Succinctly Yours Week 204: The OTHER Thinker

Thank you to Grandma’s Goulash for hosting Succinctly Yours, a delightful meme in which we are invited to copy Grandma’s compelling photo and come up with a story of 140 words or 140 characters or fewer to accompany it. The bonus word this week was “xenogamy.” Way to challenge us, Grandma! I confess I had to look that one up. I hope I’m using it properly…or that I’m at least close.

Thoughtful zookeepers gave Puddin’ the Silverback a nice big stick to keep his brain stimulated. He liked to lean on it while contemplating the xenogamy of zoo plants. 139

It was spring, and Daisy had the birds and the bees on her mind. Unfortunately, the only pollinating on Puddin’s mind was xenogamy…and not monogamy. 124

Remember, happiness doesn't depend on who you are or what you have; it depends solely on what you think. ~Dale Carnegie

Stop and Smile at the Roses

He was probably in his seventies when he moved into the house on the corner. I passed by every day, so I watched the way he dug into his south-facing front yard and planted roses—lots and lots of roses. He joined the garden club for a time and was the resident rose expert, shyly answering our questions.

He was quiet, but if you asked and listened, he’d tell. A WWII vet, he said. Casablanca. What a shock that had been to a boy like him, he once told me.

He was almost always out there, tending his roses. We both did the farmer-wave when I drove past. Those roses were pouty pinup beauties in every lipstick shade imaginable, kissing every season but the most cold. Every fall I’d watch to see how he gently tucked them in for winter. Every spring I watched to see how he coaxed them out again. They brightened so many drives for a good twenty years.

 I never once saw his wife, but he had one. When I heard she died, I sent him a sympathy note and mentioned in it how much I enjoyed his roses. I ran into him at the gas station shortly after that, and his voice broke when he thanked me.

He never slowed down and he never seemed to age. He only seemed to shrink, as if age had to diminish him that way because he simply refused to weaken.

Then one day I saw some slow-moving people in his yard. Younger people. Funny how you can see grief in a person’s movements from half a block away. I knew then that it was too late and I’d already missed the funeral. They dug up the roses and left only lawn where the For Sale sign went. It broke my heart. Now it’s a normal house again. No—not normal. To me it will always be missing something.

I still look for those roses. Of all the things that man accomplished in his long life, some were great gifts for me. He planted the ideas that it’s never too late to create bright spots in peoples’ lives, and we can do it in even the smallest ways.

Thank you, Mr. Donald Gemeinhart. You are most definitely missed.

He who dies with the least toys wins. Because the more you know, the less you need. ~Yvon Chouinard Patagonia 

Succinctly Yours Week 148: The Grass is Greener on the Other...Head

Another snow day here, so I am hanging out like a furry escaped convict (see previous post for that reference). 

Thank you to Grandma’s Goulash for hosting Succinctly Yours! The idea of this meme is to use the picture to tell a story in 140 words or 140 characters. The bonus word was “quake.” I wonder if it still counts if you change the bonus word’s tense? Hope so. I have two this week, at 138 and 139 characters:

When Mama told me about the birds and the bees, her knees quaked and she blushed pink all way to her roots. My face went pale when I saw what was going on in the petunia bed. 

That's what you get, young man, from legalizing pots! You will quake down to your terra cotta toes when you sprout—what is that, you say? Legalize what? Oh. Never mind. 

That was a nod to the beloved Miss Emily Litella for those of you who remember her, and not a political commentary, I promise. This picture—not to mention today's snow—makes me miss summer!

Improper Poll: Gone with the Whim

Ahner's Greenhouse in its Former Glory

It’s been a summer of disappointments. The heat and lack of rain meant it was hard to go to festivals and outdoor concerts. Most of the Fourth of July fireworks were cancelled.

Then I found out two of my favorite summer products have been discontinued. The horror! Harry and David’s Strawberry Green tea is absolutely delightful iced. Why would they get rid of it? Especially when no one else I know of has a strawberry green tea?

And Clean Sweet Layer was my absolute favorite of all the Clean fragrances by D’lish and one of my favorite summer perfumes. Sure, I can still get it online, but someday those supplies too will dwindle. Besides, fragrances don’t have the shelf lives that companies pretend they do. Stale is stale.

But one of the worst is that I keep finding out more beloved places around town have closed. The one that absolutely broke my heart was Ahner’s greenhouse and gift shop. I had no idea it had closed until I drove by it. What a shock! It was not only closed, but going through some kind of deconstruction process that had it all hollowed out like a monstrous carcass on the side of the road. Brought tears to my eyes.

Have you lost a beloved product or store recently?

Improper Poll: Halleluiah

The sun is out, and I don’t get to see sun much during the work week these days. So I’m taking a break from true impropriety today…and maybe for the next couple of weeks. There’s a scene in Eat Pray Love (the book; haven’t seen the movie) where Elizabeth Gilbert describes a few hours when the pleasure she’s been seeking just seems to settle on her during the sweetest, simplest times.

That very thing unexpectedly happens to me from time to time. I don’t mean ordinary, run of the mill happiness, but an overwhelming thrill that threatens to bring tears to my eyes. I used to try to capture life in art. Now I’m starting to see life as art. What’s more, I used to think the goal in art was to channel the divine. Now I think the goal in life is to channel the divine.

Every now and then, out of nowhere that almost overwhelming happiness just seems to appear and flutter down and nest into my soul, and while it’s there, my heart just soars. This time of year, it’s the way the sun angles through the tree limbs and sends blue stripes of shadow on the road. Or it’s the sculpture of bare trees against a cobalt sky.

Or maybe it’s the little vase of hyacinths on my kitchen table. Or the damp-earth smell of early spring.

What do you see as art? What makes your soul soar?

They Also Wield Blog Awards

Thank you to Lynn of Present Letters for the lovely and coveted Versatile Blogger Award!! Lynn’s epistolary writing, addressed to the mother she lost when she was young, is moving and inspiring in so many ways. Lynn is also a fellow W.W.W.P. (Wild Women Wielding Pens), described in more detail below.

I’m supposed to tell you seven things about myself that are not included in my blog. So here goes (and if I’ve mentioned any before, sorry):

1.  My mother used to put our Great Pyrenees puppy in the playpen with me, so I literally grew up with dogs. In fact, if I speak a language, it would have to be a very small amount of Doggish. But only if my teacher is very patient with me.

2.  Am not originally from Missouri. We moved around a lot due to my former husband’s job, and this was the place we lived the longest. A few years ago I chose to move back to the St. Louis area. It’s not just the “Gateway to the West.” To me it possesses a sampling of nearly every part of the United States, and I love that. St. Louis has so much variety, there is something for everyone—culture, history, sports, children’s activities, outdoor activities, scenery, weather (ha!—maybe a little too much weather variety, but I’ve definitely lived in much worse) etc. And it’s affordable. Love it.

3. When I was a kid, I used to play Cowboys and Indians with a little boy on the next block named Stevie. Stevie and I got along well because he wanted to grow up to be a cowboy and I wanted to grow up to be an Indian.

4. I spent every possible moment of my childhood without shoes and have always felt fortunate that my mother let me.

5.  Also when I was a little kid, I thought clowns were a race. People still used the phrase “colored people” then, and let’s face it, clowns are colored.

6.  I have Hannibal Lecter’s sense of smell (without his sense of taste—ha!) and collect fragrant plants. Below is a picture of one of the delightfully fragrant viburnums that’s been blooming out of season since December because our weather’s been so warm.  This one is burkwoodii 'Mohawk.'

 And below is plumeria ‘Miami Rose’ that’s been blooming in my sun room all winter, followed by the orchid that a dear friend sent me for my birthday over two months ago. Not only is it stunningly beautiful, it’s still blooming!

7.  I once attended something called Laughter Therapy. The idea is that laughter causes wonderful things to happen in the body and the brain, so you laugh without reason if necessary. It was supposed to provide the body with the equivalent of several hours of exercise and leave you feeling refreshed. The small critique group I joined last year is like laughter therapy, but way better because the laugher (and the people) are genuine. Although our senses of humor range from the naughty to the nice—sometimes all in the same person—those brilliant, witty, talented, spiritual, raunchy, silly, wise, genuinely fun women provide the reason for the laughter in addition to first-rate writing advice. And sometimes, they even provide chocolate…which is another thing we all have in common. So thank you again to Lynn, a fellow W.W.W.P.

I believe I am supposed to pass this award to four awesomely versatile bloggers. The problem is that not only are all of you awesomely versatile, but some people don’t like awards. So I've chosen two who've given me awards in the past and are also awesome and versatile, too.  I'm hoping two others will consider it passed to them as well.

I love Trying to Get Over the Rainbow  because Jules leaves me feeling uplifted and refreshed by her amazingly unique—not to mention hysterically funny—perspective.

Donna’s Book Pub always has advice, opportunities, contests, interviews and other wonderful tidbits for writers. I'm always glad I stopped in.

Enjoy!

Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer. ~Ed Cunningham

Midsummer Night’s Magic

 Here in Missouri there is usually about a week around this time when the lilies and jasmines and phlox and alyssum all bloom at once (with a few other things thrown in), and the summer breeze waves like a gentle baton that orchestrates their various perfumes.

And then there are those magical few moments during summer twilights when the various scents of day and night briefly mingle just as the lightning bugs start to glow and the cicada rhythm pulses and the sky turns a rainbow of sunset-colors. When that time of year and that time of day happen to collide, there is a summer concert of senses so magical that life itself takes on an almost transcendent quality. I think these must be the midsummer’s eve moments of lore, as rare and fleeting and exquisite and uncapturable as fairies. All you can do is sit outside on a glider at twilight and just…breathe, trying to become one with it.

All things are our relatives; what we do to everything, we do to ourselves. All is really One. ~Black Elk, Lakota religious leader

Happy May Day

While taking a break from spreading mulch (a job I dread every year), I realized IT’S MAY DAY!!! I grew up in an old, very Catholic neighborhood in Omaha, where the children traditionally celebrated May Day by exchanging May baskets. It wasn’t until I was grown that I found out other parts of the country didn’t seem to have this charming tradition. Seems to me I read somewhere that it’s Lithuanian in origin.

One of my friends’ moms was a decorator, so her wallpaper scraps were wonderful. You shape them into little cones (or rectangles with sides), glue or staple, and fill them with candy, little bags of popcorn, and flowers...I seem to remember lots of limp violets and dandelions. Add a long handle, hang them on your friends’ front doors, ring the doorbell and hide.

I don’t have a picture, so here’s one of the wisteria brachybotrys in my garden. I love this time of year.

I think taking a coffee break now would add to my stress.......boy, that really sounds silly, but only women would understand that. ~ Becky Povich

Out of the Bleakness

Usually one of my other favorite things in life is throwing open the curtains and blinds on a Saturday morning, especially when it’s sunny out. Not so today. Today I have the cold that’s been making its rounds, and it feels like my head’s been blown full of fiberglass insulation…with a few glass shards thrown in just for fun. My face itches and my eyeballs feel hot and bald. Thank heavens it’s a weekend and I can just lie around.

But when I managed to crawl from my lair of sickness long enough to let the dog out this morning, this is what greeted me. It’s Iris reticulata, always the first flower of the year in my yard.

Ah, hope.

If winter comes, can spring be far behind? ~Percy Bysshe Shelley