e.e. cummings

This is one of my favorites by e. e. cummings.

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

Wondering About

You could call me a country cousin type.  I have lived my life in rural areas - I'm talking back roads and dirt roads, horse pastures and deer running through the yard at night, having someone come in and clear-cut the forest behind the house, country.  I've never had the desire to live in town, but sometimes...

When I'm riding through a neighborhood that looks hometown, I wonder what it would be like to live there. 

There is a street in Aberdeen that sometimes feels like Sunday morning to me. That could be because you can hear the bells from the Methodist church on Main Street, and there is sometimes a quiet that has the reverence of a prayer. Other times, it has a just-after-the-fair atmosphere - all the pastels of cotton candy, folks walking their dogs or pushing their babies in strollers.  There's a busy hot dog stand on the corner that has a creek running behind it, and on weekends, they have live enterainment by the water.  A bed and breakfast is on the opposite side, and Christmas is always lit up and cheerful. It's a happy street. 

There is no point to this blog, except today, I passed through Aberdeen and was struck by how much I like that neighborhood.  I haven't captured it here by a long shot, but wanted to write it.  That's a good sign.

 

 

Do you remember...

How, when your kids were younger, when you went out in public and heard a plaintive "mommy!" your maternal radar kicked in, ears perked up and you were ready to do battle over your kid, or just knew a grocery store display had collapsed and buried him or her?

I thought those days were over, until today.  The phone rang.  I picked it up, and my son said, "Mom, what are you doing?"  I responded...just sitting here, what are you doing?  He said, "What's wrong?"   Well, nothing, is everything ok with you?

And then he said, "Wait.  Is this the Green residence?"  No...is this Dale?  He laughed and said he had the wrong number, and I told him, you sound just like my son, to which he replied, And you sound just like my Mom!

We had a nice little conversation and a good laugh.  I wished him luck in contacting his Mom.

Dang, he sure sounded like my kid.

Houses

In 1972, my grandmother died.  My father bought her house at auction, remodeled it, and we moved in.  It's a beautiful old house, two story brick.  It was my first home, because Mom and Dad lived with Grandma for a few years after they were married. 

I still remember how it was before it was remodeled.  There was a formal dining room with Grandma's elegant dining room suite, china cabinet and a buffet on which she kept houseplants because the light from the four windows was good for them.  There are French doors leading from there to the living room, which is large and airy and has a built-in ..i don't know what you would call it.  It's like a curio cabinet, but it stretches from two feet below the ceiling to the floor.  The kitchen was plain back then, with a little trolley cart beside the stove, a deep sink nobody used for dishes.  Those were done in white dish pans.  The upstairs is only two rooms, one large, one smaller, and the attic, which I've always been afraid to explore because as a child, I was told if I walked in I would fall through.  I guess that was to keep me out of there, but I doubt I'll ever go into it, anyway.

Last week, Mom and Dad announced they're moving into the house where Steve lived.  It would be better for them, they explained, because it's a little smaller and wouldn't be hard for Mom to get around in.  I can understand that...they deserve ease and happiness in the time they have left.  We all want that for them.  And yet, I was already missing the house where I'd spent such a large part of my life.  I can't imagine what it would be like not to be able to go there again.

Before their announcement, Dad had taken me to the side and explained to me that he doesn't want treatment this time.  He started telling me how he wanted his estate divided, and what he wanted me to have.  I was not prepared for that, but I stayed put for as long as I could because it was something he wanted and needed to say.  I made no comment.  It's not his possessions I want to hear about...I stayed for a while longer and made my escape.  The next evening, he sat me down again to talk to me.  He told me what he wanted me to have and what he wanted me to do with it.  He asked me what my plans were, and I told him I wanted to move back into the area, eventually.  That I planned to build a house on a little less than the fourteen acres I have now, because there's no way I would be able to take care of all of it on my own.  I told him that since it was almost paid off, my son could live in it and pay the taxes on it.  He seemed to approve.  As a matter of fact, he nodded his head a few times with that shrewd look that's still in his eyes...

And today, he asked me to move into his house when he moves out.  I guess I will.

 

I can't seem to get in journaling mode anymore..

But this recipe is TOO GOOD to keep to myself.  Some of you may already have it, since I'm usually the last person to find a good one, but here ya go.  Garlic bread!

1 can Grands or store brand equivalent biscuits
2 tablespoons margarine
3 cloves garlic, minced
garlic powder, to taste - I use a couple of teaspoons full
1/4 tsp basil
1/4 tsp oregano
2 cups shredded mozarella cheese (you can use less, if you want)

melt butter and pour into a pie plate or 2 quart rectangular pan.  Mince garlic and add to butter, sprinkle spices in.  Tear each biscuit into 4 pieces and arrange on top of butter mixture, top with the mozarella cheese and bake at 425 for 8-10 minutes or until cheese browns slightly.  after you remove from oven, invert on a plate or platter (you might want to loosen the cheesy edges with a knife, first), let cool slightly and serve with pizza sauce.

holy COW is that stuff good.