Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: April 25.18

The tulips languish, sodden,

(those not by rabbit eaten)

jonquils merely leaf

cold-weary, winter-beaten.

A miser’s hand apportions

the flowering of this spring

there’s scant delight in the meadow

and nary a daffy-down-dilling.

But from windless cozy house

a trumpeting four-in-one

sings out to the colorless garden:

“I’ll show you how it’s done!”

It quadruple megaphones

“You can be like me, yay, verily!”

the concerted garden response

comes back somewhat raspberrily.

 

 

With thanks and apologies to Shakespeare.

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Connections: November 10.16

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAIf you are like me

(and of course you are)

your walk will become

irregular

you must follow the crunch

on the side of the paths

mimsy as borogoves

outgrabing the mome raths

because at the end of

arrows and slings

this is how

we make sense of things.

With apologies and thanks to Messrs. Carroll and Shakespeare.

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Connections: October 20

2014-11 - Vernon Hill - 70“Come and sit down!

Join us! Oh, do!

But don’t jostle and crowd —

you’ll spill our brew!

I mean tea.

It’s a lovely day

in our private vale

and we’d love to share

our pot of ale.

I mean tea.

Would you care for souffle

made with eggs from our hen?

It’s quite de rigueur

(eye of newt is so then).

How about curry?

Ragout? Chops?

And then a sip of

our homegrown hops.

I mean tea.

We’ve changed our brand,

updated our life.

We’re over and done

with the Thane of Fife.

But will we change our message?

No, we won’t:

doubt more what your eyes see

than what they don’t.”

So I joined them,

neither green-skinned nor cankered,

munching brie

and sipping from tankard.

I mean teacup.

It was delightful,

our repast en plein air,

and I hope to be so welcomed

next time I’m there.

Thanks once again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

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Hare pollution

Look — there! The monster maw! The original daily beast!

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What do you mean you can’t see him? He’s there just right of center. Surely you can’t miss those in-your-face ears sticking up in the middle of the clover patch. Again and again he starts my day taunting me with those ears. “Here I am!” he advertises, knowing full well his four feet can move a lot faster than my two.

Still can’t see him? How about a close-up?

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No, not the c-word! Cute does not apply! Voracious, yes. Destructive, yes. Pestilent, yes. Not cute.

Despite my bipedal disadvantage, I go out every morning, staggering under the weight of my coffee mug, bleary-eyed and bed-headed, determined to win possession of my own garden. My victories are transient.

This year there are three of them, one smaller than the other two. Papa, Mama and Junior? Chilling thought.

One was digging ferociously in the middle of the yard the other morning, stopping occasionally to shake the rain from his fur. Yes, digging in the gooey soaked Indiana clay. In the middle of my yard. Is Mama in a family way? Does she need a cozy nursery? NIMBY, rabbit!

I think I hear you, dear reader: You’re obsessing, Maureen! Get a grip! Of course I’m obsessing! Do you know how expensive plants are? Do you know that these four-legged bottomless pits eat their weight in ANYTHING every five minutes? Obsession is the only rational approach.

Aside from the expense, however, is the value of a garden. It means something. As my friend Will S. would say, he who steals my purse steals trash, but he who destroys my garden makes me poor indeed.

Farmer McGregor was not the villain.


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On being happy

My California brother sent me a link to a video, “Reading=Happy.” Music by Pherrell Williams. Dancing by librarians, Kiwanians, Rotarians, city council members, pizza delivery guys, Boys and Girls Club, youthful ballerinas, grade school kids. Its purpose: to benefit the Placentia library. Its spirit: infectious, intoxicating, toe-tapping, head-bouncing joie de vivre. Happiness is not an easy thing to define, but we know it when we see it. We know it when we feel it. Obviously readers are deliriously happy people.

What about writers, more specifically, WordPress writers? Even more specifically, WordPress writers with Vista and IE9? And what about the WordPress Happiness Engineers? How happy can they be?

I understand that it is my sorry lot to have Vista with IE9, that my medieval browser is being blamed for the problems uploading images. But why blame the browser? Everything worked smoothly until now. It seems to be something WordPress has done. What’s done cannot be undone? (Thanks, Will.)

WordPress voices exhort me to update my browser. But others warn me not to mess with Vista and IE9. What doth it profit a writer to upload images if she loseth a dozen other computer functions?

WordPress is for writers, yes? Technology is the pen, the tool, the means to an end. I envy the bloggers with technical skills and their dazzling presentations, but it’s the writing that matters. I don’t want to agonize over browsers and other imponderables. I want the “simple” and “easy” that WordPress promised.

My son is now inserting my photos in my posts from his computer. This works but imposing on him does not make me happy.

I cannot imagine the burden of being a Happiness Engineer. I wish each one well and the inspiration to return us to happier uploading. Soon. Please.