tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56265990730734590432024-03-06T12:02:59.608-08:00Granny SmithGranny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.comBlogger326125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-4922322874885335502013-06-16T09:52:00.002-07:002013-06-16T10:43:44.715-07:00WHAT A TREAT!<img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSGabO_9IVK96_UttfDJlH4cLx20so8JpG6n7fTgkiHwpblfcr4" data-sz="f" name="0ItG1d5r90y-eM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSGabO_9IVK96_UttfDJlH4cLx20so8JpG6n7fTgkiHwpblfcr4" style="height: 180px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; width: 222px;" /><br />
<br />
Years ago I had a small squirrel monkey as a pet. I had first fallen in love with him in a dark corner at the back of the basement of Kresge's store where they had kept their pet section. It not the sort of goods that made up the bulk of their inventory.<br />
<br />
I had grown up on the stories and pictures that my father's years of exploration in South America. And a favorite story had been of a squirrel monkey that joined him on a raft on one of the tributaries of the Amazon. When my father died unexpectedly a few days before Christmas, my teen-aged children pooled their meager savings and bought me Bobinho (Portuguese for "Little clown) as a Christmas gift to ease my mourning.<br />
<br />
I was determined to be a good monkey mother. I bought him his favorite foods. He loved bananas and peanuts, as did I, but research led me to believe that he would savor a treat that was also good for his health: meal worms! The books were right! Given a choice of foods, the meal worms won his enthusiastic favor evey time. Fortunately they were available at a local bird store.<br />
<br />
And what does a good mother do? She tastes her child's food, of course! I'll admit that I put it off for quite a while, but finally I picked up a squirmy worm and bit into it. That stopped the squirming.<br />
<br />
How can I describe it? It was a bit chewy, but my surprised taste buds were immediately seduced by its flavor. No wonder Bobinho liked it best! It tasted like the best meat tenderloin marinated in a sauce of fragrant tropical fruits, sweet and spicy!<br />
<br />
Next, I hurried to the bathroom, spit it into the toilet, then brushed my teeth thoroughly. There are some things that even good monkey mothers can't bring themselves to swallow!Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-45036972579557688682013-05-26T14:42:00.000-07:002013-05-26T15:18:20.961-07:00IF I COULD<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s1600/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s200/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The prompt is "luscious</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ol></ol>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">IF I COULD</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I would live on words</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">would chew grainy words like <i>pumpernickel, </i>lick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">slick words that slide against the tongue</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and melt like <i>lilikoi </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">luscious Hawaiian ice-upon-a-stick.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nor would I live on food words only</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">but feast on all the savory</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">flavored dictionary</span> <span style="font-size: large;">words</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the meaty ones like <i>buxom </i>and <i>contemplate </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">seasoned with peppery sprinkles</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of <i>quip</i> and <i>tipple </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and I would nibble the edges</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of flat round cookies</span> <span style="font-size: large;">of <i>extrapolate, reforestation</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and tickle my palette with perfumed words:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Aldebaran, oriental, satin.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I would open my Webster's Unabridged</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and grow fat on <i>specious, unadulterated, irresolute.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Never, never would I grow hungry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I would give thanks to the great god Gutenberg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and lay me down to sleep</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">after I sip a soothing drink brewed from</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>soporific, subliminal, </i>and <i>seraphim</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and I will dream of books and libraries</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">burgeoning with sustenance.<i> </i> </span>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-44279466575726447752013-05-05T11:14:00.002-07:002013-05-05T11:24:54.543-07:00Fuzzy Memory<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s1600/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s200/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">The</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">p</span>rompt</span><b> </b><br />
is<br />
<u>fuzzy</u><br />
<b> </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b> FUZZY MEMORY</b><br />
<b>(WHY I WAS NOT A CONTESTANT </b><br />
<b> ON JEOPARDY</b>)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> My mind has a million niches for</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> odd bits of soteric lore.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> It's not the storage that I lack</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> but just means to fish them back! </span>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-72692837139545404102013-03-31T14:18:00.002-07:002013-03-31T14:18:33.856-07:00SPRING<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "seasoned".</span></span></i><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">SPRING</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Spring</span> <span style="font-size: large;">flutters in, fabulous flirt,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And flicks the last snows from her skirt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Released from storms' prison,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Our garden hopes risen,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We neighbors are sharing the dirt.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>I wrote this this week for Mad Kane<span style="font-size: small;">'s Limerick off.</span></i></span> </span><br />
<br />Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-82843826101802235712013-03-31T13:58:00.004-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.188-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-10540851157825419022013-03-31T13:55:00.005-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.138-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-69552229213423956912013-03-31T13:55:00.003-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.176-07:00<h2>
<i>The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "SEASONED". This was written this last week on Mad Kane's Limerick-Off</i></h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">S<span style="font-size: large;">P<span style="font-size: large;">RING</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Spring flutters in, fabulous flirt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And flicks the last snow from her skirt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now freed from storms' prison,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Our garden hopes risen,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We neighbors are sharing the dirt.</span>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-85512555510554865732013-03-16T14:08:00.000-07:002013-03-16T14:08:30.651-07:00TIME TRAVELERS<br />
<i>The prompt for for Sunday</i> <i>Scribblings is "It's Out There"</i><br />
<br />
TIME TRAVELERS<br />
We sought this day in many a tale<br />
of rocket trail to alien world.<br />
We bridged the rifts of space to sail<br />
to far star-studded galaxies<br />
with chair-bound ease.<br />
<br />
The future beckoned. Now, instead,<br />
it looms, hard headlined fact. Our world<br />
grows strange. We step with grudging tread<br />
into a mapless land and cold.<br />
Too soon<br />
Too old.Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-55825975484745130832013-03-02T15:31:00.002-08:002013-03-02T15:31:49.781-08:00Ford's Theater<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s1600/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4nlbJGyPCja5BNYZl3qzd-9WucLdJJab5R6DhCyp6a0f1D4gd5ZB1FQR-9JjwZX7CUWgbGewKCmWECRMxEXnmPhfzgZNLtE6-x1AebqURo0pXSwsMBdwYM3HMVMRC6Km6D1_fo3VfwZG/s200/Sunday+Scribblings.jpg" width="200" /></a>The prompt for Sunday Scribblings is MOMENT <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
MARY LINCOLN AT FORD'S THEATER<br />
<br />
She sat there, loving, petulant, unwise,<br />by him whose giant shadow through the age<br />
would cast its knobby shape on history's page.<br />She smoothed her gown, her modish beaded prize<br />and leaned against him, but demurred aloud,<br />"What will they think?" "Why nothing," he replied.<br />
Sad prisoner of herself, her boundaries set<br />
at margins of her days, yet her command<br />
could compass his great heart, whose unreined power<br />
had freed the burdened slave; he brooded yet<br />
over the bleeding rift that cleft his land.<br />
Her plump ringed hand held his a final hour.<br />
<i> Phyllis Sterling Smith</i>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-39630052221599670552013-02-24T13:51:00.000-08:002013-02-24T13:51:29.173-08:00GHOSTS WALK - A 1913 NEWSREEL<br />
On my old TV sets, ghosta walk.<br />
In pantomime the Kaiser shakes a hand<br />
in double time, with silent talk.<br />
He greets a royal visitor; they stand<br />
in sunshine of a day long past<br />
then, bobbing, jerk across my haunted screen<br />
quick-step, as though to end at last<br />
An infinitely re-enacted scene.Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-65287971064764012852013-02-17T13:00:00.000-08:002013-02-17T13:00:07.587-08:00SABBATICAL -- TICKET TO FLY<span style="font-size: small;">SABBATICAL - <i>a memory</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Predawn gray creeps in the empty room.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Book shelves lie bare, waiting for renters' books;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">gone are the family photographs, mementos<span style="font-size: small;">,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">locked away in the crowded basement room.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our personalities obliterated,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">familiar window<span style="font-size: small;">s</span>, <span style="font-size: small;">co</span>rners grow strange.<br />Suitcase forms emerge in growing light</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">next to the travelling clothes hung on a chair.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even the mattress lacks its sheets and spread;</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">we sleep like displaced persons, refugees,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">ready to roll our sleeping bags and go.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Only a scent remains (our aura?) to hint</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">that we use garlic, lavender and wax.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And am I sad to leave? No, I am ready,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">my mind <span style="font-size: small;">o</span>utdistancing </span>the throbbing plane,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">my skin anticipating balmy air,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">my nose - dark coffee, pungent herbs, ripe fruits.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last night I dreamed in Portuguese. </span> </span><br />
<br />
<i>My husband, Dr. Otto. J. M. Smith was professor at </i><br />
<i>U. C. Berkeley, and our sabbatical leaves took us to</i><br />
<i>many countries, but Brazil was one that we returned to</i><br />
<i>again and again, and whose language I had studied</i><br />
<i>and knew well. </i>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-54537161552517652932013-02-10T13:28:00.001-08:002013-02-10T13:28:39.559-08:00FERRIS WHEEL<span style="font-size: large;"> FERRIS WHEEL</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On the rim of the golden coin we spun</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">fiefly lit for our soaring flight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For a frozen tick of time we hung</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">at the crest of the turning disk of light,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">upturned faces lost below,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">above us space and stars and night</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By day <span style="font-size: large;">we see that cables snake</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">through trampled grass to girdered wheel,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">its motor black with furry grease,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">its garish paint begun to peel</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Popsicle wrappers and popcorn bags</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">blow fitfully through bolted steel.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">We should see truth by <span style="font-size: large;">sunlight. Still</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> the night</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> and space</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> and stars</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> were real. </span> </span> </span> </span>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-77662197920287853662013-02-03T15:56:00.000-08:002013-02-03T15:56:19.208-08:00IMMUNITY for Sunday Scribblings<span style="font-size: large;">I am not immune to the sudden stab of grief that won't go away when I think of Otto</span>. <span style="font-size: large;">And yet there is an added grief to which I am</span> <span style="font-size: large;">not immune. I wrote it best in an old poem wri<span style="font-size: large;">tt</span>en years ago for someone <span style="font-size: large;">for someone else.<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here is the poem:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> N<span style="font-size: large;">OW I GRIEVE</span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">No</span>w I grieve for the passing of my grief.</span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Intending to be constant in my sorrow</span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I fe<span style="font-size: large;">d my eyes on hollow air where you were not,</span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I fed my ears on silence of your voice</span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">and winter joined to celebrate your absence;</span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">hills misted with remoteness and no green thing intruded.</span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I willed my sorrowing to last forever<span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">But now my foolish heart forgets to mourn.</span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Warm air says wild plum is blossoming,</span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">bricks press their s<span style="font-size: large;">u</span>n-warmed bricks against my palm,</span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">pale green leaf buds bead the lacy branches,</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">and frail new insects try transparent wings.</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I grieve that these small things can ease my sorrow</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">for when it goes we will be doubly parted. </span> </span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> </span> </span></i> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-58325373313151558312012-12-05T15:39:00.000-08:002012-12-05T15:39:11.023-08:00New ResolutionAfter hearing about the tragic fire in Bangladesh, which took the lives of more than a hundred innocent girls, and having it traced to by (to me) reliable evidence that it can be traced to Walmart's customary attempts to pretend that their clothes are not made in sweatshops where young women work for as low as $2.40 per MONTH, I have resolved not to ever buy clothes again from any catalog, where almost every wearable item is marked (by U.S. law) "imported". The singular one not so designated is not worth my time to look for it!Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-19734827571391101122012-09-02T11:29:00.001-07:002012-09-02T12:33:00.789-07:00Redwood Lullaby for Sunday Scribblings<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Oak tree and redwood tree,<br />
Madrona and pine<br />
Sing,"Close your eyes and sleep<br />
Baby of mine."<br />
<br />
Mother bird on her nest,<br />
Beasts of the wild<br />
Sing, "Close you eyes and rest,<br />
Sleep, little child."<br />
<br />
Someday my child will go<br />
Far from the trees<br />
No longer hear the low<br />
Whispering breeze.<br />
<br />
But while you choose to stay<br />
The forest's strong arm,<br />
Will guard you night and day<br />
keep you from harm.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oak tree and redwood tree,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Madrona and pine</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sing, "Linger close to me<br />
Baby of mine!"</div>
Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-82374641170236652342012-08-05T16:21:00.003-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.184-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-68369454885752155682012-08-05T16:21:00.001-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.171-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-4110450184043687202012-08-05T16:09:00.001-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.153-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-85045983604914178002012-08-05T16:06:00.000-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.191-07:00Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-14899634010763667312012-08-05T16:04:00.004-07:002012-08-05T16:19:57.732-07:00WISE OLD OWL<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Sunday Prompt is <span style="color: red;">Wise Old Owl</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">No, I'm not a wise old owl. I think perhaps no one is really wise. Certainly I do not feel wise at all. But there are many things that I "give a hoot" about. Also several that I <u>don't</u><i> </i>give a hoot about. I'll list them first (because its easier).</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 1. Celebrity gossip.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 2. Most celebrities. I usually do not even know</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> their names, unless they're authors.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 3. T.V. shows. (I got rid of my T.V.). </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">Things that I <u>do</u> give a hoot about:</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 1. Good books, good writing, good art.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 2. Music! Folk to symphonies and everything between</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> (but especially Mozart's 20th and 22nd Piano</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> Concertos). </span> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"> <span style="color: black;">3. The welfare of those I love.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 4.The politics of my city, state, and nation.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 5. Peace for the world.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 6. Global warming (Climate change) and trying to</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> convince the nay-sayers that is real and a threat to</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> everyone on earth.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> 7. Last, the frivolous stuff: pretty nail polish, bright</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> clothes, making a good impression. That ID photo of</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> me on my blog was taken five years when I had </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> more hair and fewer wrinkles. </span> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></span></span> Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-224533129887005722012-08-05T15:27:00.002-07:002013-06-16T09:53:24.149-07:00WISE OLD OWL<br />
The Sunday Scribblings prompt is<i> Wise Old Owl.</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-70220884109148493152012-07-29T15:59:00.001-07:002012-07-29T15:59:28.195-07:00TRAVELING THE DISTANCE<br />
<pre class="western">I THOUGHT THE WORLD WAS MINE
I thought the world was mine.
I thought that I could swim in any ocean.
Clouds below were my familiar landscape.
How could I know that wings that carried me
would be landlocked, horizons shrink and borders close forever?
Generals
Presidents
Oil executives
I object!
It's my life that you circumscribe.
I miss my world!
Your oil is running short; so too my years
and I am bitter with thwarted expectations.
I know that somewhere children starve.
Their eyes rebuke my selfishness.
But oh! I want my steaming jungles, jangle
of unknown tongues, smells of roasting coffee,
lights of a city never seen before that mark
a thousand homes in each of which
I live a lifetime
for a moment.
Phyllis Sterling Smith </pre>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-15192323192009519202012-07-25T13:25:00.000-07:002012-07-25T13:30:07.391-07:00Under My Eaves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfvQOBu7do3CHSnnTD-mDhgnZ81XWTnTMuSC0Kuo9hic0h7vuIW88CBOgzmP1V5ydbl6wWwywMJWLgcDxkl6JnDoKofHbTQZzWL-LhGTWS8eTy8soCZmdQSPgXyqUQnS2mOdBsV1z-0Z5/s1600/rose+under+eave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfvQOBu7do3CHSnnTD-mDhgnZ81XWTnTMuSC0Kuo9hic0h7vuIW88CBOgzmP1V5ydbl6wWwywMJWLgcDxkl6JnDoKofHbTQZzWL-LhGTWS8eTy8soCZmdQSPgXyqUQnS2mOdBsV1z-0Z5/s320/rose+under+eave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A delightful surprise</div>Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-66465935662440219482012-07-15T11:18:00.000-07:002012-07-15T11:20:02.038-07:00IF I COULD...If I could I would live on words.<br />
I would chew grainy words like <i>pumpernickel, </i> lick<br />
slick words that slip against the tongue<br />
and melt like <i>lilikoi</i><br />
(luscious Hawaaian ice-upon--a-stick).<br />
Nor would I live on food words only<br />
but feast on all the savory<br />
flavored dictionary words<br />
the meaty ones like <i>buxom</i> and <i>contemplate</i><br />
seasoned with peppery sprinkles<br />
of <i>quip</i> and <i>apple</i><br />
and I would nibble the edges<br />
of flat round cookies of <i>extrapolate, reforestation</i><br />
and tickle my palate with perfumed words:<br />
<i>Aldebaran, oriental, satin.</i><br />
<br />
I would open Webster's unabridged<br />
and grow fat on <i>specious, unadulterated, irresolution.</i><br />
Never never would I grow hungry.<br />
<br />
I would give thanks to the great god Gutenberg<br />
and lay me down to sleep<br />
after I sip a soothing drink brewed from<br />
<i>soporific, subliminal,</i>and <i>seraphim</i><br />
and I will dream of books and libraries<br />
burgeoning with sustenance.<br />
<br />
<br />Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5626599073073459043.post-45128074873174366802012-07-11T13:49:00.001-07:002012-07-11T13:56:27.295-07:00<br />
Dreams and memories (Part One)<br />
<br />
At times I lie awake at night following a stream of consciousness that has me partly remembering and partly experiencing random moments from the past. Last night I encountered something from my very early past when my family first moved to Stockton, CA, from Santa Cruz where Daddy had been in partnership at the Beach City Cleaners with my mother's twin brother who now had other plans. Daddy was delighted to get a job at Fiberboard Products Company, a paper processing plant. He was started at the lowest job level, although in retrospect I think they may have been cognizant of his physics degree with thoughts of its future usefulness to them.<br />
<br />
In Santa Cruz I had entered at the usual age of six, but due to crowded schools and the fairly high degree of intelligence I still give myself credit for, I was skipped all the way to grade 3 before we moved, when I was still less than 7. This was later to become a misery to me when the Stockton school year started. But that was in the future that summer when we moved to Stockton.<br />
<br />
Daddy was being paid the low starting salary of his new position, so we were poor by almost anyone's standards. We rented a tiny house (called by neighbors, “ The Cracker Jack house”, as we later learned. It was the worst-built house on a street that had extremely modest homes occupied by their owners. It had two nice features, however, - a peach tree and an apricot tree covered with luscious fruits. So each hot summer evening, Mama would pack a picnic supper and Junior and me into the car and drive us to meet Daddy. But there was a catch to this. A railroad track ran into the plant and along it traveled trains carrying sometimes hundreds of cars. We had to stop on the wrong side of them and wait – and wait. Why couldn't Daddy just step across? Because the crossing was manned by a guard, employed by FBP and he wouldn't allow it. So we sat in our hot car and sweltered, bathed in ineffable stink of a paper-processing plant.<br />
<br />
But finally – FINALLY – the train would pass and we would drive to the slough (pronounced by us to rhyme with through) and unpack our baloney sandwiches and peaches or apricots, find a tree to sit under to eat. Junior and I never had a hint that there was any hardship in our parents' lives. It was cooler by the water. We must have fished. It was never high on our family's list of pleasures, but I think someone must have done so because I remember that we had fried catfish the next day, heavily breaded and fried in bacon fat. <br />
<br />
Our little house was wonderful in other ways that summer. Our street (was it Monterey Street?) dead-ended at the other at a boulevard that led from downtown to a park. Across that boulevard stretched a great area of undeveloped grassland,and that was where the circus pitched their large tent and the many smaller ones for side shows that lined their midway. Early-arriving circus workers had mowed the tall grass to a lawn-like length. But one thing they could not do, and that was to connect to a water line that did not exist. The circus set up in all its colorful wonder. The nearest water was at the end of our block that was farthest from the circus. So every day the elephants paraded past our yard, a very large number of elephants, to be bathed and to slake their thirst. I don't remember any other animal being brought to our hydrant, but I guess a horse or a dog or even a tiger would have their attendants carry to them buckets of water. And we weren't interested in men.<br />Granny Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18214748856516412924noreply@blogger.com4