I found a tiny book (4 inches by 3 ½ inches) at my pharmacist’s. I love tiny books that can hide in a hand, a pocket or a purse. My library has many.
Sayings gathered by Talia Levy and Jax Berman, in Sloth Wisdom makes it one of the most enjoyable and refreshing books I’ve read in a long time. It was illustrated by Lindsay Dale; wonderful pictures of sloths.
DOGS DO NOT BELONG IN GROCERY STORES! OR, RESTAURANTS
This is a really (REALLY) long post. I just couldn’t make it smaller. Please bear with me. And, you need to know – it IS A RANT!
Today, at the Safeway on Downing and Evans, as I entered the store, a younger woman with a dog on a leash sailed through the door. Small dog. Not the size of the service dogs that I’m accustomed to seeing. When I got back to the pharmacy area, there she was. I said to her that she should not have the dog in the store because it is not a service dog. It is very small. It didn’t look as though it had been trained to do anything special for her. And, it had been barking at people.
Readers, I had planned another BLOG for this week, but then Life happened. Or, maybe, I should say, the inevitable happened. Or, more accurately, stupidity happened.
The good part is that I’ve actually started painting the year-long project of the front covers of the free-standing closets. That is good. But, there is a LOT of work to do before it is presentable. Then, as I said, stupidity (with a capital “S”) arrived.
You’ve heard from me that “once in a while, I do the right thing.” Something occurred, this week, that provoked me to think about some of those things that I’ve done and really think they were the right thing.
I receive lunch every weekday, Monday through Friday, from Meals on Wheels. Each day, a different driver delivers my meal. Usually, the driver for each day is the same person each week. A man (let’s call him JW) delivers my Thursday meals. Of course, being somewhat (somewhat??) loquacious, I talk with the persons kind enough to deliver my meals. Talking with JW was no different.
It turns out that JW is a writer. Or, at least, he has been a writer, but his life seems to have made him curtail his writing. He loved being a writer. When I heard that he had stopped writing, it was like waving a “red flag in front of a bull.” I began encouraging him to resume his writing – strongly encouraging him.
He assured me that he just didn’t have time. He had many things that interfered with taking time to write. Reason after reason. And, I kept saying he should take fifteen or fewer minutes a day. Still he didn’t have time. Ten minutes, then. Or, five. Still no time.
I pulled one of my blank thin, soft-cover books from my collection of these books waiting for writing and gave it to him. I told him I was giving him a red one so he could not lose it! And, I wrote a personal note to him on the first page with his name written on the front cover. Maybe, I thought, he would stumble over the book on a regular basis and write something.
That was months ago.
Every week, my first sentence to him was, “Have your written something?” Usually, his answer was that he had not. I know my weekly question was like badgering him, but I thought my question was kind enough; perhaps, it would be a stimulus for him to write. Then, I went to Seattle and Portland with my daughters, returning this past week.
Regular as clockwork, JW delivered my MOW meal on Thursday. Before I could ask him if he had started writing, he said, “I have something to show you.” With that, he pulled out the red book and handed it to me.
Opening it, if found several pages of writing. I asked him if he wanted me to read what he had written or if he wanted to read it to me. He chose to be the reader. Poetry. Many pages of poetry.
He spoke from his heart with deep meaning. He had poured out his heart. His fears. His tears. And, promised that he has more to say.
Once in a while, I do something right.
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are appreciated.
First. Rejoice with me. My poem for the newsletter of the Denver Gem and Mineral Guild (Tips and Chips), “Dog Days of Summer 2024,” was selected to be included in the Rocky Mountain Federation newsletter. It’s a rock club thing.
My BLOG has been out of commission for more than a week. So, today, now that it is up and running, again, I decided to send the BLOG that you would have received last week, Wednesday, September 4. As you will be able to tell, I’ve been on the West Coast for a short while. But, as Daughter #1 was driving us back from our trip to Seattle and Portland, I thought about these things. So, here goes …
Daughter #3 shared this story with me about her recent trip to Seattle for a mother/daughter trip. I thought you might enjoy the journey.
Years ago and for about twenty years, I was privileged to be a volunteer at Ghost Ranch in Northern New Mexico. You may remember, from earlier articles, that I worked with Pomona Hallenbeck, the watercolorist-in-residence. I went there so often taking her class that I became her “gopher.”
This week’s article will be very short. The past weekend, my path was to be in our local hospital. Apparently, nothing very serious, but I spent from Saturday at 4 am to Sunday noon with the health care specialists trying to figure out what was going on.
I have always loved autumn better than summer. If I put together a “hate” list, summer would probably be at the top. Winter is my favorite. But, autumn is usually very nice. We get the color. We get cooler weather. And, sometimes, it even snows. Make no mistake; Autumn is on its way.
I can remember a few heavy snows close to Labor Day. “Tree trimmers,” they were. The autumn change hadn’t had time to do its work. Leaves were still gracing the trees. Some late summer flowers were still blooming. So, the natural thing to happen when an early snow comes is that trees get trimmer and flowers die. This week, I’m giving you a poem written some time ago. And, not only does it encourage the autumn, it also talks about one of my favorite collections.
Rocks. I’ve loved rocks since I was a kid. My house is filled with rocks – well, not as many as there used to be – I’ve given some away. And, some (like the huge piece of amazonite that I had) have simply disappeared. It seems to have gone into Never-Never-Land.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Autumn Color
They come on quietly.
The colors.
Sometimes, the snow
brings them. Red. Yellow.
Orange. Purple.
Where green held
Forth in the summer.
Rock collectors don’t
Need to wait for fall
To see the many colors
Of Autumn. They can
Just take a look at their
Collections.
Amethyst
Fluorite
Rhodochrosite
Gold
Barite
Topaz
Wulfenite
Elbaite
Beryl
Copper
Dark, dark
Smoky quartz.
Green. Yellow.
Red. Orange.
Pick a color.
Any fall color.
It’s probably right
There in your
Collection.
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A very good friend has just had very serious surgery. She lives in Nebraska. And, the wind blows and blows in Nebraska. When she decided to leave her position at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, Larry was kind enough to help me move some of her possessions to our storage unit. Later, I was able to take them to Nebraska when she settled into her new home in Nebraska.
Ogallala, Nebraska, is home to a most enjoyable “rock” museum. The Petrified Wood and Art Gallery houses a terrific collection of petrified wood, as well as works of art.
The wind blows in Nebraska. It blows and blows and blows. Here is one of my older poems about wind and my love of rocks.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Wind and Rocks
Does the wind always
Blow in Nebraska?
Thursday – the wind blew.
Friday – the wind blew.
Saturday – the wind
Almost blew me
Off of the road!
Colorado’s Sand Dunes
Are sculpted by the wind
Against the mountains.
Nothing can stop the wind.
No mountains to slow it down.
No tall buildings
To change its direction.
No such obstacle
In Nebraska.
The wind just keeps
Blowing sand across
The prairie floor.
Blue agate
Nebraska’s State mineral
Can be found in Northwest
Nebraska.
But, not along
The Platte River.
The Platte
At Ogallala
Gives up
Petrified wood.
Did it wash down
From Colorado?
Twin brothers
The Kenfields
Donated their year’s old
Collection of petrified wood
To the town
“It must stay in Ogallala,”
they said.
Friends of the collection
Found a building
To keep the collection safe.
Petrified Wood & Art Gallery
Inside, not just cross sections
Of petrified tree trunks
In the collection;
Or chunks of petrified woods,
But 3-D structures.
Houses
Churches
Windmills
Wagons
All made from
Slender slabs of
Petrified woods.
Cut with their diamond saw
And fashioned piece by piece
Into the buildings and wagons.
I fell in love
With this tiny collection.
If I lived in Ogallala,
I’d become a docent
For the collection.
But, I can’t live in Ogallala.
The wind blows in Ogallala.
I don’t like wind!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are appreciated.
**Anyone interested in visiting the exceptionally wonderful museum in Ogallala, Nebraska, can see it there. It’s worth going.