Blather · Life

Crazy Little Thing

Twice a week for the past few months I’ve been leading a walking workout up on the track at the facility where I work. The walking workout is for our seniors, and my goal is to get them to walk for 30 minutes. We do it on Mondays and Thursdays. I’ve got a small but dedicated group that attend.

Here’s how it works: I make a playlist and assign exercises to go with the different songs. We do grapevine, or side-steps, or bicep curls with weights while walking, etc. We even walk backwards, which is great for balance!

On Thursday of this week, I decided to look for love songs with an upbeat tempo for my playlist. The warm-up song was “Walking on Sunshine.” Afterwards, one of the ladies told me that was one of her favorites. “It’s the song I used to use as the first song when I would go running,” she said.

She doesn’t run anymore, but she be-bopped around the track and sang along as she did. It made me smile.

Now, as I explained, I have the walkers do different things while walking. I’ve tried having them do lunges (only four at a time!) which isn’t popular. I had them balance something on their head while walking. (I thought it might help with posture.) I thought about having them walk backwards and toss a football to a forward-walking walker who then would have to walk backwards — but it seemed complicated and I wasn’t sure if the idea was workable.

For the second song on Thursday, though, I tried out a new cock-a-mamie ideas.

The song was The Proclaimers’ song “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” (see below). I wanted them to try walking at the same pace as someone else. I explained that when I was taking care of my father, one of the hardest things for me to do was to walk at his pace. I also explained that it was a drill I used to use occasionally when I coached swimming where I had the swimmers try to swim in synchrony with another swimmer. I’m not sure that it made them faster, but it did make them aware that they were not the only person in the world, which is a better life skill than being a fast swimmer.

Anyway, I explained this to my walkers and then I watched them as they tried to walk in step with someone else. The more I watched, the more I thought about my father and how hard it was to walk with him through those last years but how he had set the example by walking with my mother through her last years.

Mom and Dad — 2015

I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything.

The next song that came up was Queen singing “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” We did the grapevine to it.

In my head I was still back at how walking with another person at their pace is an act of love. I would walk 500 miles like that. Crazy little thing called love.


This is my response to Linda Hill’s Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday prompt: Love..

poetry

Elusive


Oh, to pocket time
It flies one season to next
Simply catch a star


This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge which is to create a haiga by pairing a haiku (traditionally about nature) or senryu (traditionally about human foibles) with a visual art form of my choice. The theme: the long-awaited shift from winter to spring.

I think this is a senryu? It is a human foible to think we can control time, right?

The artwork is a little self-indulgent. It’s a collage I made at Christmas. I also made a few ornaments along the same theme, but never did anything with them.

Front — Catch a falling star
Back — Put it in your pocket
photography · poetry

A Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker was here

Basswood tree with holes drilled by a yellow-bellied sapsucker

Detailed? Abstract? Both?

I was searching for blogging challenges this morning. Having a challenge keeps me posting. The challenge of Detailed or Abstract — or both came from Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge (CFFC) which, it appears, has been taken over by Dan Antion. Cee Neuner started the long-running challenge. She encouraged blogger/photographers to take photos or go through photo archives and post photograph(s) based on the prompt. Mostly, she said, to have fun.

This was a photo I took in the Adirondacks. I was there with a friend who is very knowledgable about nature. If you’ve never walked in the woods with someone who knows them well, make it a bucket list item. My Adirondack-loving friend knows the common names and Latin names of all the trees. He know the birds. He knows the stories and the lore. I love hearing it all.

The yellow-bellied sapsucker pecks holes in horizontal lines in basswood trees because they like the soft bark. Apparently they also like apple trees, birch trees, maples and more. They drill their rows of holes then leave them for the sap to ooze out. Later, they return to eat both the sap and the insects trapped in it.

To me, I just liked the look of the tree with its vertical bark lines and the horizontal sapsucker lines.


In my quest for blogging inspiration, I found a poetry challenge: frozen water that called for using synonyms for the famous “frozen water” in Minneapolis without using the word for immigration enforcement. I’m way over the word count for the challenge, but I’ll put it here FWIW

Winter walk
Snow and cold
Past a tree
Many holed

Does sap freeze?
(Water will)
Sap won’t run
In this chill

What do birds
Who eat sap
Dine on now
Sap’s the trap

People use
Something worse
[sideways move
in this verse
]

Intimidation
Immigration
We are lost
As a nation

Take away
Legal status
Now they are
Called non-gratis

They are NOT
All worst-of-worst
[unintentional
outburst
]

I sigh a sigh
‘Cause I don’t know
How to help
Or where to go

At the feeder
There’s a jay
BULLY, BULLY
GO AWAY
!”

aging · books · elderly · Life

Morning Reading

I start every day with reading. I’ve done that for most of my adult life, although what I read has changed over time.

These days I have four different books that I’m reading. It’s a weave, pulling threads from four different sources, and letting them intertwine. Sometimes it’s amazing how it works sometimes, the similarity between two disparate books.

This morning I was especially struck by that. I’ve been reading William Willimon’s book Aging: Growing Old in Church. I finally finished a very long chapter called “With God in the Last Quarter of Life” which was subdivided into topics like Grief, Church Participation, Being a Burden, Economics, etc. The last section was on Memory.

I cared for both of my parents as their memories shape-shifted and deteriorated. This section of the book hid hard and hit home as I remembered that period of time in MY life. Here are a few quotes:

Compare/contrast/weave those words in with these words from Brian Doyle. I’m reading his collections of essays called Eight Whopping Lies and other stories of bruised grace. Today’s essay was “What Were Once Pebbles Are Now Cliffs” in which he remembers his sons when they were the size of pebbles; now they are cliffs.

It’s good to be reminded that I am not the sum of my efforts, my attainments, my possessions. Every day is a gift. And memory is also a gift.


This post is brought to you by Linda Hill’s Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday, William Willimon, and Brian Doyle.

poetry

Erasure Poems

The W3 challenge is: let’s write erasure poems.

“Erasure poetry, also known as blackout poetry, is a form of found poetry wherein a poet takes an existing text and erases, blacks out, or otherwise obscures a large portion of the text, creating a wholly new work from what remains.

“You might begin with an existing text or poem and shape something new by removing words, or write your own piece and then erase portions of it to reveal another layer. You could even place a poem over a work of art and present it visually as an erasure.”

When my oldest brother passed away, I found a couple of books where he had been doing this — blacking out whole pages and only leaving one or two words. It was fascinating. But, then, my oldest brother was literally a genius.

I don’t know what the heck I’m doing with this. Clearly.

I muddled through books yesterday and today trying to come up with something.

Here’s one:

Al
e
x
pre
tti
fought bravely
Can you see him?
Who is he?


Then I put in this (less than) valiant effort:

I do not know
I do not know
Do you know?
No, said the farmer’s wife

Do you know?
Why yes, I know

I know
Do you know?
I am going away
all alone
Good-by!


What does it all mean? I’m with the farmer’s wife. I do not know.

family · fiction · Uncategorized

Family Olympics

Flash Fiction February, Day 2: Today’s prompt is to write about a parent and child.

——————————

“We’re bored,” groaned Timmy. Jimmy nodded in agreement.

Their mother looked at the two boys and said, “Perfect! Today is the day of the Family Olympics.”

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked.

“It’s a competition. We’ll have a pentathlon today — that means five events. I’ll keep track of who wins each one.”

“What’s the prize?” asked Jimmy.

“Cookies,” she replied, and the boys could see the mixer and cookie sheets already out. “First event is called Strip-the-Bed. It’s a race for who can strip all the sheets off their bed and get them to the laundry room first. On your mark, get set, go!”

Both boys raced out of the room. She could hear them upstairs and hoped the bedroom wouldn’t be too much of disaster. She met them in the laundry room. Timmy was just ahead of Jimmy and declared the winner.

“Next event is the Sock-Matching Race,” she said, and showed them the laundry basket with an assortment of unmatched socks. “You get one point for every you match. Ready? Go!”

They dumped the basket and set to work, fighting over socks, fighting with socks, and ultimately matching a bunch of socks. Timmy was the winner again.

“This next event isn’t about speed,” Mom said. “It will be judged on neatness, thoughtfulness, and word choice. It’s called Write-a-thank-you-note. Think of someone you should thank — Gramma, Auntie Lisa, Uncle Scott, or anyone — and write them a note.”

It was an hour later when the boys returned. The cookies were cooling on the racks and smelled amazing.

“While I read these,” Mom said, “you can do the next event: Gather-the-water-cups. There’s one or more in each bathroom, and each person has one beside their bed. I want to wash them all. Ready? Go!”

Jimmy had strategically headed for the bathrooms and came back with four, while Timmy only had three.

“Timmy – two points, Jimmy – one,” said Mom. “I still haven’t had a chance to read your thank you notes, so I’ll give you the next competition. It’s the Make-the-Bed competition. The sheets are in the dryer. You’ll have to get them out, divide them up, and go make your beds. I will inspect and deduct points for sloppiness and untucked sheets and blankets. Ready, set, GO!”

This task took a little longer, but when the boys had finished, they raced back to their mother in a dead tie. She was sitting at the table crying.

“C’mon boys,” she said, as she wiped her eyes. “Let’s go see how you did.”

Timmy’s bed was made, but it was a mess. Jimmy’s was much neater, with everything tucked it.

“Jimmy gets this point,” Mom said.

“Who won the thank you note competition?” Timmy asked.

Mom’s eyes welled up again with tears. “You both did,” she said. “You both wrote notes that began ‘Dear Mom’. You both made me cry in the very best way. Thank you.” She hugged them both tightly. “Now let’s go eat some cookies.”

fiction

Just One More

She pushed the stroller. In it, her three year old son was singing loudly, “Baby Shark!”

The twins, wobbling on their bikes ahead of her, dutifully shouted, “Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo!”

All three children sang together after that, laughing, shouting, enjoying the walk through town. “Mommy shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo.” The toddler in the backpack tugged at her hair in rhythm with the words.

“You have your hands full,” said more than one passerby, who could not help but notice the singing entourage.

She just smiled and nodded.

When no one was looking, she rubbed her growing abdomen.


This is my first time participating in the February Flash Fiction Challenge: Today’s prompt is to write about having just one more of something.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again — having a large family is one of the most fun things ever. It’s a lot of work, but it’s also a lot of fun.

Life

Cinnamon Rolls

I started cooking again in the last year.

In order to do that, I had to stop cooking several years ago.

Life’s twists and turns had taken the desire to cook right out me. Occasionally, when I did cook something, digging out an old tried and true recipe, it didn’t necessarily turn out right.

I think it was around last Thanksgiving when one of my children mentioned cinnamon rolls. I used to make cinnamon rolls for almost every holiday. Sometimes for birthdays. Sometimes just because. But I had stopped making them.

So I pulled out the recipe and tried it again. The cinnamon rolls turned out meh. Just meh.

I made them again.

And again.

Something about kneading dough is therapeutic. I’d say that it scratches an itch — but that doesn’t really describe it. It’s the rhythm of push-pull-fold-turn. It’s the warmth of the dough and the way you can feel life starting to happen. It’s such a good feeling.

Then, when that lump of dough rises to double in size, it always feels like a miracle. Little things thrill me — and that’s one that does.

Rolling out the dough, spreading the cinnamon sugar filling, rolling it up again and cutting the neat rolls — well, that’s all fun too.

The dough rises again.

The rolls bake and smell amazing while doing so.

A little frosting goes on top when they come out of the oven, so the frosting melts a little right into the roll.

They are so good.

Last weekend, I made a batch of cinnamon rolls. The big snow was coming. While they were still warm, I brought some to the maintenance shed where I work, where the guys who plow the parking lots and driveways for the facility go inside to get warm.

My co-worker looked puzzled when he saw me at the door there. “I made cinnamon rolls,” I told him. “They’re still warm. I think it’s going to be a long couple of days for you guys.”

His face broke into a huge smile. “I just came inside to get warm,” he told me. “These will be great!”

I laughed and told him to be sure to save some for the other guys.

Then I took about a dozen cinnamon rolls to the county highway department. I told them the same thing I had told the guy at my workplace. They were so appreciative.

It’s a win-win for me. I love making them and I love sharing them.

I’m glad I started baking again.


This post is in response to the last two JusJoJan prompts. Yesterday’s was “cinnamon” and I ran out of time. Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was “scratch an itch” — and I thought I could make it work for what I had been thinking about for cinnamon.

I should have taken pictures of the cinnamon rolls last weekend. They turned out perfect!

poetry

True Story

Warm
My lap
Come sit here
Let me stroke you
Let me run my fingers all over you
You nibble on my fingers while I do
Yes, you want more
I feel it
My dear
Cat


This is my response to the W3 prompt and to the JusJoJan prompt which is prompt.

This week’s prompt for W3 is to write a Double Tetractys — a 10-line poem with a fixed syllable pattern.

Theme: something spicy or a little naughty. Keep it suggestive rather than explicit. Let tension, humor, and implication do the work.

Double Tetractys is made of two Tetractys poems joined together:

  • The first five lines build up
  • The next five lines mirror them in reverse

Syllable pattern (per line):

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 10 / 10 / 4 / 3 / 2 / 1



Yes, I have a friend with a cat that can’t get enough of me. She sits beside me, on me, nibbling at me. It’s love.

Life

Interdependence




The further human society drifts away from nature, the less we understand interdependence.

~~Peter Senge