Another week, another event, namely the Historic Yard Sale!

It was a singular event, held last Friday - postponed on Saturday due to rain/wind/lightning - attended by hundreds, with about twenty A-one helpers, from setters-up to takers-down, all energetic and happy to be together.  Many were old friends who hadn't been in contact for so many years they couldn't remember! The feeling of community and helping Carrie in her need continues on as the days pass. Even now people are volunteering their time for the next sale.   And to top it off, the proceeds were unheard of, $3500 to date, with more donations coming in!

Carrie has attempted to see if she could get the surgery done at UNM Medical Center;  their oral surgeon, who mainly handles trauma cases, can do the surgery, but informed us that he wouldn't be able to do the followup surgeries, so that put the cabosh on further aid there.  And frankly, she is relieved.  She is perfectly happy with and trusts Dr. Traub - they have a nice relationship, warm and respectful on both sides - and the date is set for August 18, which makes her feel stable, steady and relaxed,  She continues her good spirits, sometimes frustrated and afraid, but for the most part she is a stellar soul and everyone admires and loves her.

We are trying to concentrate on the happy things that life brings, mainly laughing a lot and making jokes whenever we can.  It's amazing how you can make light of difficult situations, but if we couldn't laugh, what would we do?  Also, Carrie has begun her gardening endeavors for the year.  While Cliff was here, we hired a tiller who came out and tilled the bejabers out of the back backyard, so it'll be easier this year to manuver out there.  Herbs, tomatoes, peppers, cukes, and lots of flowers are on the list so far.  It'll be nice; gardening is her passion.

Meanwhile, I have been encouraged to write more - I have been in a too familiar slump lately - so I am digging around in my past treasures to remember things; have emailed them to family and will see what I can come up with.

Weather here in Albuquerque in April is as unpredictable as it is everywhere these days: cold at night, sweater weather in the day, with wind coming up at night.  My kind of weather, but I'm afraid it'll change, like overnight, and we'll be sweating and nattering on about the heat!

We'll see!

New Addition

A cold nose on my ankle,

A quick lick and she's gone;

She's about her early business,

Before my coffee's done.

Tussling with a shaggy toy,

Or lunging at a spot,

Her imagination, joy, and energy

Bring laughs to all, a lot.

Didn't think I'd like a dog

Underfoot all day,

But she, of course, is not a dog,

As Carrie will often say.

She's a blessing, it is muttered,

While baskets shoes, and purses

Find their higher, quickly hidden,

And, much safer, perches!

Music of Spain

My heart is breaking tonight as I listen

To the music of Spain so profound

Evoking my passionate dreams

Of those mild summer nights unbound.

The music of Spain so profound:

The loud street noises and laughter below;

Late night moon high in the sky,

Gaily lit plaza, dusty all day,

Romantically dim as couples pass by.

Evoking my passionate dreams:

Small, strong coffee, rolls in the morning,

Cubes of brown sugar, marmalade and silver,

Late lunches, tapas at six, naps until nine,

Then the world comes alive, prepares to deliver.

One of those mild summer nights unbound:

Perspiring, clapping flamencos, feet tapping,

Fast fingers slapping against a guitar;

Seductive light, excitement, colors blending,

All caught in time, of those days so sublime.

Ed

Ed

Ed appeared at the back of our home one cold November morning in 1938.  He was a hobo riding the rails; had seen our house from a train while it slowed down to enter the rail yards in town.  Or maybe our place had been 'marked' by fellow hobos as a likely place of welcome.  Since it was cold, Mother invited him into the kitchen and while she prepared eggs, bacon, biscuits, and lots of black coffee, she and my uncle Paul heard his story.  They agreed to offer Ed room and board if he would help clean up the two side yards, do carpentry work, and cut and stack wood.  (Because our family had grown to include Mama and Papa, George F. and Paul, we had recently moved into an eight bedroom farmhouse in the country and needed help).  Ed was quietly grateful, a graceful attitude that he constantly held.

Not much for talking, he was happy to eat  his meals after everyone left for work in the morning, and after our dinner at night, preferring to be alone.  I remember his breakfasts mainly because I had never seen such a small person consume such large amounts of food!  Twelve pancakes were normal, or twelve French toasts, which suited Mother fine as they were economical for her to prepare.  After breakfast he would sit and read the newspaper, is left hand shading his eyes, whose eyeglass lenses made his dark eyes appear outrageously large for his face. 

Without his hat, his head was pale white with wisps of grey hair plastered in uneven stripes across his scalp.  His large, calloused hands seemed too rough to handle the newspaper, but to my surprise he could flip through the pages without even licking his fingers, which I could never do!

I remember that he was a small man, rather stooped; he was alert, clean, and very shy, anxious to get work done.  And work he did, fast and organized with no wasted motions.  He chopped and stacked wood for the fire place and put it within

easy reach of the back door; he cleared two side yards of a huge greenhouse, a dilapidated fence, and many years' worth of accumulated debris.  He was a good carpenter, building bookcases, repairing porches, installing a ramp for my grandmother.  As one of his many construction jobs, and at Mother's request, he secretly made me a baby carriage for my ninth Christmas (I believed in Santa Claus until I was 10!).  Out of an apple box, wheels made of plywood, dowel for handle, and all painted bright and shiny white and blue - it was my pride and joy!

And, he was able to enjoy my reaction on Christmas  morning as he joined us in opening presents, reveling in his new socks and work clothes, especially enjoying the sumptuous breakfast Mother made that day.

My 80-year old grandfather had suffered a stroke that year and was bedridden.  It fell to Paul and Ed to move him about, bathe him and see to his daily needs.  Ed and Papa became friends, speaking brokenly and quietly, usually when no one else was around.  As irascible as Papa would become, Ed was calmly patient and helpful, often after others had become frustrated and couldn't reach out to him. One morning Mother came out of Papa's bedroom to announce that Papa had gently passed on.  Ed quietly left the kitchen, went to his room, packed his meagre belongings, and left.  Mother happened to glance out the window, commenting that Ed was walking toward town with his bundle.  We  thought he would be back, and engrossed in funeral plans for Papa, we didn't notice until much later that he hadn't.  We waited for awhile, but he never reappeared.

I Remember the Feel of:

I remember the feel of the soft velvety smoothness of Honey's nose and my surprise when she crinkled her lips and its changed texture;

I remember the feel of roughness of the long straight rigid hairs in her ears;

I remember the feel of her stiff roached black mane clipped level by my scissors;

I remember the earthy smell of her lathered sweat after a hard ride;

I remember the feel of soapy water as I squeezed it through her short brown hair;

I remember the feel of her hair, left squeaky clean after I rinsed her off with cold 

water;

I remember the feel of the long hard muscle of her flank and its awesome potential power;

I remember the feel of the rippling veins that stood out on her belly as I ran my hands over them;

I remember the feel of her long mane, its coarse hairs that I braided while she patiently stood and waited;

I remember the feel of her friendship and snickering affection in response to my presence;

I remember the feeling of loss and despair as I watched her follow her new owner

down our dusty road and around the corner.  

Friendships

Friendships are like puzzles,

Each piece a big surprise.

Some edges in a friendship

Are rough, antagonize.

While other pieces, sure enough,

Are smooth, predictable,

Fit easily, and unite the part

That help make up the whole.

Some friendships are eternal, 

Stretch like rubber bands,

While others snap like crackers,

Crisply shatter in your hands.

Good friendships are like slippers,

Fuzzy, comfy, warm

Bu some of the best, I really feel,

Are those that are yet to come!

My Nights

Sleep slips through the night,

Silent and suspicious - 

She gently taps those she fancies

And slides beneath the drapes.

The clock ticks on into the dark.

Motors, unheard all day

Hum at a heightened pace,

And break the eerie silence of the house.

My sleepless eyes smart from tired reflections -

I hear ringing echoes in my ears  -

Words in books swim and run together;

I watch the dark corners of my room.

Will sleep grace me at all tonight,

Or will she wait 'til dawn,

Awaken her rested and peaceful chosen,

And spurn me once again?

11/06

Bilingual

Words tumble in my ears

All irregular and fuzzy;

It's hard to utter el ingles,

So what make el espanol so buzzy?

Both languages, it appears,

Are beautiful when spoken slowly;

But what is this cacophony

When each is garbled and made so lowly?

Cuerpo seems to mean a body,

While puerco is a pig, or dirty.

Maybe this is somehow similar

With words like heir and hair?

Meanwhile I do ponder

While I write poetry in English:

Will I ever get to wonder

In English, while I write in Spanish?

My Skin

My Skin

Yesterday, out of not-so-quiet desperation, I ordered all manner of unguents, salves, and balms from DHC, an on-line dispenser of comfort and support for the modern woman.  My face has become a 'before' picture of effects of desert wind, sun, and glare; it resembles a papier-mache puppet before it's been sanded and lacquered, peeling and shedding like a snake.  

The weather here in New Mexico is taking a toll on my 80-year old body, notably my face.  I have tried Oil of Olay, Eucerin sun block, assorted aloes and oils, but to no avail.  When Shannon recently visited us, she seemed to sense - perhaps by her first glance in my direction - that I needed help, so she broke out some samples of items she has used for several years, her glowing skin a testament of success, I'd say.  I have been assiduously applying her samples of pure olive oil, before and after creams, lathering them on morning, noon, and night.  My skin is soaking it up like a weathered board soaks up sealer; you can almost hear the sucking sound, and the feeling of satisfaction it emits!

My budget under Personal Care has sustained a terrible hit, stretched this month beyond its usual limit of a hair cut and nail fill once a month.  But IF I have to rationalize, I figure it's for a good cause, ME!