Flowers for two

IMG_0014It’s a beautiful day. Two girls and one grandson have gone hiking. DH is out trying to fix the lawnmower (it must be May-something, lol). I got up later than all of Heaven and earth and other planets, but I am at least unconfounded technologically — I finally uploaded the unuploadable, and am now going to go off into the sunshine to move mountains. Gah, I need an easier camera.

Anyway, here am I along with Birthright carnations and combined bouquets — with the beautiful daughter named for my beloved Magdalen, though without the “g” — replete with red star balloon in the background, which you can’t see, that was seen drifting down the street in the pouring rain on Mothers Day. Daughter loves stars and particularly in metallic (it’s still drifting around here) — a gift from the universe to her, so I crawled under the wet bushes to free its ribbon and bring it in the house.

Next, I will tackle the photo from yesterday — two daughters and the Old Town came in 5th in a verrrry large canoe and kayak race, and DH and his bud survived the kayak part, too!

I hope you won’t have to sleep with half the lights on tonight.  Either way, carpe diem!



For a Mothers Day post, I had tried –and again today– to upload a nice photo that DH took of daughter and me in front of our combined bouquets, in which I had finally applied her wilder’n’crazier Spartan race sister’s selfie trick of oversmiling. That rendered it a likeness of me and not some poor sad sack dragged from a funeral for a photo shoot.

Well, tomorrow’s another day to let technology confound me because now, I’m busy with preparing for the onslaught of sudden summer. That’s how it happens here — a high of 52, of 57, and then 92! I’ve dug out the fans, after making spots to put them, and have gotten some hot-weather clothes ready for the kids and myself for school and work. That meant finding some.

I’ve also planned heartily to get to some store before I pick up both little kids and before work, to try the ants-don’t-like-peppermint-oil thing. The only thing more fun than watching people freak out over ants, is spitting one out with a mouthful of coffee (one survived the shorter-than-usual microwaving the other dark-kitchen evening and was as surprised as myself to find himself healthfully baleened).

With that done (well, not, but I’ll try peppermint tea bags first), it’s onward and onward to preparing for Spartanite daughter’s visit for the week, kicking off her arrival with a yearly canoe/kayak race in which this family has participated for years. This visit, she’s bringing her new dog, a 13-pound abandonee now named “Finn,” which is why I’m washing a dog bed and blanket and getting human bedding ready as well, though for the sofa. Our *guest* room is full.

I’d be surprised if I’m back here before Friday morn.  The hours in which one must accomplish much seem to shrink in proportion, don’t they?

Happy summer-spring!!


Yes, but..

Somewhere, there’s a photo of me in silhouette standing on the very last dozen inches of one of the peaks of the Presidential Range, only good wishes and one misstep away from kissing one of those bad boys all around me for as far as the eye could see.

I loved showing the Dad-snapped photo around when I was young, “Look here, am I intrepid or what?” (I certainly hadn’t planned to be, lol, but facts is facts!)

Later, it became a bittersweet photo/memory, as did the days of my being dragged out to high seas in a tiny rowboat with him, to do some fishing away from land entirely.

My mother, even prior to their divorce, had always worried during those times when I was finally living life, that they were perfect opportunities for himself to dispatch-via-tragic-accident someone he’d considered the middle-man between them.

It was nearly impossible to defend him — he had done horrendous things — but I wanted to say (and would’ve, could I have found the unhurtful, unthreatening way to say it), “Sometimes, he has been a father.” I think she (and others) attributed my safe return solely to her frantic prayers being answered in the Affirmative.

But none of them saw his face on that mountain day, or those sea days, or on farm or extended family days. These were the only things he could give me, sometimes delivered with a gasp of his own — both of us overwhelmed by peace and health and beauty for a while. Together. On the precipice of family.


I has them.

It would’ve gone alright with the rest as a middle name for real: Relax Qualm McGillicuddy, though it works better as a statement — a comma after Relax would’ve been perfect.

I had qualms about everything. If I didn’t, I imported them. I was my mother’s daughter, which is to say not half Irish just yet, which is to say French Canadian. My neighborhoods in a historic seaport were incredibly diverse, so I was surrounded by Italian qualms, many French Canadian ones, and the rarer Irish qualm (who had qualms about having qualms but had them anyway, only slightly moreso than did the Greeks).

The problem was, we were mostly of the Catholic working class persuasion, and that was rife with qualms. The only Jewish girl I knew didn’t seem to suffer them. She was joyful, animated, sure of herself. I desperately wanted to be Jewish for a while, back when I didn’t realize one could be Jewish and yet not religiously so.

I continue qualmward. Not because it’s mandatory for the conscience — that’s only how it got a foothold. I need qualms, the awkward 50-lb butterflies of doubt, to warn me off of what I think I want to go for — or at least make me think longer, consider more.

Or, angelqualms.


Ncht. Kids. Ncht. Mom. *



In honor of Mothers Day (in America), I stole those two above.  (Sorry, Ma. *sigh.. guess you’ll have to send me to my cool, shady, quiet, comfy room allll alone..  Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do… I’ll get over it somehow.  I deserve it, I know…but gosh, you’re not gonna make me stay in there for hours and hours, are ya?)

Oh, fine.  I didn’t steal them.  Credit to one of my favorite sites, “Just Laugh.”  It’s both innocuous and amusing enough for someone like me (and maybe you).  And not just because I’ve already seen all the mullet-hairdos with enormous eyeglasses photos on Awkward Family Photos. “Just Laugh” is very clever.

Yes, I’m back on Facebook, but only as emergency contact, because daughter occasionally doesn’t get a new phone card until a pay-Friday, which might be days away. She’s the one with all the kids, so I have to be instantly reachable — as does she.

Yes, this is my way of avoiding writing of mothers.  It hurts. Yes, even almost 23 years into the fact, but anyway, for all moms out there, and grandmoms and great-grandmoms, aunts and all who are motherly, I’m wishing you a sweet, calm Sunday.

For anyone who still has a mom, go see her. Sunday. Any Sunday. Every Sunday!  Or, if you live with her, take her somewhere fun.  Like, Chuck E. Cheese. ‘Cause it’s gonna rain, you KNOW it’s gonna rain, lol.  Throw her in the ball pit — she’ll love it, just before you all get kicked out of the place.  Again.

*(Oh, gosh.. had to update this. My former-LimpBizkit/Staind/Megadeth-loving daughter just said to her almost 13-yr-old son, “Turn that music down — I can’t stand it!”)


🙂 Happy Weekend, WP fam.  ❤


Here in my little town…

The cows (all shiny auburn with soft cream faces) have been moved from their rain-soaked mudpit to a larger, drier field. I’m sure their owner and/or hired workers don’t want to be hosing them down once or twice every day before they come back into clean barns.

The horse paddock looks like a great place to mud-wrestle, too, but the horses’ pens have just been moved backward by a pen until the ground dries up.

The pond on the way has finally lost its green film and is clearly reflective of its circling pines once again. The peeper ponds further up the road, well beyond the now-thundering old mill dam, reveal the sky’s folds, too, these days.  By night on my way home, I pause right there where the road sits surrounded by the pond, turn down the car radio, and all but inhale the deafening peeping from all sides.

When I arrive at work, which is bordered by many rolling fields and farms, I park in what I call my picnic area. Just a few parking spaces into the long and winding driveway leading up to massive parking lots.  I stay down there with the milkweeds and marsh-bird houses, under some wide, calm trees, until it’s time to call myself into work. I do picnic there — last minute coffee, a little something with peanut butter. I don’t eat much during the day, but I won’t be able to work without protein.  I sometimes have time to text the *kids* or even call an ailing cousin.

My pre-work picnic may be on hold until summer.. I’m collecting two kids from two different schools and bringing them home so daughter can meet us here from her work and bundle the kids into her car for the drive to collect the baby from another town entirely. By then, it’s time for me to concentrate on just getting to work on time! Not that anyone would care if I was late. I’m sort of the boss. That makes two of many reasons I’d like to keep this job for as long as possible. The location, too.. it’s truly amazing in its beauty. I am heartened each day, except in winter, before I go pour out every atom of energy.

Birds really do become twitterpated as Friend Owl said.. I’ve been watching them all and learning much that will never be useful to anyone! I won’t go into it all here, but that heartens me, too — and especially to exit work on a break to see a near-sunset and to hear the mourning dove coos emanating from the telephone wires. I arrived one day in time to see an owl hunting mice! And of course, there is a chipmunk tale to be told.. he keeps his sparkly eye on me and thinks if he doesn’t move, I won’t see him. I stand so stock still, he forgets all about me now and then.

I don’t know what heartens you, but I hope that sometimes it’s the outdoors. Tonight, the sky is bearing white puffy clouds, the moon has a colorful aura around it, and there’s a planet shining nearby. I cannot imagine all this not having an effect on us. What trouble the Lord went to, to provide for all creatures, and to provide ordinary miracles for our eyes and ears, day in and day out.  How did I ever once take it for granted?