon as the trap was returned the cat arrived to yowl outside our windows and spray on our patio door. It is bad enough that it has caused our cats to spray and act skittish. We are also quite certain it was the culprit that injured The Contessa, as well!
We have to remove that cat. ANY and ALL suggestions are welcome!
We got to see our birthday girl Curlymop last weekend along with Jammin', Buttercup, and Lil Caboose. Beautiful grandchildren, if I say so myself. (no pictures, computer problem)
We came home and the lovely Contessa got out the door (probably mad at us for being gone). I called and searched until 1 a.m. and then left the garage door cracked "cat high," hoping that she would come in there and through the cat door into the family room.
Instead, the black and white stray came in. I'm sure it was a Keystone Cop chase through the house, except I wasn't laughing.
Then the scenario that haunted me became reality. The Contessa came in bloody and beaten.
She spent the next night at the veterinarian hospital after a shave and stitches. Now she's wearing a "lampshade," taking antibiotics, and has three lengths of fur. (no picture, computer problem)
She's giving the computer a run for the money, so to speak. At least Tessy purrs!
My computer woes began last winter. Mine was over 8 years old, and had served me well.
The first symptom was to run very slow. I could get up and wash the dishes while waiting for my favorite blogs to load. Not that I did get up and wash the dishes, but you get the gist.
On Mothers Day my husband gifted a brand new high powered computer that jumped around like a firefly -- it was dazzling.
Three weeks later it crashed. Since then.....Up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down.
I would say it has been a roller coaster ride, but I think those rides are supposed to be fun.
So, I am going to take a blogging break and send this thing to the hospital or computer heaven or hell. The latter being how I feel today. Right now it is computer purgatory! ( sigh. double sigh)
No guesstimate on my "vacation." I will miss you. Please don't forget me.
I am a grandmother, a wife, a mother, a sister, and a friend.
I know that a woman who will tell her age or her weight will tell anything. I won't tell mine, so you can trust me. I have a cat. I have a duster that I don't use.
The photo header is one I have taken of Gram's antique writing desk. My dust.