Oddments

In search of story


4 Comments

Connections: October 13.17

Economy of words

is not my strongest suit

I’m Irish, blather-minded,

an English major to boot.

But occasionally I’ll do it

say it all in just one word

here’s syllable to prove it

in a box of the absurd.

Packing up my years

forces me to see

in wording and in living

downsizing is the key.

 

 

Connections

 

 

Advertisements


4 Comments

Connections: September 15.17

I am so old

that I can remember

a time we decorated

only in December.

What were we thinking?

Why didn’t we see

the whole twelve months

celebratorially?

 

 

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives

and to the D.J. Berg sense of celebration.

Connections

 

 


2 Comments

Connections: September 9.17

Carousels, cupolas

hexagonal rooms

houses with frosting

universal heirlooms

fantasies, wishes

we want to hold on

to the horse and the magic

lest they one day be gone.

 

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Fernandina Beach (Florida) Gallery.

When I started to write this, I was not thinking of Irma, Harvey, Jose, Katia.

Now I am.

Connections

 


4 Comments

Connections: September 1.17

 

I took my own advice. Except instead of seeking out a shady park to watch kids, I went to my granddaughter’s junior-high tennis match.

I sat with her and her team. Granny on the bleachers! I got to tell them about how, back in the day, my friend Connie and I devised our own scoring system: the more bounces, the more points. (It worked for us.) That was their first look of wonder. Like at a museum.

I was overwhelmed by energy, smartphones, sketchbooks, never-ending chatter, good spirits, water bottles, and a desperate search for quarters for popcorn. And by the saintliness of good coaches.

I learned I can confound at least eight junior-high kids at one time by pronouncing it “Annie May” instead of “Anna May.” (“Yes, I know what anime is!” Grandma growled. “But who is Anna May?”) That was their second look of wonder.

I got to use one of my best retorts before an audience: “Well, YOU don’t know what pop-it beads were!” That gets her every time. Their third look of wonder.

In one of my former lives, I taught junior high, and, sitting there amid the cacophony and hormonal mayhem, I was reminded of why I loved that age. They are full of life and imagination and hilarity.

I don’t think my look was one of wonder but rather of gratitude.

There is hope. Lots of it.

 

Connections


2 Comments

Connections: August 22.17

A solar eclipse

box of family stuff

we have to admit

it’s never close enough.

We search for the clues

whether cosmic or cousin

and sigh with unanswered

questions by the dozen.

 

This is my dear friend Donna, visiting. She is the one who gave me the concept of Connections and who lives the concept. She is visiting family and old friends and acquired a box of family history along the way. Pure awe.

Connections

 


2 Comments

Connections: August 13.17

My family’s in the garden

the past grows ever green

my mom is in the phlox

most surely, though unseen

her dad in the tomatoes

my green-thumbed Grandpa Mauck

son of North Carolina

whose hills rolled in his talk

Grandma O’Hern in moss roses

her summer’s tried-and-true

her son, my dad, in marigold

(the only flower he knew!)

the dill for an unknown

its air a bit of mystery

but I know it figures somewhere

in my leafy family history

I don’t come (as they say) from money

I come more from dirt

so it’s good to feel them back

in horticultural concert.

 

 

 

Connections