Friday, October 26, 2012
CHICKEN GIRL: Life Changes On A Dime
CHICKEN GIRL: Life Changes On A Dime: "Life changes on a dime"....one of the last things I said to my 8-year old son one recent Sunday as I laid in the sun twirling his blond hair...
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Ordinary Life- a favorite poem
Ordinary Life
This was a day when nothing happened,
the children went off to school
without a murmur, remembering
their books, lunches, gloves.
All morning, the baby and I built block stacks
in the squares of light on the floor.
And lunch blended into naptime,
I cleaned out kitchen cupboards,
one of those jobs that never gets done,
then sat in a circle of sunlight
and drank ginger tea,
watched the birds at the feeder
jostle over lunch's little scraps.
A pheasant strutted from the hedgerow,
preened and flashed his jeweled head.
Now a chicken roasts in the pan,
and the children return,
the murmur of their stories dappling the air.
I peel carrots and potatoes without paring my thumb.
We listen together for your wheels on the drive.
Grace before bread.
And at the table, actual conversation,
no bickering or pokes.
And then, the drift into homework.
The baby goes to his cars, drives them
along the sofa's ridges and hills.
Leaning by the counter, we steal a long slow kiss,
tasting of coffee and cream.
The chicken's diminished to skin & skeleton,
the moon to a comma, a sliver of white,
but this has been a day of grace
in the dead of winter,
the hard cold knuckle of the year,
a day that unwrapped itself
like an unexpected gift,
and the stars turn on,
order themselves
into the winter night.
Barbara Crooker
This was a day when nothing happened,
the children went off to school
without a murmur, remembering
their books, lunches, gloves.
All morning, the baby and I built block stacks
in the squares of light on the floor.
And lunch blended into naptime,
I cleaned out kitchen cupboards,
one of those jobs that never gets done,
then sat in a circle of sunlight
and drank ginger tea,
watched the birds at the feeder
jostle over lunch's little scraps.
A pheasant strutted from the hedgerow,
preened and flashed his jeweled head.
Now a chicken roasts in the pan,
and the children return,
the murmur of their stories dappling the air.
I peel carrots and potatoes without paring my thumb.
We listen together for your wheels on the drive.
Grace before bread.
And at the table, actual conversation,
no bickering or pokes.
And then, the drift into homework.
The baby goes to his cars, drives them
along the sofa's ridges and hills.
Leaning by the counter, we steal a long slow kiss,
tasting of coffee and cream.
The chicken's diminished to skin & skeleton,
the moon to a comma, a sliver of white,
but this has been a day of grace
in the dead of winter,
the hard cold knuckle of the year,
a day that unwrapped itself
like an unexpected gift,
and the stars turn on,
order themselves
into the winter night.
Barbara Crooker
On becoming Granny at 40, part 1
Some how after a lifetime of no patience to finish projects, I managed to not only teach myself how to crochet, but to actually finish several projects this Winter. I am amazed still. They were small projects, baby beanie hats, baby slippers, baby sweaters- small and easy to actually finish before getting bored- but a major accomplishment for me.
Why, after all these years, do I suddenly have the ability to pick up a hobby and actually do something with it? Maybe because although I am only 40 and half of my kids are under the age of four, I am going to be a Grandma soon. Maybe I am just too tired to stay up cleaning any more and if I am actually doing something with my hands, people tend to let me (or more like I let me)- sit.
Why, after all these years, do I suddenly have the ability to pick up a hobby and actually do something with it? Maybe because although I am only 40 and half of my kids are under the age of four, I am going to be a Grandma soon. Maybe I am just too tired to stay up cleaning any more and if I am actually doing something with my hands, people tend to let me (or more like I let me)- sit.
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