June 30, 2011

Homestead Dylan

Dylan’s songs let us in. They are his butler, impeccably dressed, astute, well versed in the bard’s wishes. Oddly, this butler lets anyone enter who rings the bell.

Please come in. Wipe your feet if you don’t mind; you may leave your coat and hat on the hook, madame, for you have no need of them here. We have a hearth, you understand. Do sit down. Oh, no, the master is not presently meeting with visitors, not personally, that is. But he wishes your comfort - yes, do have a look around. No, we ask that you not finger the tapestry for it is quite rare. Yes, this is the library. Kindly read anything you find here. The words, sir, inside the books. The bindings will only get you so far.

No, there is no television. The newspaper is just there, under the bird’s droppings. You would like to sketch the bird? By all means; your request is not uncommon. Yes, it is a rather splendid creature, I have to agree. Yes, yes, steel blue eyes to be sure. I, too, find them quite watchful. My but yes, he does sing, quite frequently. I have to say I like the sound of it, though I've been told it's an acquired taste.

The view? Most assuredly, it is among the bard's favorites. True again, the valley below is both deep and wide. I’m afraid I can’t tell you why the table stands empty by the edge of the sea.

Ah, good question, where are all the other visitors? The estate is vast, you see. As each of you ends up staying a long old time, we can’t have you stumbling all over each other, now can we? But you will most likely find and become quite fond of a guest or two. It happens that way. Dear madame, I do realize you wish to meet my employer, face to face. But you see, this is precisely why he employs me. To invite you in, make your stay enjoyable and answer your questions. I assure you I can answer all relevant questions about this place without troubling master for an interview. He’s a busy man and even you would be an interruption. Think of it, the time it would take from his work were he obliged to chat with each person who walks through the door.

What? Oh, very fine observation, sir. Why let you in if you aren’t allowed to get any closer than our feathered friend here and the weavings and this card game and the words, all these lovely words? I’ll tell you what, sit awhile, take your time. Chances are good you’ll figure things out for yourself.

Go ahead. You deal.

Image Rama Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 France

June 7, 2011

Summer time

Worn wood bleachers, shade and sun.
Camp kids, kickball, home run.
One girl slides in the dust and jumps up
announcing through gap tooth grin,
It didn't hurt. I'm OK!
Annie Oakley squint, outlaw braids
are OK too.
They dance, with her, back into the game.



Painting by Sophie Gengembre Anderson, Take the Fair Face of Woman, and Gently Suspending, With Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending, Thus Your Fairy is Made of Most Beautiful Things

June 1, 2011

Thoughts on a pretty day

It's a pretty day. Sun dry and not hot either. After swim workout, Micky decided, 'we should all go have a picnic lunch.' After which we all sped off to our non-picnic obligations.

I just got back from Europe. My sister, Pam, thought it would be great to spread the riches of those weeks over a year instead of spending our 'wow' time all in a heap.

Pam's idea and Mickey's echo the opportunities I squandered to sit and chat with my dear mother. When she lived, kids and work and musical ambitions vied for my attention. Kind of like a Europe trip - so much to absorb at once.

What if the universe conspired to let me spread that family richness out a bit. Pick up the phone on this pretty day and say, 'Hey, Mom, I've got some pretzels and rhubarb here - what've you got on hand? Want to go have a picnic?' I can picture myself tucking her into a folding chair and laying out the tablecloth.

With the question remaining, if I could do that today, would I? Or would I opt for the non-picnic obligations once again? For there will always be non-picnic options.

I did sit down to write this, in my tree house, with the birds and the breeze at my back. Maybe it's a start.

Photo credit Postdlf Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported