Pears Like Poems

I'm not sure that I have ever seen fruit so abundant.  The trees down our street and in town have been laden with apples, pears and plums.  Really, it's hard not to be poetic about it.  Some friends, the ones with the greatest number of pear trees, invited us to a pear picking party last weekend.  While we were not the ones up in the trees shaking the branches, nor standing on the ground with a blanket to catch them, we were the beneficiaries of a bagful and are free to pluck now, when the need arises.  It is rather silly, but my heart is filled with delight about all this fruit.  What has been batches of apple strudel this past month is shifting to a pear strudel this morning.  The dough is chilling and my tummy is rumbling.

The pear
Much like a poem
Is difficult to get
Just right.
Too mushy
And my desire
Is to spit it out
To rid myself of the texture and feel.
Too firm
And again
It is hard to swallow
To choke down at all.
Either way
One bite
Is enough.
But then, like words

Well spoken

A pear

At the perfect ripeness

Is delightful

In its complexity and

Simplicity

Letting one’s taste buds

Feel the abundance

Of freshness just the

Right balance of sweet

Rich in texture

Delightful to touch.

Made

Even better through the

Picking right from the tree.

Bumps in the Night

Skeena, last night, was in quite a dither.
She barked and roamed all over the house
And would not quiet down.

Then I got up and looked out the window.
Nothing around I could see.
"Hush Skeena".
Then she was asleep and I was awake.

We didn't know til morning though
What went bump in the night.

When we go backpacking
A few weeks from now.
Far away from here we will go
To sleep outside in the night.

And we think that there is good reason
Not to roam, which anyway, we are not
Prone to do.
In the early hours of the day
At our cozy home.

And at 9:42 this morning our Skeena just tucks
Her tail when I suggest going out
And heads back
And curls up in her bed.

Note video is 4.5 Mb.

Make Do

 

When you don't have

What you need

In this case a leash

You learn that

What you need

Is to make do

So I did.

On a Lovely

On a very cold morning at the end of winter, near the beginning of spring
I peeked out our back door to look out at the new day.
And on the back steps was a little finch, no longer living I thought.
So, as often happens, my Tom came to the rescue and went to move it away.

And in the next few moments, came one of those times that I cherish,
A confirmation of what I already knew, that I chose my mate well.
For he bent down and tenderly spoke to the poor creature
Who, upon closer inspection showed small bits of movement and breath.

So Tom scooped it into a box to bring it inside and find warmth
And, we were hoping, new life.  Cozy and comfy it rested a while.
As the sun warmed the day, we brought the bird back outside
To see if it would drink or eat some seed.

And, as we opened the box, quite soon our new little friend flew away. 

On a lovely warm evening at the end of spring, near the beginning of summer
I peeked out our back door to look out at the end of the day.
And out in the garden, was my husband Tom, so close to the birds
By the feeder, that he kept very still.

And in the next few moments, came one of those times that I cherish,
A confirmation of what I already knew, that I chose my mate well.
For he poured some feed into his hand and spoke gently to the little creature
Who, soon was feeding right from his palm.

Quietly he called for me to come out and see.
And he poured some feed into my hand and the finch jumped right over.
And I could see all of the detail of this fine sweet bird, so trusting it was.
As it ate the seed we inspected it quite closely.

And were amazed at the detail, softness and beauty that God had created.

Snow!

I can't think

of a word more 

appropriate to say than

"yippee"

snow is starting

to fall today.

Sunday Morning

This is from a trip to the Central African Republic a few years ago.  

Sunday morning and
I did not want
to go to church

Two hours, plus
a hard bench
all in French
in this heat
and humidity

Crowded with people
wrapped in colorful cloths
meeting the prime minister
gazing upon an electric peacock
on the cross in the front

Enthralled by the offering
burlap bag in which
a chicken is contained
who danced in front of the
pulpit during the sermon

And we sang
lovely songs
beautiful voices
and there was worship

Not so difficult
in the end

Lunch Break

I almost missed it

Because I had things to do

Just my skis and me

Good-Bye Sweet Summit

     I was not sure at all about getting a dog.  I had thought, perhaps, it was selfish.  I should focus my time on people and their needs, rather than mine.  But then, as so often seems to happen with me, I find that the ideas in my head are not always just right, that a shift here and there, now and again, gets them a little more in line.  And it just so happened that the nudges came this time in three.
     I started to think that it would be nice to have a companion while I walked in the woods and a friend, who seems to say things in just such a way said "Gretchen, it'll make you less selfish" and my sister and her family got a puppy, named Axel.  And with each of these things I began to think more that a dog would be a good move.
     Then my sister and her family took a trip to Africa and I got to watch Axel for a bit, which sealed the deal and I began the search for a dog.  The quest, however, was not as easy as I imagined.  I wanted a medium size dog, a rescue, not a puppy, young and healthy, who would run, but who liked to sleep and, of course, was house trained and did not eat shoes or tromp in my neighbor's garden or bark or slobber too much.  And I searched every day for this perfect dog and nothing, just nothing arose.
      And then one day, I checked my voice mail and there was a message from a woman who rescues dogs.  I have just the right one for you she said and within minutes I was on my way.  And there before me was the saddest of girls, who slowly came to me and wanted a pet.  Should I take her, I thought, why yes, I should, and within the hour we were driving away.  So excited and frightened, I was, you cannot quite imagine (and I think my new Summit was too).
     I called my sister asking what to do, for I had no food, no leash and no bed.  You see we had dogs when I was a child, but that was a long ago memory with not many responsibilities had.  I stopped the car and picked up the basics and off we went to her new home.  My niece came up that weekend to show me the ropes.  We talked about dogs and walked and went down to Donner Lake where she and I read and Summit peacefully slept the afternoon away in the shade of a picnic table.
     People asked me what I would do when on my travels.  I was not quite sure, but I knew family would help.  What I had known though, long before, is that if you have to work out everything before a decision, then one will never be made.  (By the way, thank you my family and friends, for willingly and tenderly caring from my Summit so many such times when we needed help.)

     Quiet as can be, she did not leave my side (and never really has) and would look almost nowhere else.  I thought she would sleep downstairs, I liked a room of my own, but soon found that her bed was right next to mine.  I had found just what I wanted, a perfect companion who ran and obeyed and slept just fine.  She was, in fact, far more than I had imagined, my sweet sweet Summit, what a fine dog.  My list of wants was long, but what she gave me was even more.
      For she kept me company on long walks and runs and made me smile when she ran so fast and frolicked and cooled off in the creeks.  My timid friend, she even treed a bear on one of her most courageous days and never was a bird allowed to land upon her shores.   In the evenings, she was by my side for a treat and pet and some rest.

     Oh, sweet Summit you were gentle with friends, family and strangers, never a worry you gave me.  And those selfish thoughts, well it is how I met most of the people, who now are our friends on our street and in our new little town.  And you knew sweet Summit when I was having a tough day and stood by my side and gave comfort.  And even when life got less lonely, we stayed good friends, you and me.  With mountains to climb and wandering to do and time spent here in the garden, always you were willing and right there.
    Oh, Sum Sum, you opened my heart and softened it too, to let others in and be tender.  You made me laugh, knowing just what you wanted; when on a walk it was time to stop, you would go no further, just turnaround.  You knew your mind and it worked for you (and me too).
    And Pretty Girl, people thought, as I already knew, that you and I were a perfect fit.  Some laughed that we both like to take our time to decide whether or not we would let someone into our lives and I think that was alright, a good way for us to be.

     My Tom, at one point said, we have two dogs and a Summit, that he'd never seen such a girl.  That, I think was quite right.  Then you got sick and it has been so hard to watch, knowing that you could not do what you loved, yet you stayed around rather quite long, even the vet named you the Miracle Dog.
     We knew yesterday that it was time for you to go and are sad.  So good-bye my Sweet Summit, you will be missed and remembered with a smile followed by a tender sigh.  For you were a grand companion who softened and opened my heart.  Thank you my girl and my sweet sweet friend.

The Haircut

My husband needs a little hair trim now and again between cuts and I happily make a snip or two around the ears and such.  Now last night (and I'm not sure why) but I decided to get a bit more aggressive and off I went a cut here and there, and yes, it was pretty much everywhere.  And I did not quite realize just how much I had done until I looked down at his blue sweatshirt, covered now in a silvery shimmer.  Can you imagine such patience and trust from my husband sitting there, not quite sure what had gotten into his wife?

Less is better he said and I knew what he meant, less cutting and more hair not the other way around.  The side burns now needed a touch or two and Tom, note it was he, said to go get his razor and I did and it turned right on.  I was thinking I should really stop about the same time he questioned just what I was doing.   It was then that I realized the razor was just for an even bottom.  I had thought for the effort of getting it out that a tool of that size could trim the whole thing.

Then the laughter began quite in earnest, for my husband now had one extremely short side burn.   You might say that I shaved it all the way off and just to match the other is now barely there.  After all of this, I will say that the work I did was quite fine and he looks good, no better, quite handsome.   And when the laughter had slowed, he said with a smile that I can do it again.

Saturday Morning Thoughts

I find
great pleasure
in kissing
my husband

I find
much joy
in slipping on
cashmere socks

I find
my stomach
growling
wanting pancakes
but going to get
oatmeal instead

I find
my thoughts
to be very tender
about my sweet
dog, Summit

The Dryer

I cannot think of a comfort today
That surpasses the cozy warmth
Of holding freshly laundered
Sheets and towels
On a cold winter's morning.

Ice Skating

I have this idea in my head
And I can't quite get it out
About how delightful it would be
On this cold and clear winter's day
To hike up to Smith Lake
About a mile or so
Put on a pair of skates
And glide the afternoon away.

We would leave about 10 a.m.
With a picnic and a thermos in hand.
Together we would have the loveliest of days.

In my head the ice is thick and smooth
No chance of a crack in the ice or a fall on my bum.
I would gracefully glide around and around,
Twirling when I fancy and going backwards too.

I have told Tom my idea every day now for the last week or so
And he smiles and says he likes the thought too.

But the problem lies in that it is very cold outside
And it is really quite blustery now
And I don't like to skate, because
The inevitable fall quite drives me away
And I don't have skates and neither does Tom
And yes, the excuses go on and on.

There is a certain enchantment
In things not experienced before.
Some we figure out and turn into adventure
But this one, I think is best left to my daydreams.

Weighted Wooden Bookshelves

His bookshelves stand far above the ground and are weighted with a lifetime of thought, enjoyment and study.  A frozen biography of the man he was.  Each seems to hold a purpose, a story beyond the writing on each page.  I cannot resist standing in front of them, gazing at their covers, then opening them to look upon the mysteries stored within.  I find favorites of my own -- Wallace Stegner, John Irving, Annie Dillard.  There are others too, both familiar and new.  Some immediately capture my attention and others I skim quickly past.  And I want to sit with a cup of coffee and go through each shelf with my friend, who now has me fascinated by his books on the weighted wooden shelves far above the ground.  To hear now the stories, the passions and the learning he has found within.

Italian, Spanish, Annotated California Codes, Steinbeck, the Old West, an unabridged dictionary, chickens, a Bible, birds, natural history, algebra, calculus, Greek mythology, Cheyenne Indians, novels too.  There are books with cobwebs and dust thick upon them and ones used for research and reference with notes and dog eared pages. Few have been left unopened, most studied and read, some glanced at not long ago.  They hold a life of their own, a history joined together of a man and a view into who influenced his thoughts and ways. 

Within moments I know we share interests but they diverge as well.  Yet still, I am now more curious to know the man whose house they lay within.  Educated in the way of life, who knows his mind and his thoughts, who studied and wasted not time in his actions and is patient. Someone I like to have as a friend.  The kind of person with whom I want to talk and ask questions.

The story he has left open for me to see by his weighted bookshelves far above the ground.