Just dandy....

(the quotes in the photo attri. to Henry Ward Beecher)

He survived the long cold winter.... pushing up from the ground.... in search of his love, the sun...

(why are dandelions "he"?  i don't know... go ask the bee...)

(oh wait, the bee has yet to see, the dandelion we call "he")

(where is the bee, you're asking me?)

(hiding in the bark of a tree)

(waiting for the warm, warm sun to shine her face on everyone)

(and that is why we call him "he", because "he" loves "her" devotedly)

And that is my rhyme about the first dandy of the year.

Have you found your first dandy yet?

Have a beautiful weekend!

The boy... and egg...

 

Boy and Egg

Every few minutes, he wants

to march the trail of flattened rye grass

back to the house of muttering

hens. He too could make

a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh

it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it

to his ear while the other children

laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,

so little yet, too forgetful in games,

ready to cry if the ball brushed him,

riveted to the secret of birds

caught up inside his fist,

not ready to give it over

to the refrigerator

or the rest of the day.

 

~by  Naomi Shihab Nye~

When I first read this poem (in Reader's Digest of all places) I fell instantly in love...

...perfect description of Walter.... 

...perfect egg...

...perfect poem.... 

(near as I can tell)

Have a wonderful weekend!

You are a rose...

"A flower unplucked is but left to the falling,
And nothing is gained by not gathering roses."

(from "Asking for Roses" 1915)

As you may know... I have a great fondness for roses.... and also for Robert Frost's poetry...

...some of his poems have gotten me through many a tough patch ...
 

The Rose Family by Robert Frost

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose--
But were always a rose. 

...yes, I'm quite sure you are a rose....

Thank you for being a rose in my garden....

{linking up with Mary at Mosaic Monday and Lisa at Macro Monday today}

For Each New Morning....

Today I am feeling thankful. I don't know why I have such a thankful heart -- because the tax preparation olympics have begun, and as I experience the agony of defeat against the blasted accounting program, I am usually in a notably foul mood.
For this heart of thankfulness -- I am thankful.

Thankful for this old dog of mine, who may be experiencing some of her last days on this earth. Dear Maggie, keep fighting -- spring is coming -- your favorite time of the year.

Thankful for Reid who is growing into such a sensitive and kind big brother -- you are a wonderful helper and son. Thankful for Walter, my little monkey, who just happens to LOVE bananas and who just happens to tell me on an almost hourly basis,
"I wuv you, Mom."

I am thankful for the sun coming up earlier in the morning
-- it makes such a difference in my morning mood and energy.

Thankful for Wyatt who has an especially compassionate heart for his little sister. He is always scheming up ways to make life lively and fun (and he also just happens to be so ready for kindergarten-- I am proud of you!)

Thankful for this little girl who loves to talk on the phone (already!) and loves to pomade her hair with syrup. Syrup does a great job of defining curls or matting curls depending on the moment.

Thankful for this black cat who likes to sit in the kitchen window and bask in the sun as he longingly looks inside (sorry Grizz but I cannot abide cat spray in the house)

Thankful for a husband, father, hard-working man that loves his children (young and old-er) -- and loves his wife even when she is in a foultaxpreparationmood.

And last, but definitely not least -- my Winter Jasmine that is just beginning to bloom.
A real treat this time of year.

It really helps me to think of the many things for which I have to be thankful. So, on Thursdays I will be occasionally posting things I am thankful for. This poem about sums it up:

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Valentine's Verse

You've roped my heart and tied it fast,
There is no escaping your twine.
Willingly I stay, tied to you,
My lassoed heart timed to thine.

Our red-headed gang circling round,
One buckarina and three buckaroos;
Together we'll ride, our family sure
All knotted together by your lasso.

Happy Valentine's Day to you and yours.

Palouse Fog

A couple of days ago, the fog crept in so quickly and engulfed our little place. It seems eerie when this happens --totally surrounded in dense, moist whiteness. When I am surrounded in fog I always, ALWAYS think of this poem by Carl Sandburg. Do you know it?

The Fog

THE fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

But since we have no harbor or city here, I adapted his poem to fit our little place. I probably won't win any Pulitzer or anything, but it fits better.

Palouse Fog

The fog creeps in
on padded cat feet.

It crouches looking
over valley and flat
on silent haunches it stays
and slowly, grudgingly creeps on.

The One Less Traveled By

There was a time when I was obsessed with Robert Frost poems. One summer, when I was taking a whole year of organic chemistry (3 full quarters in about 8 weeks -- ugh!), I memorized a half-dozen of his poems. Why? Who knows? Maybe I needed just one more thing to memorize that summer. I rather suspect that memorizing his poems are the only thing that kept me sane. Funny thing, I still remember those poems (mostly), but I don't remember 98.8% of the organic chemistry I had to memorize. This is probably my most favorite poem of his. It is an old and comforting friend.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Let's Go Fly a Kite

With tuppence for paper and strings,
you can have your own set of wings.
With your feet on the ground,
you're a bird in flight!
With your fist holding tight,
to the string of your kite!

Let's go fly a kite

Up to the highest height
Let's go fly a kite
And send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let's go fly a kite!

When you send it flying up there,
all at once your lighter than air!
You can dance on the breeze,
over 'ouses and trees!
With your fist 'olding tight,
to the string your kite!

Let's go fly a kite

Up to the highest height
Let's go fly a kite
And send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let's go fly a kite!

A Camp Poem

Nursing my baby by the campfire light,
A thousand crickets sing a lullaby.
The stars peek through the leafy canopy,
While the waxing moon glides across the sky.

Sleeping on a bed in a thirty foot RV,
Camping will never be the same.
The AC on in the afternoon heat,
Pioneer women would think me pretty lame.

Seeming endless hours of baiting hooks,

The poor worms stuck through twice.
Sun beats down on fish crazed boys,
Me wishing for sweet tea with ice.

Rattlesnakes, crawdads, and hornets,
What wonderful joys for three boys.
Who love to camp and love to fish,
And love to make so much noise.

Swimming, biking, and building sand castles,

Waiting for dusk to build a cowchip campfire.
Roasting marshmallows and cinnamon rolls,

Camping builds dreams that inspire.

Ode to Strawberries

Sweet, juicy, enticing.
First fruits from the garden.
Bowl of berries plump and hearted.
Fruit of love.
Fruit of the gods.
We feast on your sweet goodness.

Your season is but fleeting.
White blossoms fade to red.
Crimson bellies capped in green.
Thank the Maker.
Thank the picker.
We savor tiny seeds forever.

Remembering

In Our Hearts

We thought of you with love today.
But that is nothing new.
We thought about you yesterday.
And days before that too.
We think of you in silence.
We often speak your name.
Now all we have is memories.
And your picture in a frame.
Your memory is our keepsake.
With which we'll never part.
God has you in his keeping.
We have you in our heart..

(author unknown)

Boys, Boys, and More Boys

Blessed Are the Pure in Heart

Blessed are the pure in heart.
So often we are told
Of saints whose names and daily deeds
Inscribed in books of gold
Are certain to be seeing God
In well-rewarding joy -
But when I see the pure in heart
I see a little boy.

He shins up trees and barks his knees,
Has lizards in a box;
He loves to read of dinosaurs,
Collects bright-colored rocks.
His grubby hands are gentle
On the coats of dogs and birds,
And he has a quiet wisdom in naivety of words.
I listen to his little prayers
At night with quiet joy -
And when I hear the pure in heart
I hear a little boy.

He hasn't reached the age as yet
To question and to doubt;
He gravely takes his mother's words,
And that's what life's about.
Each day is gold, a shining thing
Without a wrong alloy -
And when I hold the pure in heart
I hold a little boy.

(Gwen Belson Taylor - from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul © 1998)

Sticky fingers, dirty face,
Rugs and pillows out of place,

Cars and tractors here and there,
Blocks and boats everywhere,

Gold and silver have I none,
But worth a million is my son.

My Pigeon

A Cradle Song

I kiss you and kiss you,
My pigeon, my own;
Ah, how I shall miss you
When you are grown.
-W.B. Yeats