Succinctly Yours Week 202: Groundhog Daze

Thank you to Grandma’s Goulash for hosting Succinctly Yours, a delightful little meme which encourages us to peak into the world of micro and come up with a story of 140 words or 140 characters or fewer. This week, a biography unexpectedly emerged. The bonus word was “zany.”

Punxsutawney Paul was more ambitious than his predecessor, Punxsutawney Phil. He longed to sing, quote the Bard, or do a zany dance during his moment in the sun. 132

Punxsutawney Paul loved his new job. He had terrific job security, a great benefits package, and he only worked one zany morning per year.  114

Punxsutawney Paul was horrified. It was his one moment in the sun, and he had overslept. He feared those zany crowds had ditched him for the ground squirrel next door.  135

Due to cutbacks, Paul was forced to work the rest of the year in a zany Whac-a-Mole game at the carny. When he did emerge, he couldn’t remember what he was looking for. 136

Thanks to PETA, Punxsutawney Paul retired and is now Palm Beach Paul. He does daily searches for something he knew he was supposed to look for and occasionally golfs. 137

That was a great game of golf, fellers. ~ Purported last words of Harry Lillis "Bing" Crosby

Rain, Rain Don’t Go Away. Again.

It’s raining right now. Ordinarily I wouldn’t consider that an earth-shattering enough statement to post on my blog, but at the moment it really is.

It rained only once in my area through June and July, but for some reason it skipped my yard. A few blocks away it poured for a short time, but all my house got was what felt like a little warm spittle. It was like the joke about having the storm cloud following over your head, but the opposite, when—irony of ironies—that storm cloud would make you so very happy.

The lawn hasn’t been mown all summer. My grass is as brown as an African savanna. When I just thought it was dormant, I was perfectly okay with that.  Now I think it's just truly dead.  More irony:  my grass may have gone to greener pastures. The lush plantain lilies, usually cool-elegant as a southern belle this time of year, have curled into fried pork rinds.

For a while I turned my blog blue. The color of Arctic ice. Of shadows on snow. Of cold, predawn light. Of the breeze I imagine runs a hand over lavender fields in Provence. But then it got even hotter and drier, and blue started to look hot again. It was the color of that ceaseless sky that sizzles clouds off like a blue flame. It’s the distant lightning, blue and electric and ominous, that tormented us all summer with distant growls and threatened to burn us all to cinder, but rolled on.

This free water that falls from the sky from shivery-silver clouds is now an exotic thing. Guess that’s one of the true gifts of aging. I've learned to take nothing for granted, ever.

Simplify, simplify…We are happy in proportion to the things we can do without. ~Henry David Thoreau

A Room Just for Sun

It's been cold and rainy the past couple of days, and I'm wet and chilled from bringing plants in for the winter.

This is one of my very favorite places in all the world—my sunroom. This picture was taken back in July, and right now it leaves me with a sense of longing. I love the way it faces east, so I can watch the sun come up on weekend mornings, and south, so I can sit in the reach of a long ray on weekday evenings.

The direction of the windows means that the room glows most of the day, casting the doorway in its own golden, beckoning aura.

And when I do walk into the light, there are pools of aureate air where I can drench myself, feeling my pores opening in the baptismal beams as if in worship.

To me, it is a poem of light, this room...a prayer.

You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning...a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. ~Joseph Campbell