All the girls had something delicious to eat.
As I'm typing this, tricker treaters are coming sporadically to my front door. I'm always conflicted about Halloween - should I go elsewhere and not pass out candy? - or should I simply allow myself to enjoy the pleasures of the children?
The real reason for being conflicted is b/c my former husband Mike hated Halloween. Called the kids little beggars.
I remember one Halloween at Married Student Housing in Austin, TX, where I baked cookies for the kids.
At the time I could eat anything I wanted cuz I was nursing Sarah and weighed all of 98 lbs. Now I'm up to 142.
And can't eat a single piece of Halloween candy!
B/c Giant has flavorless coffee I stopped at my sister Donna's Starbux and got a cuppa decaf, plus I gave her a copy of the Times endorsement of Obama.
I spoke earlier today to my friend Ingrid, a lifelong Republican, to see if I could convince her to vote for Obama.
Carly is working on her wonderful story of "Nails," the roofer. She read about him in an obituary notice and is writing a fictional story about him.
She presented the rewrite of the story. We'd suggested she change his real name, which she did. The female character is named "Sam," and will indeed follow in Nails' footsteps and become a female roofer scampering across housetops.
Carly told an interesting story about when she and Charlie took an Alaskan cruise. In addition to seeing the huge glaciers, there were areas of greenery nearby.
Hummingbirds flew all the way up from Mexico to eat this food!
I see the milkweed flower at Pennypack Trust and know that it's the food that monarch butterflies need before their flight south for the winter.
But did you know that milkweed contains poisonous toxins? Everything in nature has a purpose, so by keeping away pesky insects, there's more food on the table for other critters.
The year 1492, she wrote, is considered the year when native plants began to be counted. She gave definitions of "native plants" which made me, the reader, privy to a golden world I'm not a part of.
Donna brought in a terrific poem about the hurricane which she named Hurricane Harriet. Absolutely b'ful imaginative descriptions of "leaves exiting the trees" and the "anxiety of the trees" as they awaited the inevitable.
A recent widow, Donna waited out the hurricane all by herself.
This should never happen. If something like this happens again, she wrote, "I won't stand alone."
Linda wrote a poem about a Bonfire! Her imagery, as always, was fantastic. She mentioned that at the Bonfire she's talking about, they usually offer hot chocolate and apple cider - what about S'mores, Linda! - around the crackling fire, and the folks at the table said, "Put that in your poem!"
So she will.
Okay, just got home from Scott's where we had our delicious weekend pizza. I brot my Halloween candy there and we gave it out.
Then I asked to be excused so I could finish up my blog.
I took the Halloween candy with me.
And, as we know, they've kept that motto for ages.
At first, I asked each child to take TWO types of candy. But now, I'm panicking that I won't get rid of it so I ask em to take three.
"Three, Mom!" said a little princess. "She's letting us take three."
Yeah, but they're small, kid.
My first tricker treater who asked to use the baffroom - luckily I had just flushed - and told him where it was upstairs - showed me a huge Reese's candy bar a neighbor had given him.
OMG, I just told a little kid, whose dad was taking photos, to take three, but he kept putting more and more into his little pumpkin container.
Don't you frigging know how to count, you little bugger, I screamed.
Of course I didn't say that, but his dad said to put em back. His little brother was sick, he said, so he was taking some for Steve.
Oh, that's fine!
Of all the nights.
Okay, it's 7:02 and of course I'm gonna check FB to see how Grace Catherine is making out.
Here's one of two poems I wrote. My Internet came on about 12:30. I wanted to look up the spelling of "pileated" but the Net wasn't working.
THE WIND AND THE RAIN
Musings on Hurricane Sandy, October 2012
All day we wait indoors
for the much-vaunted hurricane
Sandy, they call her,
a woman bent on revenge.
A peacemaker, I stroll outdoors
when the winds shake my little house
the birdbath is on the ground
American flag whirligig twirling off its stem
birds gone home in their feathered nests
stitched with endflaps from Marlboro Lights
My shirt, bearing embroidered leaves from the
Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania
feels ripped asunder
am I standing naked
under the frozen skies?
As I wander down the sidewalk
disoriented and humbled
trousers flagging in the gale-sized winds
I let the power of nature
trample me
I want to feel it
all of it
want to see what the beginning of time feels like
when we were nothing
when the pileated woodpecker
could suck no insects from my backyard maple
or the laptop typed no poetry from the unknown artist
and certainly
J S Bach had not yet hatched
to write for the harpsichord to
soothe ole man Goldberg to sleep.
I am here in the void
- howling! -
hail pelting my shivering cheeks
ears bursting from shock
body hurried senseless down the walk
Who have I become?
shall I lay me on the ground
and close my eyes in surrend
or shall I take refuge in the warm hut
we call a house
Ah, the luxury of defeat!
I am not brave enough to stay outdoors
and report on the big bang
I sink down on my new red couch
its cushions made from soybeans
and marvel that I'm still alive
that we were not chosen for extinction
as Sandy rolls on,
a simple girl knowing nothing
of the wonder of being alive.
FAREWELL ANNIE
How do I say goodbye to my best friend?
A woman who no longer accepts my phone calls from
her three-room bunker at Rydal Park
she's decided life is over
and refuses to try anymore
We worked together
writer and photographer
at Art Matters magazine
why is it I remember the editor's house
better than the nun's cell you now call home?
I cannot help but think of you every time I brew
my tea in the whistling teakettle you let me have
from your real home in Maple Glen
or eat my peanuts from the tiny green bowl
or the towels and the washcloths and the scarves
that reside in full glamorous color on my shelves
"Never" is a harsh word
but I will not call again
the accusations in your voice -
"You blogged about me!" -
"You'll never understand how horrible it is here" -
cut me open like a filleted hen
Postcards will have to do.
Pretty pictures I know you'll like
A Man-Ray photograph of boys diving into the sea
A Picasso sculpture of a woman pushing a baby carriage
These, dear Annie, will arrive in the mail
surrogate for the woman who still loves you
but will never see your high cheek bones and elegant attire
watch for my next one
stamped with the innocuous words
"Thinking of you."
I like the poem about Sandy and the changes you made since you sent it to me the other day. I really like the one about Annie and am, of course, interested in the back story to this one."You'll never understand how horrible it is here" -
ReplyDeletecut me open like a filleted hen". Great line and lots of feeling in this one that spoke to me too. Do tell me more!
A treat to read your poems!
thanks so much, iris!
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