Category: Blather

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Blather · collage

Finish My Limerick – S

Sally10 Comments

There once was a woman named Sally
Who dreamed of going to Denali
Or to the moon
In a hot air balloon

To be honest, I don’t dream of going to Denali. Two of my children have been there and I guess it’s pretty amazing, but, for whatever reason, it doesn’t make my top ten

Top ten places I want to visit — off the top of my head, of course, because today is Saturday and I try to do Stream of Consciousness blather writing. Today’s prompt: scene. Each of these places is scenic. Does that count?

  1. Scotland — I could easily break it down into a bunch of places.
    • Edinburgh
    • The Shetlands
    • The Highlands
    • The Borders
    • The Western Isles — specifically Iona to see the abbey
  2. Cornwall — especially the Coastal Path
  3. Nice — I’ve been reading about Matisse and I really want to visit the Matisse Museum (Musée Matisse)
  4. Copenhagen — yes, I’ve been there, but I want to go again. Same for the next three:
  5. Fjords in Norway
  6. Bosnia
  7. Dubrovnik
  8. Rome — I hear there’s a little history there.
  9. Jerusalem
  10. The Great Wall of China

What a wacky list, right? Some are sites, some are cities, and some are countries. Some I’ve been to, some I never have, some I never will.

How about you? What’s on your list of places to see?

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Blather · collage

Finish My Limerick – M

Sally7 Comments

There once was a man named Moveable
(I’ve seen his grave — so that’s proveable)
He never settled down
’til he was six feet underground

Ah, Saturday — aka Blatherday — time for my weekly monologue of nothing but blather.

To the best of my knowledge, Moveable Jones does NOT exist.

I recently got back the results of my ancestry DNA and found that I have a distant relative named Experience. That just got me thinking about unusual names.

Can you imagine holding a wee newborn baby in your arms and naming him or her Experience? (For the record, it was a her.) Was the thought going through the new parents’ minds, Whoa! That was an experience! ? Or, was it more of a prayer/blessing — Please, Lord, let this new little person experience life in all the very best ways?

I have a friend who, on giving birth to baby number six or seven, said the midwife announced the sex of the baby and asked if they had a name picked out. She looked at her husband and asked, “Do we?” He replied, “Dewey. Hmm — hadn’t thought about that name.”

This was the same dad who also wanted to give one of his children the middle name “Longtoes” because the child was born with — you can probably guess — long toes. The mom nixed that one, although I think it could have been a great conversation starter.

I read about Experience in my family tree and had a thousand questions. What was she called for short? Experience is quite a mouthful when calling someone in for dinner, or scolding someone when they didn’t do their chores. Also, that’s a long name for a tombstone. Did she like the name? Did she consider naming a child the same thing? Or had she learned from — oh, never mind.

But, Moveable. The stories I could make up. A mom giving birth while part of a wagon train in the mid-1800’s, looking at the newborn and saying, “I’m sure glad you’re moveable.” And it took.

Or, a family living through one of those droughts that wreaked havoc on settlers. The child was born. The mom or dad looked out the window at tumbleweed blowing past, and said to the baby, “May you grow up to live anywhere but this God-forsaken place,” and assigned him the moniker.

Or how about a flood situation — where the family has to get out quickly before, during, or after the birth.

All the stories I can think of involve a family in a tough situation, right?

Some wealthy estate owner would never name a child Moveable. They would give him four or five names to signify the depth of the family roots. John James Michael Henry the third or fourth or fifth. Longtoes would never be suggested.

My children follow the traditional pattern: first name, middle name, last name. The names are mostly run-of-the-mill. No strange spellings or made-up names. No adjective names. Just names that I loved for one reason or another.

One daughter complains about her “old” name. “Everybody has a grandmother or great-aunt with my name,” she has told me. For the record, I had a grandmother with that name.

Two sons go by middle names instead of their first names — and that’s on me. We gave them their names, but chose to call them by their middle name. Don’t ask me why. I think I know, but whatever.

Do you have any good name stories?

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Blather · collage

Finish My Limerick – G

Sally23 Comments

There once was a guy named Greg
Who had a thing on his leg
(A thing??! Please explain!)
Well, it was kind of arcane –

According to Merriam-Webster, arcane means “known or knowable to only a few people: SECRET”

Kind of makes you wonder about Greg’s leg, right?

Today is Saturday — Blather-day — the day of the week when I give myself permission to blather away about whatever nonsense pops into my head using Linda Hill’s Stream-of-Consciousness writing prompt. This week it’s: “starts with gen.” Find a word that starts with “gen” and use it in your post. 

The first word that came to mind when I read the prompt was generative because one of my sons had recently used it in a conversation multiple times. I didn’t want to sound foolish and say, “I’m not sure I know what that means.” I could guess what it means, based on context and possible root words, but I could still be totally wrong.

Like arcane. Until I looked up the definition, I would have defined it more along the lines of archaic, which means old, old-fashioned, or not in common use anymore. And I would have been wrong.

I’m glad I looked it up.

Which I did after I stuck in a limerick because it rhymed.

Well, that, plus I genuinely wanted to know what it meant.

Honestly, I could guess at generative. Something to do with growth or new growth or inspiring new growth?

[now leaving stream-of-consciousness writing to look up generative.]

Merriam-Webster says: : having the power or function of generating, originating, producing, or reproducing. I wasn’t too far off.

Do you ever do that? Think you know what a word means, look it up and you’re wrong? Or, think you know what a word means, look it up and you’re right? Or, think you know what a word means and don’t look it up? Or, hear a word you don’t know and don’t ask or look it up because …. I don’t know!

Gosh, it’s so easy to look up meanings of words these days. I looked up generative on Google to get my above definition, but I just asked Siri what generative means — which took me all of 2 seconds — and she gave me a pretty thorough definition. Right on my phone! I don’t know why I didn’t do it immediately after I first heard the word.

I will need someone to explain to me that second definition. Or give me examples. That one means nothing to me.

I think it’s an arcane definition.

Like the thing on Greg’s leg — which is what I’m most curious about today. What do you think it is?

Blather · Life

The Last Thing I Emptied

Sally4 Comments

That’s the prompt — the last thing I emptied.

Well, it wasn’t the plastic container under the kitchen sink, although I’ve been emptying it fairly often.

The kitchen sink has been dripping. I watched a Youtube video on how to fix it and bought the parts I needed. I was almost successful, but needed a little help.

But then it got worse.

A lot worse.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Now I turn the water off completely to the sink when I don’t need to use it. When I do need it, I turn it on and hear the dripping.

When I turn it off again, I empty the container.

[sigh]

My two youngest daughters were home on spring break this week. I hardly saw them, though. Full-time job, you know, plus I had something every day after work:

  • Monday: appointment
  • Tuesday: church meeting
  • Wednesday: Gave a talk to one of the local historical societies
  • Thursday: Sign language class at the library
  • Friday: Different sign language class via Zoom

I still fit in several walks with one daughter.

I made some favorite dinners: baked ziti, broccoli cavatelli, and a chili-like dish called Turkey Taco Quinoa Skillet.

When I was making that last one, I found that I had run out of quinoa. I told the girls that I was doing a slight variation on that dish.

“What are you doing?” one asked.

“Skipping the quinoa,” I replied. I threw in handful of barley and hoped for the best. It was fine.

This morning, I said good-bye to one daughter who was driving herself back to school. Then I drove the other daughter to stay with her oldest sister before she flies back to college tomorrow. It was another long day for me.

The last thing I’ve emptied is me. My energy is gone.

I tip my hat to all you working women who for years and years have been working 40 hours a week outside the home. I’ve been a mostly stay-at-home mom. I know, I know — that’s work, too.

There’s something to be said, though, about getting up and dressed in the morning, and leaving the house every day.

There’s something to be said for working 8-9 hours away from home.

There’s something to be said for coming home to a dripping faucet.

On Friday when I got home, my daughters said, “The microwave is broken.” Sure enough, it wasn’t working.

I looked to see if the GFI had tripped on the outlet for the microwave. No GFI on that outlet.

I went to the basement to look at the breaker box. Everything looked okay. I flipped some switches back and forth, hoping that would do the trick. It didn’t.

I called the electrician.

Mind you, the last time I had called him it was because of a flickering light. I live in an old farm house and was sure something had nibbled the wires. He changed the lightbulb and solved the problem. He explained to me the likely cause for the flickering. I was embarrassed.

You can understand why I was reluctant to call, but I did. Our wi-fi was also on the same circuit as the microwave.

“Hi, this is Sally,” I said to his voicemail. After leaving him my phone number and address, I continued, “I don’t need you to change a light bulb today, but I’ve lost electricity to some things in my house –”

He picked up and cut me off. “I’m going to tell you what to do and I want you to follow these instructions. If it doesn’t work, you can call me back and I’ll come tomorrow.” He gave me some specific instructions and told me to call him back either way.

Suffice it to say, it worked. The microwave worked. The wifi worked. Everything worked.

I called the electrician back.

“Good job,” he said. “I’ll be sending your Junior Electrician certificate in the mail.”

“You really need to send me a bill,” I said. He wouldn’t let me pay him when he changed the lightbulb either.

He laughed. “No, I’m glad you got it. Call me, though, if you have more problems.”

I guess I’m really not empty. I’m full — with family and kind people in my life.

Do you think the plumber will be this nice if I call him?

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Blather · Life

A-to-Z Theme

Sally7 Comments

There was an occasional blogger
Who was something of a slogger
She decided to see
If she could go A-to-Z
Using finish-my-limerick fodder

It looks like I missed the Theme Reveal for the A-to-Z Challenge. I read March 12-18 as INCLUDING March 18 — which is today. When I went to the site though, it said that the theme reveal was closed.

I’m learning to take these things in stride.

Seriously, does it really matter? Does anyone really care what my theme is?

The older I get, the more I realize how few things there are that really matter.

The self-portrait exercise (from my Lenten devotional) was meant to force an eye to the basics, to the things that really matter. My 15-second self-portrait could have been drawn by any child who recognizes those basics: eyes, nose, mouth, hair.

In my room, I often stare at the row of portraits that my parents had done of their five children. The boys are all looking off to the right. My sister and I are looking at the artist. Mine is the only one with a tilt to the head.

I do that still — tilt my head. When I realize it, I upright it. I like to think, though, that the head tilt is a listening posture. Listening, and trying to understand. I do that, too.

The Stream of Consciousness Saturday word is “tape.” In my room, I often also stare at the many things I have taped here and there. On the back of the door. On the wall. I even have something taped on a piece of artwork to cover a place it’s damaged and to remind of a poem that the picture brings to mind.

Tape is a handy-dandy thing.

Back to my theme-reveal. I realized that limericks neatly fit the 23 word limit I’ve given myself most days. Especially if I let YOU finish it. Also, there’s no ache in writing a limerick. They’re light and silly. I have enough struggles in my days that I thought, maybe a month of silly — with an occasional collage thrown in — would be fun.

So starting April 1, I’ll post the first four lines of a limerick, and you can tape your answer on to finish it. The A-to-Z part will be the name of the person in the limerick. For example, “A” might begin “There once was a man named Arnold” — but I can’t really think of anything that rhymes with Arnold, can you?

And even though I missed the theme reveal, I’m revealing it today, because, you know, it doesn’t really matter. Right?

Blather · collage

The Obliviousness of Tigger

Sally8 Comments

The other day I was trying to explain to someone my artistic process. It was an odd conversation from the get-go because I don’t consider myself an artist and I don’t know what my process is.

“The collages happen,” I said. “I start cutting out pictures not really knowing what the final piece will be. Somewhere along the line, it takes a turn and I’m looking for specifics. For backgrounds or animals or people. It’s like shopping for a gift for someone you love; I know it when I see it.”

Today the Stream of Consciousness writing prompt is “wild animal.” I knew immediately what wild animal I wanted to do — a tiger. I had been to the zoo a few weeks ago with my granddaughter. The tiger there fascinated me.

It was so beautiful and huge and sad, pacing back and forth along the fence at the far side of its enclosure. Padding, padding, padding, down and back, its huge paws silent and powerful.

I read the explanation at the zoo about how tigers are losing their natural habitats to human expansion. According to the World Wildlife Fund, they have lost 95% of their historical range. They are also poached and their body parts traded.

We “save” them by putting them in zoos.

So tigers — for a collage. I cut out half a dozen of them last night, then sat down this morning to create my collage.

My favorite tiger didn’t make the cut.

I mean — he made the cut from the book, a beat-up scribbled in copy of Where is Christopher? by Anne Lawrence. He didn’t make the cut for the collage. Tigger, however, did.

Oblivious Tigger. Goofy smile. Happy-go-lucky. Oh, the wonderful thing about Tiggers, right?

I think his obliviousness is less about the danger from the tiger and more about the greater plight of the tiger, don’t you think?

It would be so easy to extrapolate this to humans. We are oblivious to the plights of our fellow human beings.

It would be so easy to jump on a soapbox about this, but I will be the first to admit my own obliviousness and my ignorance.

It feels like too much for me to take on.

I will pad back and forth in my enclosure.

And pray.

Lord, help me to see.

Blather · collage

A Sunflower from Maggie

Sally12 Comments

In 2022, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston decommissioned this piece by Georgia O’Keeffe and sold it at auction to benefit acquisitions for the museum. However, it fell short of the $6-8 million estimate of what it would bring in, selling for a mere $4.8 million.

I heard on the news the other day that Manchester United, the soccer team, was for sale. The price was in the billions. $4.5 billion? $5 billion? $8 billion? I can’t fathom numbers that high.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the price of eggs.

Mimic the master attempt #2 — I tried to make a collage version of “A Sunflower from Maggie.”

This will not win a prize. Every time I try to collage I learn something from my frustrations.

  1. Glue stick is sticky, messy, and dries too quickly.
  2. Mod-Podge is sticky, messy, and makes the paper buckle and curl.
  3. Art requires infinite patience — and I’m sadly lacking.
  4. Art requires time — and I’m sadly lacking that too. I’m surrounded by far more important things I should be doing, but I’m stuck. So I cut up books. Sheesh.
  5. Prestigious artists earn their prestige. I doubt anyone just wakes up one morning and starts creating masterful art. It takes practice, time, patience, and maybe some Mod-Podge and glue sticks.

When I look at other collage-art, it’s very different from mine which makes me think I’m not doing it right.

But it’s mine.

And I like it.

Sometimes.

Blather · collage · Februllage

House, Home, Property

Sally7 Comments

In America the word “home” is a synonym for “house“; it is a traveling concept, one which you carry around with you — your home is wherever you happen to be living. One might speak of a “development of new homes” in America; in England, such a phrase would be nonsensical, because a house, in England, is merely a “house”; “home” is an altogether broader concept, implying rootedness and long residence.

Ruth Brandon, A Capitalist Romance (1977)

I guess I’m not as American as I thought.

My parents bought an old farm in 1967. At that point in my life, I had lived on four different army bases and I have memories from two of them. My roots, however, are here, on this piece of property.

And they are deep.

When I first heard the concept of “thin places” — that Celtic-Christian idea of physical locations where the distance between heaven and earth is barely perceptible — I immediately thought of this place, from the river to the crest of the hill, where I am rooted and from which I draw strength.

It goes beyond my parents’ property. It’s this community, the streets in this town, the shores of this lake. It’s the seasons here — the rain, the snow, the blaze of color in autumn, the long days of summer, the short days of winter. It’s the fog that covers the road some mornings. It’s the whitetail deer. It’s the peepers in spring.

I move away. I come back. I move away. I come back. I’m here to stay.

“I worry about you,” my sister said to me the other day, “all alone in that big house.”

No, no — don’t worry about me.

I’m home.

23 words · Blather · collage · Februllage

Shoes — Heart — Dream — Blather

Sally1 Comment

Saturday. Blatherday.

The Februllage prompt is SHOES. And I put a shoe — singular — in my collage. Fail.

The collage is way too busy. It reflects my mind and my life. Semi-chaotic.

But a girl can dream, right? I needed that little girl, looking ahead to something beautiful, to appear in my collage.

It’s been a hard week.

Honestly, I don’t even feel like blathering.

Let me focus on some positives.

  1. My daughter-in-law came to where I work and gave a presentation on silos. It was so good and so well-received. I wrote 23 words about it in a post called Letters of Introduction, but I forgot some of the letters that go after her name — CEO. She’s the CEO of the organization where she works. Those are pretty important letters — I can’t believe that I forgot them!
  2. Game Night — Last Sunday night we had a family game night via Zoom. Honestly, one of the good things that came out of this pandemic was on-line group games. Maybe they existed before the pandemic, but they’re more prolific now, right? Despite some technical issues, family members in St. Kitts, British Columbia, and various parts of New York were able to join in the fun.
  3. Cake — I’m such a sucker for cake. I heart cake. Yesterday at work, we had some drummed-up excuse for a staff get-together to improve morale. And there was cake. It may not have improved overall morale, but it WAS cake — chocolate cake with thick creamy vanilla frosting.

Next week — better blather.

Blather · Leaning In

Imperfection

Sally6 Comments

Here it is, another Saturday, another Stream of Consciousness writing prompt (perfection), another day when I allow myself to write more than 23 words — in other words, another day of blather.

I’ll admit that I’m one of those people who wants things to be perfect. Seriously, are there people who don’t? Doesn’t everyone like that feeling of having done something really well — in fact, so well that it falls into the realm of perfection. I mean, I get satisfaction from a perfectly folded towel, a perfectly baked cookie, a perfect question (you know one when you hear one), a perfect answer (easily recognized as well), a perfect evening spent with a friend.

Imperfection plagues me.

I read a poem by Brian Doyle earlier this week in which he talked about rejection. “Learn to be neighborly with no,” he said, and I thought, I need to learn to be neighborly with mistakes; specifically, MY mistakes.

Seriously, who wants mistakes as neighbors? Who wants to invite them in for a cup of coffee and a chat?

Blah.

It’s so much easier to show grace to others than ourselves.

Perfectionism is almost a cancer. Strike that — it IS a cancer.

But what’s the cure?

Leaning into imperfection.

God help me.