Blather · Life

About My Week

Sally6 Comments

Following up on a few recent posts —

First, the fawn. It most definitely is the time of year for fawns around here.

One of my co-workers has three doe-fawn pairs that frequent her yard. She has actually named them all. “Do you feed them?” I asked, marveling that she could recognize and differentiate these deer.

She admitted that she did. “I cut up apples for them,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

I thought about suggesting that she just put in some hosta. That seems to work at attracting them to my house. Honestly, I wish it didn’t.

But there is something delightful about those spindly-legged fawns.

The other day I was driving down the road and I saw a doe slowly walking across the street. I slowed right down. One deer usually means more deer.

A fawn leaped out behind her, skittered part way across, saw me and turned back. I was now at a complete stop.

I waited.

The doe waited on the other side.

He jumped out in the road again, but indecisiveness took over, and, again, skittered back to the side where he had started. I got my phone out to try to capture some of the drama.

Mama Doe took a little action. She ran back to her fawn, but he was heading into the road AGAIN. She leaped over him, down the gully, and was gone.

After a moment’s thought, he joined her.

I thought, Learn to be decisive. Indecision is literally going to kill you, my friend.

Second, lifeguarding. I’m still riding a bit of a high from passing the lifeguarding class.

I was talking to the Aquatics Director one day last week, and I said, “I may not be the strongest guard out there, but I will never hesitate to take action.”

I know this about myself. I think it’s generally a good ability. I don’t foolishly jump in, but I can pretty quickly come up with an emergency plan and implement it.

Case in point (not lifeguarding related) — yesterday morning, a member came out to the front desk to report a bat in the women’s locker room.

It wasn’t flying around; it was simply hanging out on outside of the door to the sauna, a warm abode.

Two staff women were already in the women’s locker room trying to clear the area so a male custodian could come in and solve the problem.

I asked for, and got, a container and a piece of cardboard. I took the container and placed it over the bat, trapping it inside. I opened the sauna door so I had access to both sides of the door. Then, I placed the cardboard on one, slide the container along the other side, and trapped the little bat inside. I carried it out and handed the container with the bat trapped inside to a custodian and off he went.

Problem solved.

Third, I’ve been paying attention to the birds on the wire.

Since the post the other day, and my abysmal attempt to snap my own photograph, I’ve been paying more attention.

Last night, I saw two mourning doves above me on the telephone wires.

Yes, wires plural.

One sat on one wire, the other perched on the parallel wire.

One was looking off into the field, the other looking at the back of its partner’s head.

I know I shouldn’t read too much into this. They are just some birds on a wire, after all. Still, it made me sad — because this is the state of too many human relationships. A gulf between. Looking in the same direction but not at the same thing.

And that’s about it.

This week I also cut some peonies and put them in my room,

and I snapped a shot of some roadside daisies.

Beauty abounds this time of year.

This stream-of-consciousness writing began with Linda Hill’s prompt “starts with ab-” and took a meandering route through some ab- words, mostly “about”.

poetry

On a Wire

Sally32 Comments

Five, six, seven on a wire
Whether to fly or stay, sway
With the breeze, watching the hawk
Soar and stalk mice on the brae

New word I learned this week: ekphrasis. It means “a literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art.”

The W3 prompt for this week was to write 1) an ekphrastic poem of no more than 15 lines inspired by the photo above, and 2) include the word “wire”.

I chose to have another go at the Awdl Gywydd form, a Welsh form with internal rhymes.

Then I tried to take my own photo of birds on a wire. Some days I see so many. Today, I spotted a lone red-winged blackbird.

Alzheimer's · dementia · poetry

Remember That Dress?

Sally6 Comments

My memory’s Rolodex spilled on the floor;
Once neatly categorized, now no more,
Like that drawer full of photographs dumped in the bin.
I’m so glad you rescued it. Now where to begin?

Did we live in this green house before the old farm?
Oh! There’s Grandma’s quilt — the one that was warm!
Remember this outfit? Remember that day
When you took Johnnie fishing and they all got away?

Look! Uncle Charlie! Where does he live now?
He’s been gone five years?! I’d forgotten somehow.
What about his fancy red car in this shot?
Of course I remember! You think I forgot?!

But who is this tall man holding a lad?
No! That’s NOT my son. You are quite mad.
My son’s in the backyard building a fort
Or playing soccer — he does love that sport

Oh, please help me sort these. I can’t do it alone.
Most of these faces are people we’ve known.
My memory’s slipping. Okay — it’s a mess!
But look at this photo! Remember that dress?

This is in response to Sadje’s “What Do You See” prompt. #Whatdoyousee

She posted the photo above, and this was the poem that grew out of it.

Blather · swimming

Saturday Blather on Lifeguarding

Sally15 Comments

The bruises are finally clearing up on my arms.

Last week if I had had to go to the Emergency Room for some unrelated something, I’m sure the staff would have taken one look at my arms and wondered if I was being abused. A few forearm bruises and major bruising on both upper arms from encounters with a rescue tube, a rescue board, and a backboard — all inflicted by teenagers uncomfortably grabbing hold of my arms to “rescue” me.

I was equally uncomfortable being the sixty-something year old taking a class with kids who could be my own kids or grandkids.

But I had set my sight on the goal, and doggone if I wasn’t going to achieve it.

The first week was awful. See last week’s post — A Full Week — which I probably should have called, “Whose Dumb Idea Was This?”

The second week was bad in a different way. On Monday, a man came in that I’ve been trying to talk into giving a talk for our seniors. I kind of want him to take me seriously, but there I was, taking a class with a 15 year old and a young 20-something.

And I was struggling.

Seriously, whose dumb idea was this?

On Tuesday, he came in again to swim. Dang.

And a few other people I knew. Dang again.

There’s literally no place to hide in a swimming pool.

I suppose I could just sink to the bottom, but then my classmates would be compelled to rescue me. Oh wait — I did that. That’s how I got bruised. (It was part of the class.)

The third night was the waterfront module and the class size went from three to ten — all teenagers except for the one twenty-something. And me.

I could feel the lap swimmers staring at me.

Ugh.

Yesterday, one of those lap swimmers came into my office with a membership question. He stared at me.

And stared.

How do you spell uncomfortable? B-E-I-N-G-S-T-A-R-E-D-A-T

Finally, he said, “Were you in the lifeguarding class the other night?”

“Um, yes,” I replied. “I was the old person.”

“That is such an inspiration,” he said. “It is good for the young people to see that.”

Whew. I felt slightly better.

Here’s the thing, though. I’ve taking the lifeguarding class a bunch of times. There are two times I am especially proud of my accomplishment: the first and the last.

The first time I took lifeguarding was 1978 at Syracuse University. I was a scrawny 115 lbs of nothing. The instructor was Doris Soladay, a tall lean woman with a confidence I wished I had.

In the intervening 45 years since I took that class, I have thought about her often.

Lifeguarding has changed. We no longer do the hair-carry. Rescue tubes were invented and became a required piece of equipment. Gloves — non-latex, or course — became required PPE along with the rescue mask. Yes, we used to do mouth-to-mouth literally mouth-to-mouth. Now there are bag-valve masks and AEDS. It has changed.

In 1978, for the final rescue scenarios, Doris Soladay paired us up with another student. She paired me with a football player. He was at least twice my weight and had no neck. I pulled her aside and asked that she pair me with someone a little closer to my size. I’ll never forget her answer.

“If you can rescue him, you can rescue anyone.”

She knew that I needed to build that confidence even more than the knowledge of how to rescue. Knowledge comes easy. Confidence, not so much.

I rescued him. I passed. And I was incredibly proud of myself.

The other night, when I passed again, I felt almost as proud.

And I whispered a little thank-you to Doris Soladay.

The bruises on my arms are badges of honor that will fade, but my sense of accomplishment will not.

Life · poetry

The Fawn

Sally19 Comments

I looked out and saw a fawn
On the lawn fleeing the road
Toothpick legs receiving weight
Then airborne! Smol greatness flowed

This is a Welsh poetic form: Awdl Gywydd. I liked it because it called for internal rhymes — but, good golly, it was hard! I have to say that I’m not happy with the poem, but I tried.

For the We’ave (W3) challenge, we were to “Write about the first wild creature that you see which inspires you on the day you write your poem.” #30DaysWild

Yesterday, I set out to watch for a wild creature. Almost daily, I see deer on my way to work — but, of course, this was not one of those days. It was rainy-ish, so everyone was staying in, I guess — even the squirrels!

After work, as usual, I fell asleep in the chair in the living room. The trials and tribulations of being old, you know. Suddenly, I was awakened by my daughter in the neighboring chair crying out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

I jumped up to see what she was looking at and barely caught a glimpse of a tiny fawn racing across the lawn. Where its mama was, I have no idea.

But I can still see those spindly little legs stretching forward, catching the body weight, and then stretching out again as the rear legs caught up. In the midst of each cycle, that little body was airborne.

Sidenote on the word “smol” — one of my kids uses this, and I thought it was just a misspelling. It turns out that it’s a word — it is internet slang for cutesy smallness, like puppies and kittens and, for my sake, fawns.

poetry

Hitchhiking

Sally11 Comments

Okay — here’s the challenge I’m trying today. It’s called “What Do You See?” The question is, does this picture inspire you to write something. I wrote a poem.

Yo, buddy, can you give me a lift?
It seems the whole world’s gone adrift

Rusted cars kinda wrecked off the road
I’m worried this whole place will explode

So, buddy, shoot that ray thing o’er here
You know, just make me – *POOF* – disappear

I’m game for wherever you’re going
Half the fun is the really not knowing

Blather · Life

A Full Week

Sally15 Comments

I’m not sure when I’ve had such a full week.

For those who don’t know my schedule — which hopefully is the vast majority of you because it would be kind of creepy if you did know — on most days, I start work at 5 AM. Yes, you read that right — 5 AM.

Since I NEED to start my day with reading, I get up between 3:30 and 3:45 AM. I journal. I read. I sit and sip my coffee. Then it’s rush-rush-rush to go to work.

Honestly, I don’t mind that schedule. In fact, I pretty much LOVE that schedule. I love the early morning people — like me — that I get to see when they arrive to work out at the gym where I work.

Like an idiot, however, I signed up to take a lifeguarding class. A class that went from 5 – 9 PM Monday through Wednesday this past week and next.

“Whose dumb idea was this?” I asked myself more than once.

“Oh yeah, mine,” I answered myself.

So — up at 3:30, to bed at 9:30 (at best) and repeat X3.

The first night of lifeguarding class, two of the six students failed the swim test.

The second night of lifeguarding class, I excused myself at one point to go cry in the locker room. The class was physically taxing on me. If you added up the ages of the other students in the class, I still had ten years on them. I didn’t cry though. I just pulled myself together and pushed through.

By the third night I was finally in the groove and class went well.

Then it was Thursday. On Thursday night, one of my sons was arriving with his wife for a short visit. I had offered them my newly created guest room.

Of course, because they were my first guests, I still had a lot to do in the room. I mean, A LOT to do.

I’m living in the house in which I grew up. It contains all my parents’ stuff. It contains grandparent stuff from both sides of the family. It contains stuff from my brother who predeceased my parents. It contains a lot of MY stuff, my kids’ stuff. So basically, there is stuff and more stuff in this house.

The new guest room still had a lot of stuff in it. It still HAS a lot of stuff in it. Putting clean sheets on the bed and cleaning the bathroom was the easy part of getting the room ready. Dealing with the stuff was … umm… not so much.

I kept working away at it, afraid to sit down because I was afraid I would fall asleep because I was still tired from lifeguarding class. Finally, it was 7 or 7:30 and I couldn’t bear it anymore. I called it good, and went to bed.

Friday was a blur. Work and going for a walk with my visiting son are the two things that stand out.

The last thing I filled — and actually I mean OVERfilled — was my week.

Will next week be better? I don’t know. I’ve got three more days of lifeguarding class. Whose dumb idea was that?

This is in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: the last thing you filled.

Uncategorized

Japanese Knotweed

Sally17 Comments

Reynoutria Japonica, you’re cruel –
Hand-pulling up your stem, I miss the root.
I think I need to find a better tool

Hey, dandelion digger — maybe you’ll
Dig deeper in the soil… Ah, shoot!
Reynoutria Japonica, you’re cruel!

A trowel – yes – and sitting on my stool
Still doesn’t do the job. There’s no dispute –
I think I need to find a better tool.

The things they never teach us while in school
That even shovels fail to execute —
Reynoutria Japonica, you’re cruel.

Get the backhoe! Fill it up with fuel!
Destroy the entire garden in pursuit!
I think I need to find a better tool.

No — I’ll study you and find what makes you cool.
Whoa! You fight plaque? And gingivitis to boot?!
Reynoutria Japonica, you rule!
I think I finally found my better tool.

This is such a work of fiction and not even a true villanelle. (I didn’t verbatim repeat lines A and B in the final couplet.)

Let it be said that I hate Japanese knotweed whose scientific name is Reynoutria Japonica. I do yearly battle with it and never win. I don’t even feel like I make any progress.

I do believe that leaning in and looking for positives is the best way to deal with difficult situations.

But I still hate Japanese knotweed. But, trust me — I’m not going to use knotweed to fight gingivitis. I would much rather give Oral B my money.

This is my submission for this week’s W3 prompt: Write: A) a sonnet, OR: B) a villanelle on the theme of: an animal, plant, or object, describing its qualities or what can be learned from it.

Blather

1901

Sally5 Comments

On my way to work this morning, I heard a story on the radio about an incandescent light bulb that was lit in 1901 and is still burning.

A photo of the Centennial Light Bulb pendant light in Livermore, California. This photo was taken in 2016.

In 1901, my maternal grandmother was 5 years old. My paternal grandfather hadn’t been born, and wouldn’t be for another 2 years.

However, here’s something contemporaneous with that 1901 light bulb: Walt Disney was born.

Can’t you picture a cartoon light bulb appearing over Walt Disney’s head time and time and time and time again over the course of his life as he had one idea after another? I think that light bulb would look remarkably like this light bulb that was born the same time he was.

poetry

Over the Town (a poem for two voices)

Sally11 Comments

Come fly with me!

(a leery look)

Come fly with me!

(nose in book)

Come fly with me!

(a heavy sigh)

We’ll go up high
And see the town from the sky!

I’m dubious.

I’ll keep you safe,

I’m dubious.

My darling waif.

I’m dubious.

Come now! Make haste!

Your hope is quite displaced.
My feet on earth are firmly based.

We’re going up!

I’m not a bird!

We’re going up!

This is absurd!

We’re going up!

Cannot look down.

Oh! Look around!
You’ll see our lovely little town.

Oh me! Oh my!

Look at the trees!

Oh me! Oh my!

Feel that breeze!

Oh me! Oh my!

It’s charming, yes?
And you would never guess!

I was blinded by my stress.

This is in response to this week’s W3 prompt — a choice of two Marc Chagall paintings for inspiration. Initially I was going to use the other painting — The Big Wheel — and try to write something about my trip to Paris in 2017, but I kept going back to the other painting, Over the Town, which I ultimately used.

I’ve never written a poem in two voices before. I wanted to tell a story. This is what came out.