Superbowl #.. um, something..


Happy February 2019! Happy Superbowl Sunday, too!

I live perilously close to the Patriots’ home region, which means wearing all your lucky clothes for the Super Bowl, so that the Pats will¬†win. That’s true of anywhere’s fave team, I suppose, and there have been goofy hats to help them win, too. A woman my age or more was food shopping yesterday.. well, it’s hard to describe. It looked a little like¬†a stovepipe hat, but it had a knit band above the rim which sported the PATRIOTS¬†name and colors.

Listen.. if you ever see anything other than a pith helmet on my head, I want you to make me move out of New England. Maybe somewhere warm..

The parties have been planned, the food has been shopped, people are coming from far off to sit in New England homes and eat chili/cheesecake/Chinese takeout in the gaps. Beer is huge, too.¬†Fooding has to be timed carefully so as to not miss the commercials as well as none of the game. Or the halftime show. This year, it’s people I don’t know, except for Maroon 5 who’ve been ostracized by Kaepernick fans.¬†¬†Oh, heck, let’s not even go there.

We’ll be tuning in. Son is coming over¬†as is a DH friend. Hence, I’ve been cleaning the whole downstairs all morning. Why? Why do we do this? Football fans are not only nose-blind, they are eye-blind. As long as the dried maple syrup/milk and/or the hermetically sealed cereal crunch¬†doesn’t unbalance their beer bottle —¬†and there’s anything that passes for a toilet — what’s the problem?

I will sit there before the¬†tv screen¬†wondering why everyone around me¬†just yelled, be it a good or bad yell. I’m never sure which it is until I see that no one’s weeping. I’ve been watching the big football games¬†in bits and pieces my whole life. I¬†still don’t know¬†why catching the ball, running 2 – 6 feet, and falling onto the ball is a good thing. It’s okay; I¬†know the other important stuff, like why cats take a full bath when they’re embarrassed, or even why kids are tempted to put pieces of potato up their noses.

Anyway, as I say, there will be commercials. (Clever ones.) Also, I have to hem some pants for grandson. My touchy adrenalin organs and I will excuse ourselves at some point, perhaps after the half-time show, to go where no one yells and everyone sews. (Or blogs.)

If you’re a watcher, have fun! First, make sure there are TUMS in the cabinet.

You know that I cannot close this with, “May the best team win” right? I can’t. It is not the unforgivable sin named¬†by Jesus, but it’s awfully close.







No to his wall, and other No’s..

The problem is not so much The Donald as it is those who allow his ways¬†to affect¬†us all. They prop him up repeatedly, somehow ignore¬†his dire deficits of humanity (and¬†leadership)¬†even when they come from his own admittance, and are willing to clean up after him.¬†Figuratively and literally, they¬†wear the opposite of a pussy hat, but it’s¬†just as embarrassing to those of us who remember a¬†much better¬†America and¬†a better DC.

Donald is Donald. We’ve always known it. Personally, I can’t help but think of him as 5th grade lascivious¬†Kenny, who wrote a note that said, “If I come to your cellar window, will you show me your boobies?” who then drew said items. *sigh..¬† At any rate, no,¬†there were no presidential surprises to be had from Donald. Most would say Donald is about the money, but I think he’s more about the art of the deal, since he loses and gains money like¬†experienced¬†schemers —¬†a gambler of¬†others’ money,¬†who personally has nothing much to lose.

I have likened him to many characters —¬†Squidward for one¬†— and worse, Idi Amin. Oh, I can be shocking when I fear people are sound asleep through a break-in.¬†Every time, though,¬†I know I am shouting, “Raca!” and that I shouldn’t. Everybody shouts Raca! in¬†comboxes (and cars)¬†at each other over any matter¬†no matter how serious or fluffy — one of the things that makes me sick even on sunny warm days — and I¬†don’t want to be that¬†person. In essence,¬†that person is¬†shouting Raca!¬†at¬†his or her¬†own mirror, and that’s not Allowed, either.

Donald is inept at Presidenting. He is inept in Cabineting as well. We knew this going in, but worse, the system of checks and balances are or for too long have been inept at checking and balancing — which took us by surprise. I hope it’s changing, now. There’s only one effective and honorable way to run America: To do good at home, and elsewhere if possible, but certainly to not do evil here or elsewhere.¬†Legislating well requires skill, courage, morality — and a team.

I hold closely to the hope that Mueller’s own team will help save much of¬†the day. I don’t envision anyone else being able to do so. Not abortive¬†Democrats, not warhawk Republicans,¬†and certainly not 2020 which remains chilling to me except for the former Starbucks CEO (which should rather chill me, too, except that he came up through poverty and domestic violence).¬†Indeed, I hope¬†Mueller is the American I think he is.¬†I am already grateful for his and his team’s¬†efforts to halt the sending of¬†our everything decent¬†to hell in a handbasket.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to think more¬†like God as I’ve been taught Him¬†— God loves even the Kenny’s of all ages and economies, and would Rather they (like me, too) just¬†straighten out.¬†As well, I feel certain that the Lord¬†can see that most of us here in America wish no harm upon families anywhere in the world and would not have harm done in our name. I hope there will come a day when¬†all families have a reason to believe that, too, whether they reside in our borders or without. We have it in us to¬†shape the America we want — for us, and for others, but many more of us¬†have to stop opting for quick, short-sighted¬†*solutions* — and weird angry¬†hats.¬†Wear the other kind..










Little mill’s¬†waterfall
has frozen solid, ugly.
I pretended not to see
–though my eyes
should’ve burned holes,
two large devastated holes,
through its thickest lumps.
As in any other death
(a chrysalis..),
I believe in miracles:
Same but new¬†will fly–
river, caterpillar,
and we.





Tundra and gulls

He won’t understand my lack of enthusiasm. He’ll ahh and nod as if he not only understands but feels the same about it — for a few moments, at least.

Onlookers would fall for it. In this 35th shared winter, though, I know he does not understand except perhaps for that brief time it takes him to dress and grab the snow shovel and know he’s probably not up to much more of this.

Otherwise, he is a young boy, again, and it has snowed! He will shovel out the elders across the way, too.

The best I can say of sacrificing 6 months of life every year to shut doors and windows and oil burners that have met their match before the turn of the year, is that there are no alligators here, no large wildfire threats, and few noticeable earthquakes.

He is a young boy with a shovel and many tools. I am a young girl with a pen and 3-ish seasons.

It is why we married. I suspect that our aged priest knew us even better than we did, then.


But glasses needn’t be full..

The river that feeds it is off to the left of the little bridge, and to the right of it, there is a crust of ice atop the flat part of the old mill’s dam, too. The water that flows from there has frozen, thawed, frozen, thawed (like us) these past few weeks of January. For now, as one passes by there is¬†something to greet in happy surprise — an even line of rushing water dropping from the entire¬†width of the dam. Hello, God’s water!

It is a measured gaiety, for it will change in the coming¬†months. While it stands still, waiting, one will have to settle for greeting scrub pines and all within that cannot be seen.¬†Fortunately, there are always little birds around, if one needs one, and sometimes, too, the rather imperial wild¬†turkeys who could be said to look down their beaks at mankind. Hello, God’s¬†hearty little finches and silly ol’ turkeys!

Checking a window’s lock in late night brought forth¬†a brief high-pitched whine and what — scrabbling! —¬†from just below the outer sill. A¬†quick look outside was too slow, but it was tall-ish, like a fox. Coyote? Hello, God’s whatever! Do you live here, too, now? One has felt the nighttime eyes..

It is a day of recovery from outrages of too many sorts.¬†Awaiting a daughter’s removed-polyps report.. A (friend’s)¬†double mastectomy, though her heart is weak and node analysis isn’t due for days,¬†suggests¬†to us all that even “a good health¬†insurance” thinks¬†6¬†hours total in the hospital are all that are required for major surgery, now..¬† And today¬†begins radiation treatment¬†for¬†the better half. Hello, woe, who is not wished — is only allowed — by God. For now.

DC comes nowhere near these first troubles, though others in the world do. Hello, God’s others! Don’t give up..

Still, day by day, one is feeling along the edge of undefined hope. Daylight is increasing most helpfully, even if¬†all running lights are on by 3.. maybe on newer makes and models they are always on. If the sun visor has been pulled down to shade the eyes from the brilliant, lowering sun, though,¬†one can hardly bear to have one’s own lights on, and one shall not!

Indeed, one imperially rebels in the turkeyest of ways, sometimes. But..

Hello, God’s hope!¬†Welcome.







A change is gonna come

Well, I’m getting somewhere with a new look. I tried a number of different WP ‘blog themes (2 is a number — and the really lovely themes are not free!), and played around with some¬†‘blog format changes (I could probably never select the very same hue of blue, so that remains untouched — it’s so deep-oceany-when-seen-from-the-beach!).

I wasn’t able to¬†change the sidebar into a bottom bar, but I put the Content to the right, got rid of Pages (for now, anyway), and helped a tagline to molt again while not¬†losing the main message (Relax —¬†God favors¬†human beings¬†above all creation).

All of that, of course, is like a kid cleaning his room. He puts the pillow back on the bed and stuffs his hamper with clean as well as dirty laundry, foam bullets, loose change and a couple of Oreos. “Done!” (“No, you’re not!”) I’m not done, either. The biggest part awaits: Posting some Content worthy of¬†that title!

(It apparently won’t¬†start today! I just wanted to say Hey!)







The Master

One of my favorite paintings (so far), by one of my favorite painters (so far) is Caravaggio’s “Incredulity of St. Thomas.” In viewing it the first time (online at The Web Gallery of Art — enlarge-able unto freckles!), I thought, “He looks exhausted. Pale. Washed out. As if He has just given birth, and thus, is alive in a whole new way, now — very much alive.”

This is a unique rendering of the painting. I wonder if the artist would be pleased. I am.




A bell, rung silently

It was an epiphany of sorts, and perhaps something even bordering on theophany,¬†‘though it would be¬†the sort of¬†moment that is¬†indistinguishable to others.

My purchases were being rung up at the Corner of Expensive and What?? when I noticed her in line behind me, though¬†keeping a respectful-co-customer¬†distance. She didn’t bear any items to be paid for, so apparently she’d wanted to speak to the clerk.

It can’t be her!

She has walked these streets with all her possessions¬†in an ever-filling¬†cart¬†daily for years. I’ve heard tales of why, but who knows for sure. In every kind of weather, alone alone alone, trudging trudging trudging —¬†all day long. When evening comes, she is making her way back up to where someone is watching out for her.

I didn’t see the cart anywhere. I looked at her and thought, “Is she okay, now?” Naturally, I’ve prayed for her. I’m sure many of us pray for her — she breaks the heart!

She met my eyes with the greatest reaction — she blinked, looked taken aback for a second, and broke into a huge smile. So did I. Then, the most musical little voice came forth to ask the clerk about “how this raincheck thing works.”

Shortly after¬†I got home, I read of Mary Oliver’s passing. I cried a little. It would take a long time to say why I was so sad. The tears, though, have God written all over them, too — like a¬†sister-smile out of nowhere and into everywhere.

That smile, that gift, came back to me just then, and I understood:¬†Life is love. Love is life — even in death.

Tonight after I’d texted daughters back and started to head out of work’s driveway, I realized I hadn’t¬†telephoned to clock out of my shift, so I pulled into a parking space very quickly and my headlights picked up two enormous beings sauntering across the green. They stopped a moment to look at me, then headed for the woods again, walking very slowly.

I’ve been longing to see the deer my co-workers have seen out front. Truth be known, I am always longing to see deer! Some folks live for the sighting of great whites¬†or wolves, anacondas¬†or¬†alligators…¬† Er,¬†not I!

Their nearness explained the dog’s incredulous-barking across the way earlier, but what would explain my pulling over to clock out right then, right there — when and where I couldn’t possibly miss seeing them?

Love? Yes, I thought so, too.