Cotoneaster fruit after yesterday’s winter storm, the bush to the east of the garden shed. We got quite a lot of snow, here. March typically has more snowfall than February. Because it’s warmer, I think.
surface when the silent snow falls
Remembering my mother, who died a year ago this week. One of the poetry prompts for this week was “When I see my mother”; I am having difficulty writing a poem in response. Perhaps I could combine it with the prompt for the next day, “I am to blame”, and explore that in various aspects.
I still have the poster-sized photo montages (all 7, from Mother’s and Father’s memorial services) out in the front room, where I can see one or another. Oddly, that lessens feelings of loss. Provides a companionability and a lifting of the heart.
My mother, Rhoda Elleen Berry Wicker, died in the early evening, two days ago. It was two months after she went from home to emergency department by ambulance, after a fall, and then from hospital to nursing home, under the care of Hospice. I had the medical power of attorney, and Mother was not happy when my sister-in-law called me for the EMTs, to give them permission to transport her 25 miles to the nearest ER/hospital here in Fargo, where Al and I live. Not too much later, she no longer recognized me, but thought that I was her sister Alberta.
When she died, it had been some time since I had visited her room and found her awake, although I know she had interacted with staff throughout the past week. There was no marked decline noted by staff; she slipped away, just quit breathing. And nobody would have noticed…
The day was cold, dry and windy, although warmer and calmer than the day before. Most of the snow has melted away, and precipitation does not figure into the weather forecast before Wednesday.
I have bought a paper journal, after all these years. Now, to overcome the hesitation to fill the pages with less than brilliance, ending up with a book of pristine pages and my thoughts and poetry scattered in text files throughout six computers and blog posts on the Internet. Actually, I am finding that my skin sensitivities are lessening, and I think the archival-quality paper may not irritate my hands. I’ve also bought colored pens.
I enjoy writing. It’s okay to “ruin” good paper when playing with words and sketches. (And, no, I have no talent for drawing. Whatsoever!)
I have been out twice with the Scampers for flower photographs. The pollen count … is not so high today as is promised for Sunday. Got a shower in, last night, and hope to wash the dishes, today. Laundry’s caught up for a while.
Al is building soffits. The Scampers are fast asleep. I am behind by two assignments in Writing: Finding Everyday Inspiration. Again.
About .11″ of rain has fallen here since 11 o’clock in the morning. The temperature has been cold for this time of year. Of course, the Scampers and I were all barefoot when we went outside and got wet. At some point, the puppies came in and took a nap. Thaddeus curled up on the loveseat with his toy beaver, where they fell asleep.
The rain has caused postponement of the work that we were going to do on the backyard workshop. Not really good for wood putty, sanding, or painting. Instead, we went to the store to buy the items that were not available from the butcher’s or from our primary grocery. Also, we stopped at the nearer pharmacy for their store-brand eye lubricant and medical supplies. I was right to think that each chain-store pharmacy would have single dose packaging for eye lubricant (without preservatives). I even took time to put in a couple of miles on the exercise bike in the gazebo, while Al was vacuuming his workshop. Lots of woodchips and sawdust in there.
The blue wild flax flowers looked so sparkly, covered in mist and raindrops. I hate to see them go, come wintertime.
Speaking of which, here are some photoart pieces showing blue wild flax flowers in new-and-different colors:
I don’t know how we have reached the end of this month already! Today, we went shopping for meat, fish, and salad greens. Then Al started work again on the workshop, calling upon me sporadically to lift, steady and hold siding while he measured the boards for cutting and then trimmed and nailed them in place.
Yesterday, I got a couple loads of laundry washed. Still trying to make inroads into the dish-washing. The dogs are asleep on the sofa, right now, and looking so very peaceful. Charlie did find something inviting to roll around in, in the back yard, but I never did figure out what it was.
Just Rolling Around
What’s He Up To?
My current bed (recliner) is on its last breath of life, and I am still waffling on how I want to replace it. Al’s fell apart, last weekend, and so at the beginning of the week, we went shopping and found one that he likes. We’d thought to get mine at the same time, but I’m not feeling decisive, this week.
I did sign up for the 20-day Writing: Finding Everyday Inspiration course at WordPress. That’s at TheWrittenWord.net. Also, I have made private the posts at TheArtOfDisorder.net before the summer, mostly. I am hopeful that I will begin using that domain (another WP blog) for challenges and such. A lot of that blog revolved around trying to cope, and then getting organized, and then tracking my health, and such. I decided to put a lot of that aside for the time being, as far as topics go.
The pollen season is back in full force. Spring = tree pollen, Fall = ragweed (and nettles and sagebrush). I long for the first snowfall!
When I got outside, this morning, I took both cameras with me. The new one, also an Olympus (Tough T-4, with micro and ‘microscope’ settings), has a learning curve, but I am having fun experimenting with it. Fortunately, the last camera I got is still working pretty well. When I drop it (in the garden mud, a water puddle, &c.), it’s hard to get the lens cleaned off and everything wiped and dried. The Tough is better in that regard, and I don’t suspect that I will quit dropping things as time goes on.
May 1-5 is Spring Clean-up Week, and I am hoping that the large rummage sale at the duplex, three lots away, is in advance of that, rather than a weekly event. I dislike having cars parking and then moving on, again, with great frequency, from in front of our house. The Scampers go wild with barking, and my face mask does not help that much with exhaust/hot oil fumes. It is, however, fun to watch people on our block’s pick-up day, which will be this Tuesday, as they spot something interesting in one of the stacks and start looking through for similar items in deeper layers.
Only two more days to go in the National Poetry Writing Month exercise. I have two more to write, today’s and tomorrow’s. Technically, I did not write a new poem for each day. On a couple of days, I had a previous poem of mine that I posted instead. Something that fit the topic particularly well. One prompt was fitting in is hard to do. My favorite, however, was on Day 28, with the prompt ‘silence of falling snow’: “the lake in winter”.
I love the sound of rain spattering against my window in the middle of the night as the winds come up and then die away again as the storm moves on.
I loved the night when gale-force winds bent our old, tall poplar tree nearly to the ground as my husband and I (and the dogs) sat in the garden shed, plywood board across the open door acting as a splash board to protect us from the muddy rainwater raining on us from below. I loved the poplar, branches bending, flashing in and out of view as the lightning strikes revealed them to us.
I loved coming out from work at midnight to find a massive rainstorm…and standing beneath the column of water pouring through the pipes from the high rooftops of the commercial buildings all around me. The alley and streets nearly empty and myself screened by falling water.
I love swimming in lake, river or creek in the nighttime, on a whim, all alone. The sounds of the loons calling across the lake, the frogs singing on river banks or in the nearby slough.
I love the sound of water pouring over the small dam across the river, where, when the river’s running shallow, one can sit in a crevice hidden by the falling water and watch the lights from up above and across the fields. It seems as though one could breathe water, the mist from the splashing fall rising up again.
I love looking out of the airplane, visioning not cold and fragile, but soft, supportive clouds, and wishing to open the door and walk outside, the cumulus become a gigantic, billowing trampoline just for me.
I love standing along the road as evening turns to night, the sky high overcast, watching tall storm cells march across the fields and hilltops many miles away. The cloud-to-cloud lightning illuminates the cell in slices, and the clouds become grey backdrops for the dance of lightning bolts, the music too far away to be heard.