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Showing posts from July, 2008
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 SUMMER RAIN 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'
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 expect
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? (Photo credits to Amanda)
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 acro bat catching 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 Bat sgetti O's. Curlymop: How about Butt sgetti 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. Poor Tessy.
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 c