A memory from February, 2014.
Photo by Audrey
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Christiansburg
We returned to Christiansburg today. My sister sold some items at Charlotte's Web and we lunched at Outback. It was cold, but sunny. We enjoyed the beautiful mountains on the ride back home.
Thursday, February 27, 2020
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Ash Wednesday
My annual Ash Wednesday selfie.
"Remember man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."
So grateful to be here. Not ready to be dust yet.
Monday, February 24, 2020
Living the Creative Life
Valentines I received, clockwise from left corner: Wally, Therry, Tricia, Margaret, and Amanda.
**********
Our Living the Creative Life group met Wednesday night at my house. We exchanged handmade Valentines as we do each year. It is always such fun to see what everyone has made.
Margaret's Valentines from Therry, Audrey, Tricia, Amanda, and Wally.
Amanda's Valentines from Wally, Margaret, Therry, Tricia, and Audrey.
Tricia's Valentines from Audrey, Amanda, Wally, Margaret, and Therry.
Therry's Valentines from Amanda, Audrey, Tricia, and Margaret. Wally gave his to her at home.
Wally's Valentines from Margaret, Amanda, Therry, Tricia, and Audrey.
A Throwback Photo
1969 ~ I didn't know then, while holding a friend's little dog, that I would one day love a little dog of my own. I sure waited long enough.
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Sunday, February 16, 2020
Friday, February 14, 2020
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
Monday, February 10, 2020
In the Summer of Cancer
From the book: In the Summer of Cancer ~ Poems by John Sokol
Kissing the Bees
It's August, and out my back window
I can see a little girl - seven maybe -
kissing bees, in her mother's garden.
She laughs wildly after every kiss;
after every kiss she licks her lips
and wipes them on her wrist.
Her mother calls out from the
kitchen window: "Kathleen Elizabeth!
I'm not telling you again! Stop kissing
those bees! You're gonna get stung!"
Kathleen Elizabeth pouts and stares
wantonly at her bees in the blossoms.
She seems enthralled by the buzzing
throng. I wonder if she knows
that, in Brittany, generations believed
the tears Christ shed on the cross
turned into bees, that according
to Mohammed the bee is the only
creature that God ever spoke to directly,
that according to Herodotus, kings
of Scythia were buried in beeswax.
Maybe she was once chosen,
having lived a former life
in the Far East, where bees are believed
to impart eloquence to a child
of their choice. Maybe she intuits,
somehow, that when Plato, Sophocles,
and Xenophon were infants, bees
alighted on their mouths. She must
know something, because, now,
she is singing to the bees, as people
in England used to do, to keep their bees
at home and happy. And, now, I can hear
the thoughts that incite her desire,
that arrive on the breeze, as the whole
luminous day around her -
and around me - seems to whisper:
"Kiss the bees! Kiss the bees!"
John Sokol is my friend. We attended high school and college together. He is a writer and painter living in Akron, Ohio. His poems have appeared in America, Antigonish Review, The Berkeley Poetry Review, Georgetown Review, New Millennium Writings, The New York Quarterly, and Quarterly West, among others. His short stories have appeared in Akros, Descant, Mindscapes, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Redbook, and other journals. His drawings and paintings are included in many public and private collections.
This is just one of the 55 great poems in his book which I have copies available for $15. If interested, please leave a comment.
She laughs wildly after every kiss;
after every kiss she licks her lips
and wipes them on her wrist.
Her mother calls out from the
kitchen window: "Kathleen Elizabeth!
I'm not telling you again! Stop kissing
those bees! You're gonna get stung!"
Kathleen Elizabeth pouts and stares
wantonly at her bees in the blossoms.
She seems enthralled by the buzzing
throng. I wonder if she knows
that, in Brittany, generations believed
the tears Christ shed on the cross
turned into bees, that according
to Mohammed the bee is the only
creature that God ever spoke to directly,
that according to Herodotus, kings
of Scythia were buried in beeswax.
Maybe she was once chosen,
having lived a former life
in the Far East, where bees are believed
to impart eloquence to a child
of their choice. Maybe she intuits,
somehow, that when Plato, Sophocles,
and Xenophon were infants, bees
alighted on their mouths. She must
know something, because, now,
she is singing to the bees, as people
in England used to do, to keep their bees
at home and happy. And, now, I can hear
the thoughts that incite her desire,
that arrive on the breeze, as the whole
luminous day around her -
and around me - seems to whisper:
"Kiss the bees! Kiss the bees!"
John Sokol is my friend. We attended high school and college together. He is a writer and painter living in Akron, Ohio. His poems have appeared in America, Antigonish Review, The Berkeley Poetry Review, Georgetown Review, New Millennium Writings, The New York Quarterly, and Quarterly West, among others. His short stories have appeared in Akros, Descant, Mindscapes, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Redbook, and other journals. His drawings and paintings are included in many public and private collections.
This is just one of the 55 great poems in his book which I have copies available for $15. If interested, please leave a comment.
Sunday Sunset
I took this sunset photo on my way home from Therry and Wally's annual Imbolc Party yesterday where I spent the afternoon with a lot of fun and interesting people. It was great to see all of them.
Thank you, my friends, for always including me.
Sunday, February 9, 2020
Winter Jasmine
My Winter Jasmine!
After several days of rain and cold, it is beautiful outside today.
Friday, February 7, 2020
Christiansburg
Yesterday, Patty, Jim, and I braved the rain and fog on our way to Christiansburg to visit the Antique shops there. We loved Charlotte's Web. There was a lot to see and the "attic" was spooky and fun.
We had a good lunch at Outback and then off to Antiques on Main!
Charlotte's Web
Leaving the "attic"
A room in the "attic"
In the "attic" ~ a casket from the Civil War
A not so happy guy in the electric chair!
Dreamer
We all live in a yellow submarine
"Crown of Thorns" plant
JOY in the "attic"
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