THE DUST WILL WAIT

Our roses died. Our neighbors to the east planted trees a few years back that have not blessed our small rose garden, so we had been contemplating moving the flowers to another area with more sunshine. But that isn't the reason for their demise.  Nor was it caused by an "extreme"  winter.   Apparently it was just the timing of an early frost in the winter and a late frost in the spring. The honeysuckle on the north fence also succumbed, as did many small perennials that I will tally once I compare the survivors to a panorama photograph from last summer. The loss of one particular apricot colored rose, with the delicate crimson edged bud, is painful.  My friend Judy gave it to me for mother's day in 1977.  She was killed in an automobile accident later that summer.   The following year we moved across town and WR dug the rose and transplanted it for me.   It has bloomed and bloomed these many years.  Yesterday he stopped in the midd...

The theme for Fun Monday this week carried me back to the double bed that I shared with my sister Trish.  There was a time that it sat in the unfinished basement where its headboard and the headboards of my other siblings beds were flush against the cold concrete.  It was probably a lot like going to summer camp (and I sure wanted to go to summer camp), except we slept there in formation out of necessity.   Lucky for Trish and me, Mama pestered daddy until he allowed a small addition and some remodeling that added two teeny bedrooms to what had been a one bedroom main floor.  That saved us from the nightly routine of descending those cold basement steps. In that ancient squeaky old bed I remember waking up afraid.  I would cry “Mama” or run through the house in search of her comfort.  She would get out of her ancient squeaky old bed and walk me me back and tuck me in and softly rub my back. That is when she would ask me, “What would you buy if you ...

Leavenworth Washington is a small village that has “reinvented” itself as the place to visit to get into the spirit of the season.  I was enchanted by this magnificent Percheron, Jackson, that took Santa on a tour and was also available for tourist’s rental as well. One hundred years ago there were lots of horses and wagons still carrying the majority of people on their journeys to and from town, as well as handling the freight and agricultural demands. My mama told me about riding to school on a buckboard behind a horse called Old Nell.  Grandma would take rocks heated on the old wood stove and place them in rags around mama and her siblings feet to keep them warm. Her other memories of the ride include a loud and effusive burst of gas escaping from the old mare every couple of clip clops.  Mama said that one day on the way to school she herself was guilty of a small aromatic ester.  Even in her early 70s my mama would blush when s...

A Lullaby that my mom sang to me when I was a baby. I sang to my daughters.  My daughters to my grandchildren. I hope my great grandchildren will hear it someday, too. Listen to it here --  accompanied by photos of my sleepy daughters, and my 10 sleepy grandchildren! Karoo Karoo from pamela on Vimeo .

Mama had a hard life. Her childhood was spent following the crops; the family joined other itinerants who set up camp along the river banks and made do with very little while they worked. They picked crops to survive. (The “dream” sparkled in her papa’s eyes like sunlight through a prism. Rainbow chasing.) During her teens, Mama and her best friend worked the hop fields in central Oregon. They were renowned for their fast and efficient picking team, but even more for their unique method of summoning the lineman . They sang out the words “Line Down” in beautiful harmony…. to the delight of the other field crew and to the one who answered their call - my dad. He lowered the next row as he admired their work ethic and …Mama. What I know of my parent’s courtship can be summed up in one sentence. Mama was engaged to another when dad approached and asked, “May I throw my hat in the ring?” They married and spent their wedding night in the boss’s guest room. Over the years, ...

Earliest memories of our home on the hillside contain the weekly banners of fresh laundry billowing from the clothesline on the small rise above the house. My piano teacher, who lived down in the vale , once mentioned how the sheets reflected so clean and white in the sunshine. Mama utilized that old ringer-washer every Thursday for years. It was complimented by two rinse tubs. The first load was the kitchen towels and linens, followed by other whites and lights. By the time dads work clothes agitated, the water was gray and suds less. The tub was finally drained, dried out, and pushed back into the corner. (And so was mama.) She used soap ( Fels Naptha) so she could drain all her efforts into the back yard and keep it green during the summer months. She collected plates, cups, and saucers from one of her boxed soap purchases. The surface of the dishware was a bright gold color that wore off easily to reveal a milky white glass interior. (There was just...

After I dipped my Fuji Apple in Caramel at lunch time, I returned to work and finished the Coconut Crème Pie that was leftover from my birthday. I cringed when the afternoon sun cast my shadow across the parking lot. Ouch. Shade in the summer, heat in the winter. Speaking of heat in the winter…we purchased a cord of wood last week in anticipation of some cool autumn evenings around the fireplace. Instead, we opened the doors every evening this week. Indian Summer . Several times I’ve heard the cry of a Night Hawk and glimpsed it’s graceful pursuit of insects by the light of the street lamp. Maybe the cold front moving in will encourage him to begin his migration. I hope he doesn’t have to travel through southern California Tonight it might freeze. If it does, our yellows, oranges, and reds will turn to winter brown. Apparently, the length of the night has equal influence on the hues that paint the deciduous trees. I always thought it was the frost. ...

My mom was born in 1914 and died in 1993. I still miss her; especially when something brings to mind the songs she sang to me and my siblings. Some of the songs have been passed on to my children, and now to their children. I saw this moon peaking over an old roof covered with moss in Oregon on Saturday morning.. In my heart I could hear her voice and the melody to a World War I Song ("The Sensational Stammering Song Success Sung by the Soldiers and Sailors") - K-K-K-KATY K-K-K-Katy Jimmy was a soldier brave and bold, Katy was a maid with hair of gold, Like an act of fate, Kate was standing at the gate, Watching all the boys while on parade. Kate smiled, with a twinkle in her eye, Jim said, m-m-m-meet ya by and by. That night at eight, Jim was at the garden gate, Stuttering this song to K-K-K-Kate. K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy, You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore; When the m-m-m-moon shines, Over the c-c-c-cowshed, I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen ...

The wild geese were flying once more this morning. I love to hear them calling to each other while watching them change formation. Several miles from our house is a flood control lake and the cold mountain river that diverts to fill it. I thought that was where those geese headed. However, the lake was covered only with ice. An inversion keeps the fog in the valley and the snowy mountains are a mystery in the distance. The robins were thick in the trees. Perhaps the dried blackberries, choke cherries, and elderberries are providing them with sustenance. This one reminded me of a poem my mother would recite when I was very small. The Old North Wind Blows and we shall have snow Oh! What will poor Robin Do then? He'll sit in the barn and keep himself warm and hide his head under his wing. As we walked down the river path we saw this ICE DRAGON frozen in flight. So I made up my own short poem. Freezing Reign The sun will end of the Ice Dragon Help ...