I am travelling to Mombasa with maybe five hours of sleep over two days. Delays, delays, delays and not sure I really slept at all. The movies keep me entertained. The food is okay.
The gritty leg from Doha to Nairobi, I see the desert beneath me and the three small children traveling with their mother let out sounds like a mad cat. They cry and moan sometimes in an echo of the other and sometimes in unison. This cacophony lasts for the duration.
My grandbaby held my right pointer finger while she was sleeping. Her little digits wrapped around and then she squeezed and she is only one week old and already trying to lift her head. She held my finger for at least an hour while I rocked her in the giraffe chair. I wanted her to wake up so we could play. I wanted to sing Winnie the Pooh to her and read her a story.
When you are so small it is hard to get your pajamas to fit right. They keep riding up under your chin and I keep pulling them down, trying to adjust the bootie footed legs of the pajamas. It is possible to protect your chin from any chafing of a poor fit. What will we do tomorrow when your pjs fit perfectly?
listen little heart
count each breath in this moment
sneeze burp hiccup smile
dVerse prompt to write a haibun and use the word heart
New Year’s Day was a birthday for my second born and a smorgasbord for the relatives. Pickled herring, cheeses and pressgurkin, gravlax, pate, pepparrot, Janssons frestelse, kuttbullar, sometimes lutefisk, bruna bonor, appelflask, oxrelader.
Akvavit poured in just the right amount. How we linked arms and shouted “skol”. I can still hear my mother-in-law’s voice, “That will warm the cockles of your heart.”
crispy sharp on old flowers
cold stabs in the mind
dVerse haibun prompt on New Year memory. Forgive my Swedish spelling.
In Sunday School I learned about the big red apple of original sin in the garden. How Adam and Eve ate thereof. Caste out. Ashamed. Hid from God. What I didn’t learn— it was really a fig. They ate a few. Clothed themselves in fig leaf. Hid from God. Caste out. Separated from God. How Jesus went to the fig tree for food and finding none, he said, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” Explanation mark. A curse that lifted a curse. And the tree withered and died.
I have forgotten what breakfast tastes like. Although it is known as the most important meal of the day, I sleep through it. No smells of bacon and coffee brewed. It is winter and I am asleep in my bed. Outside the plants do the same. They are not yet ready to be uncovered.
I wanted him to live to be one hundred even though his readings had stopped years ago. Who am I to judge how long a man should live? Or how his living, his writing, his teaching helped my life. I was just a woman in his workshop at Centrum learning as much as I could.
He would take his class on writing walks. One day on a beach hike, we stood together and watched a fish die in the sand. Another day, we sat with an old stump that had once held up something magnificent. We translated Francis Ponge, “the poet of things”, and looked deeply into an orange.
seasons come and go
left alone to find my way
sad hearing the rain
dVerse prompt to write a haibun on something or someone to be thankful for
Night of the Living Dead was a scary movie I saw when I was a teenager. It was even scarier driving past a cemetery on my way home that night. The plot line resembles Walking Dead— cannibalistic zombies walking around attacking and eating people. Walking Dead is in the eleventh and final season of guts flying and spilt brains and many ways to slow down, trap, and kill a zombie, not to mention the unraveling of society and its attempt at restructuring.
taking from the past
brings unimagined seasons
fuels a greater fear
dVerse prompt on a fear that was experienced— my experience with zombies has only been in movies
Kindergarten (garden of children) was the garden where I bloomed.
I went down around Colonial Circle and two blocks east, past the school patrol at the corner and there was West Elementary School. The classroom was light and airy with large windows along two sides. A long child-sized table was lined up by the windows and little chairs where we could sit. There were no desks. (Desks were in the 1st grade.)
Miss Nelson led us in art and theatre. (Seems like I was always a star.) My self portrait hung on the wall and I sang “Where is pinkie…..” in a performance for the parents. Miss Nelson took us to the post office, a creamery, a train ride and the Bell Telephone Company. The phone company had an exhibit of the evolution of the telephone, right up to the phone where you could see the person you were talking to.
I didn’t get to go on the train. The day before, I slipped going up the brick stairs to my front door and cut open my lip. The teacher and my mom thought I would bleed on the train. No train ride, no Hollywood career, and I wouldn’t eat butter for fifteen years because we had shaken a pint of cream until it turned. I was sure it would taste sour.
creates spirit of learning
growth of the person
Back to school in my memory with a dVerse prompt on school.
I am drawn to the garden, to rake, shovel and hoe until dusk, on the longest daylight of the year. There is so much to do. The blue wheelbarrow is filled with mulch and rolls back and forth delivering its load. Weeds are pulled and branches pruned. The garden blooms in the solstice sun and I must strive to get a year’s work done until another one.
I am traveling through the Ozarks as I have a number of times, same highway, same destination. This time is different. The dogwood trees are in bloom, their flowers making thickets of white in a low canopy among tall oaks.
Where I am, surrounded by Ozark Mountains, the sun is setting and now the quiet water of the Lake of the Ozarks reflects the moon.