Our siblings and cousins are checking in this afternoon, asking each other how the blizzard is treating them. Here in southern Indiana, we did not have snow in the forecast. Yet, yesterday and today, a few flakes managed to blow around. Very few. Connecticut and New York are getting hit hard, with heavy snow and high winds. True to form, Harry’s wife, Linda, good-naturedly grumbled about only getting a few inches in Maine. This doesn’t exactly meet the “historic proportions”…
Growing up, storytime with Mom wasn’t so much about princes and princesses. The theme was more witches, black cats, and cauldrons. Yet in 2005, as a grandmother of seven, she wrote about the princes who came to visit one day. The Suitors The princes came Somehow she stayed awakeenduring flattery and flufftheir mouths were coffersfull of father lips were tired of smilingof eyes of searchingnot one would she wishto rule beside her They left at lastshe walked into her garden…
I was really hoping to find out “turnabout is fair play” was coined by William Shakespeare. Alas, its earliest application may be lost to history, but Abraham Lincoln was an early user of the phrase, so we’ll keep it in play with today’s story. As you may recall, my father‘s entire life of home ownership was tortured by squirrels (see Nuts to you! from 2019). He and Mom loved to feed the birds in their many backyards, from Massachusetts to…
In addition to being a City Mouse / Country Mouse couple, Farmer Gary and I are also polar opposites when it comes to air temperature. “Is it cold in here?” I ask him from October to May. His reply is always a slight shrug and “it feels fine to me.” Well. The other day, I decided to press the issue. With my chilled foot hovering over a floor vent, I declared the air coming through was not in the least…
Yesterday morning, what may well have been a murmuration of starlings came racing through our back woods like a blinding blizzard. I just happened to be perched in my comfy chair in the sunroom, with a wide-eyed panoramic view of the squall. It was wild! Farmer Gary later explained to me the birds are rather frantic this time of year, looking for food and a bit of warmth. They flew in from the northwest and crowded in the tree branches…
She started at midnight one night 50 years ago. A twig poem. Two days later, Mom finished her series of twigs: Is “twig” a type of poem, just three or four lines long? I’ve looked online (deliberately ignoring that pesky AI) but haven’t found a twig genre. Sonnets and limericks and haiku, but not a mention of twigs. If anyone knows, please post a comment to educate me. Oh, and include which of Mom’s twigs is your favorite and I’ll…
There’s something very odd about pulling up stakes and moving away. Mom had never experienced this until she and Dad married. In 1973, we moved from Fairfield, Connecticut, to Carmel, Indiana. We’d only lived in Fairfield for three years and had spent many hours tending to gardens and other landscaping, as this was a brand-new house and yard. It was so nice of our Connecticut neighbor to stay in touch, especially with the news that those stubborn blueberry plants had…
We haven’t had a poem from Mom in far too long! Here’s one from 1999: Turning Pages What is the driver turning toparked with his back to the sea I have been singing and turning pagesof the Christmas carols our son played for the family Before we left to sing in Indianawe met a man on Meigs Point herea former soldier carrying his coffeetelling about his happy lifehis Christmas shopping during this vacationhe had turned a page Below Meigs Point…
“Wait! Stop! What’s that?” Comedian Bert Kreischer was riding shotgun in my vehicle. He was shouting with excitement. We’d finished up another day of shooting with the reality-show host and it was time to cool off and go home. But Bert was still revved up. Most of the television personalities I’d dealt with over the years as a publicity liaison turned to stone as soon as the cameras were off. Not Bert Kreischer. He kept chatting, chuckling, and hooting with…
When I pulled this short story from a stack of Mom’s college writings, I thought of my sister-in-law Linda. As Farmer Gary and I check out the weather forecast every morning and evening, we end with a quick scroll by the temperatures in family members’ towns (we’ve added Sainte-Croix and Toomebridge recently). As we reach my brother Harry and Linda’s town in Maine, often I cry out a warning: Uh-oh! When Maine is hotter and more humid than Indiana, it’s…