Tuesday, June 30, 2009

X is for Xanthophyl

Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday round 4 has wound its way down the alphabet to X. For contributing blogs click on link or banner.

anthophyl is the yellow carotenoid pigment in plants. The following photos showing the presence of xanthophyl should be credited to my daughter and her husband, Candace and Clinton Shock.

Flowering ipe shows off its xanthophyl
against a typically blue Brazilian sky.


Baby Myrtle enjoys the yellow field of flowers.
This is an old photo. Myrtle is now a 28-year-old archeologist
working in Brazil.

Well, this picture of a marigold is one
I actually took myself last summer
at my daughter's house in Ontario, Oregon

Friday, June 26, 2009

Teddy Bears' Bedtime

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is TOYS. Follow the link to other participating bloggers.

The truth is that I have too many toys around my house, which is to say, around the house of an almost 88 year woman! There are still a few teddy bears here and there, but except for Priscilla and HER doll in the below photo, the others are all dragons. My children and grandchildren all say that my favorite toys - at Christmas, birthdays, Easter - were most often stuffed toys. The verse below was written for the teddy bear lovers among my offspring.

The Teddy Bears' Bedtime
The clock hands say it's sleepy time
For little Teddy Bears,
So rub your furry little eyes
And toddle up the stairs.

Don't forget to brush your teeth —
But wait! Don't close your door!
You've left your boys and girls, again,
All scattered on the floor!

Take them up to bed with you,
Hug and hold them tight,
And they'll keep you warm and snuggly
Through the drowsy, dreamy night

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Well, That's the Way...

Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday round 4 has progressed to W. For other W responses, follow above link.

Well, That's the Way...
“The world has changed since yesterday.”
Don’t try to tell that to the jay
who, raucous, head cocked, shrills his need
for a feeder full of sunflower seed.
Not do the voices, filled with doom
stop sunlight filtering to this room
as light and shade play through the trees
stirred by an ocean scented breeze.

“The world has changed since yesterday.”
Well, yes, of course, that is the way
it’s always been. Earth shifts. Men die.
The seasons change. Storms cross the sky.
Dark hair sprouts new shafts of white
as age creeps on us in the night

This sadness, too, could go away...
It may...
It might...

I originally wrote the above (under the title The Day After) shortly after the fall of the New York's twin towers . Today I mean it personally. I also feel less and less possibility that the sadness of Otto's death will ever leave me, but time does go on from one day to the next, however one wills it. One of Otto's big concerns (which he was working to publicize) was climate change due to global warming and the urgency of doing something about it before it reached the point of no return. He wanted to show that solutions are currently available and proven. I intend to try to carry on his work, so don't be surprised if, in the future, you see a lot of pictures and diagrams re solar and wind power etc!

Friday, June 12, 2009

Silver Linings.

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "absurd", and there's nothing absurd about my life right now. Maybe I should label this "Not Absurd". Will that qualify this post (which was already posted once)? This first paragraph is just an addendum to my previous post, but I want to feel part of the Sunday Scribblings gang again.

I half promised to tell you (I added, "with indignation") about how Otto's accident happened. I've changed my mind about that. For one thing, the City of El Cerrito responded promptly to our request that their sunken patios be fenced to prevent another such terrible fall. Also I'm determined not to focus on Otto's death but on the full rich life I have shared with him.

This is a poem I wrote thirty years ago when we spent a large part of the summer at a conference on solar energy.

Otto lecturing on efficient motors

Otto was giving a lecture and demonstration; I admiring him. Before the lecture was over, I had written this verse:
(Trieste, 1979)
quick and silver.
Quick hands that sweep and gesture
following the quick mind
ideas that dart and dazzle
then drop like silver rain
to fill a pool of reason.
Silver hair whose wavy petals
lie against the nape and temple
crest like surf along the brow.
Quick face that glints and sparkles
in the light of his enthusiasms
or softens with compassion
for the suffering of others.
Quick to laughter.
Quick to joy in every living creature.
Quick hands that can:
spring to capture sunning lizards
adjust the timing of an engine
wield a wrench
gently hold a grandchild's trusting hand
or coax the sweet notes from his old guitar.

Guitar and violin and voice all sing
the voice more gold than silver
deep and resonant
at variance with his Pan quicksilver figure.
Gray eyes that see not just the fact
but the fact beyond the fact
voice passionate to proclaim it.
Curiosity and courage.
Quick in loving people, places:
ragged outcasts
redwoods, firs of Mendocino
scent of leaves
warmth of sunlight.

Careful not to hurt another
detecting like a silvered mirror
others' hopes and doubts and feelings.
Quick to recklessness when rushing
to do battle with oppression.

quick and silver
love inspiring.