Friday, October 14, 2016

Bagging gold for the cold days to come

Bagging gold for the cold Days to come (last line of the poem "Neighbors in October" by David Baker.

Bagging gold for the cold days to come,
I picked up the leaf just fallen from the tree.
Like browned butter, but crisp,
it folded into my hand,
curling in the afternoon sun.

A day later, it is as delicate
as tissue paper and flutters on
a red book in my hallway
as I open the front door.

It will blow away someday,
fall on the floor and
crumble into dust.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Coyote SLim Part 2

Image from

It was late July in Tucson and the rains had petered out.  All the washes were dry.  The mesquite pods were cracked and empty.  The toads had dug their holes deep beneath the hot sun.  Even so, their skins were bubblin’.

SLim was wore down to ragged fur on bones. His summer wilyness was wearing as thin as his skin. He recalled one week in May when, tethered by a rope, a two-legged critter in short pants fed him juicy strips of fried meat. Back then, SLim had snoozed in the shade and lapped cool water from a pan.  Considering his present circumstances, a roped-up life seemed better than becoming another carcass.

Trouble was SLim didn’t know how to get caught again.  Definitely didn’t know how to get himself into the same comfortable quarters.  So, what to do?  Slim sniffed the air.  Caught a two-legged whiff from the smooth path above the wash. 

It was dusk with stars just beginning to poke out of the sky.  SLim had enough daylight to saunter up the gravel and get himself caught.  So up he went.  Tail draggin’ and brushin’ up on a small dust cloud. 

“Look, mama,” a tiny voice chirped.  “A doggie.”

“Sweetie, that’s not a doggie.  It’s a wild coyote.  He looks tired, doesn’t he?”

SLim liked the sound of the voices.  They tinkled with possibility.  He lowered his head and began to whimper.  Figured he’d benefit by taking it a notch higher and pretended to limp on his hind legs.

“Oh, mommy.  He’s hurt.”

“He might be.  Or he might be sick. We better steer clear and head back to the car.”

They turned away from SLim.  He whimpered again.  More loudly, sensing defeat at sunset.

Just then, a cowbird plopped itself in front of SLim, flapping its charcoal wings.

“Hey, SLim.  What are you up to?”

SLim sighed.  He knew Charlie well—a pal from better days when they shared occasional chats on a distant cow ranch. 

“Tryin’ to survive.  But it ain’t workin’ out too well today.”

“Oh….  I just found a spot in town where a few chickens are runnin’ around and there’s no wall.  Just a wire fence that wobbles in the wind.  Want to trail me for a quick dinner?”

Since things weren’t working out has SLim hoped, Charlie’s offer sounded sensible.  He nodded, trotting after Charlie who flew low until they got to the designated backyard.  Sure enough, quite a few chickens were peckin’ stubs of grass in a yard with a droopy fence.  SLim scrunched under the wire and pushed a small wedge into the loose dirt so he could break through.  After a small tussle, he caught a hen and finished her off.  The ruckus drew attention from an unexpected well-fed and muscled guard dog on the other side of the yard who came running with growls and grunts.  SLim scrambled under the fence with the guard dog coming in close, nipping SLim's tail.  SLim yelped as dust flew.

Charlie saw the whole thing and cheered for SLim’s escape.

“Good job, SLim.  You can still kick up a fuss and come out okay of the other end.”

Panting and licking his sore tail, SLim wasn’t so sure.

“This isn’t the life I want anymore, Charlie.  I’m looking to find me the two-legged critter in short pants who treated me pretty good for a week.”

“Oh, I know him,” Charlie crowed.  “If you want, I can get you to his place in a jiffy.”

“Well, let’s go then.  I need to be tended to for awhile.”

So, Charlie flew and SLim, followed, loping over rusty railroad tracks to find George--the boy who made SLim a pet for a week.

Monday, October 3, 2016

Introducing Vanessa

image from NYTimes T magazine, September 2016

Introducing Vanessa, chic gal on the streets of Chicago.  She plays the flute in the Chicago Symphony and has a loft apartment on Wabash.  Her favorite off-hours place to hang out is the public library--when she's not visiting vintage shops in the suburbs like Geneva and Elgin. She is going along with her boyfriend, Brad, and his Cubs fan base, but she's really more interested in "da Bears."  Yes, she once lived in NYC but she moved up to first chair in the Chicago Symphony at a random audition last spring and doubled her income, tripled her living space, and bought a used VW jetta.  Let's follow her on her adventures. She may even start traveling with the Symphony's off-season quartet to a concert hall near you.

Scene 1:  Yesterday, after a quick jog around Lake Michigan, Vanessa took a cab to her favorite cafe. (Parking is always a challenge at this little neighbhorhood spot, so sometimes it's best to leave the Jetta in the garage.)  She met up for dessert with her best friend, Linda, who plays clarinet in the Symphony.  Vanessa was meeting Linda's new beau, Charlie, for the first time.  And even the lush desserts weren't as sweet as Charlie (first impressions are important).

"Where's the match up for me?"  Vanessa thought as she finished off the last of the tiny desserts.

So her story continues....

Tell me what you what Vanessa to do, say, experience--let's build this story line together and have some fun!
(An experiment with social media and comedic creatives)

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Return to 3 words to help you do happy today

Healthy--Exercise for me is an everyday challenge.  But I'm lucky to live in a walkable neighborhood and evening/sunset walks on north Mountain Avenue can be a spectacular experience.  Last night we also were invited to say "hello" to a puppy, and were glad to see a new herd of cows in the UA Campus Farm field.  We've enjoyed the flock of sheep who mysteriously appear and disappear each day this past month.

Music--If I were near Atlanta, I would go to hear Dave Mathews, Bruce Springsteen and others at the "Many Rivers to Cross" music festival that Harry Belafonte is bringing together.  My dad loved Harry Belafonte's music and I am still inspired by his thoughtful, consistent political activism.  There's a super article about him in today's New York Times, on the Arts page.

Celebrating--Tomorrow is the first night for the Jewish High Holy Days.  We're doing our Rosh Hashanah dinner early tonight because our son has a rare Saturday off from his chef job.  Mark and I are making two dishes from a previous NYTimes Food article on the food from Umbria, Italy.  I am adding a midwestern apple crisp recipe from a friend, topped off with Haagan Daas ice cream--my Jewish mother-in-law's favorite brand.  I love the Jewish holidays of Passover and New year and am grateful to have had many years at Lila's table with her friends (most of them also gone) and family who now are stretched across the continent.  So, we celebrate today, in its unique beauty and
start tomorrow anew.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Sweetwater Haiku

Sweetwater scenes on
Sunday morning: ducks,
trees, fallen leaves on pond.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

Hula and Happiness

Almost a month ago, I had my first (but hopefully, not my last) hula lesson at the Royal Lahaina, Maui, Hawaii.  My hula teacher, Sharise Dudoit #mauihulawahini, has been performing since the age of 12.  She still looks that young to me, but she is mom to three, performing, teaching and giving the gift of happiness through hula.  Here is the short video she captured on my phone after we had rehearsed the dance for about 20 minutes. Before that, she gave me by tea leaf lei, which I still have in my office, and showed me how to make my rosette out of plumeria blossoms.  I learned more than how to dance the hula that day--I also learned how important Nature and its elements connect to the dance--and, most importantly, I made a new friend.  Mahalo (thank you), Sharise.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Sunday Starbucks poem

Success (an erasure poem based on a Sunday Sports story from the NY Times)

A little more than three years ago,
The man
Told her the future.

The man seemed
An unlikely clairvoyant.
His predictions
Distinctly outlandish:
A romantic rise,
A cash-filled corporate push.

On Sunday:
The future,
Exactly as predicted,

Has arrived.