Is one bougainvillea starting to look like all the others? If so, I’ll give them a rest for awhile, but could’t resist snapping another flower within a (seeming) flower.
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/06/06/flower-of-the-day-june-7-2016-dahlia/
For dVerse Poets: Connections
“Ring Around the Rosie” for my sister’s birthday & a backyard production of “Cowboys.”
At Play
“Annie I Over,” ” New Orleans.”
In shorts or dresses or cutoff jeans,
we ran and threw and played and shouted.
our pent-up energy thus outed.
“Send ‘Em,” “Ditch ‘Em,” “Cops and Robbers.”
“Poor Pussy” turned us into sobbers.
Do you remember these childhood games?
All vastly varied, with different names?
Before TV or internet,
games were as good as one could get
for transport from reality.
Back when we were cellphone-free,
“Drop the Handkerchief” we knew well
along with “Farmer in the Dell.”
“London Bridge” went falling down
each birthday party in our town.
All the long-lit summer nights
“Cowboys and Indians” staged their fights.
“Cops and Robbers” led to searches
of school ditches and behind churches.
The whole town our playing ground,
each chid lost, each child found
in hours long games of “Hide-and-Seek.”
Count to one hundred. Do not peek!
In childhood games of girls and boys,
imaginations were our toys.
Does such magic now reside
in minds of children safe inside
their cushioned worlds of rumpus rooms,
sealed safe within their houses’ wombs?
For dangers real now lurk in places
that formerly hid playmates’ faces.
Safety dictates different measures
for insuring childhood pleasures.
But oh, I remember so well
joyful flight and heartful swell
of friends pursuing through the dark
back then when life was such a lark.
Now children seek play differently
on cellphone screens and Smart TV,
scarce imagining a world
with internet not yet unfurled.
Our world had not yet been corrupted
with connections interrupted
with wireless servers on the blink,
for we needed no further link
than friends pounding upon our door
to come outside and play some more!
Stylish cowboys Karen Bossart and sister Patti.
The cannas are at their very best right now and I took dozens of shots of them yesterday, but this is my favorite. Hopefully they weren’t all battered by tonight’s wind and rain.
I’m not quite sure whether people really consider reality shows to be real or not. Hard for me to believe they would, although taking the present presidential elections into account, I have lowered my expectations of people a good deal. In my house, however, there is no need for the diversion of viewing other people’s lives, be it Honey Boo Boo or the Kardashians. There is plenty of unexpected activity from day-to-day to keep me as entertained as I care to be.
Take yesterday, for example. I was all ready for my masseuse to arrive for my massage when I realized I had the time wrong and he wouldn’t be there for three more hours. Too long to wait for lunch as I was already hungry, so I put a bit of hot and sour soup on the stove that was left over from dinner with a friend the night before. It was meant to have wontons added and I thought instead of boiling them in the broth as I usually did, I’d prepare them as my friend had advised–browning them in a bit of oil, then adding a small bit of water and putting the lid on to steam them. The problem was that once they were browned, they were so nice and crispy that I didn’t want to limp them up again, so I put them on paper towels to drain the grease off and poured the soup into a bowl. I’d float a few in the soup and put the remainder of the wontons on a dish to the side.
I tasted one. Yum! As I moved the others to the plate, however, one rolled off the large slotted spoon and landed on the floor. No problem, I thought, as the floor had just been washed. Perhaps I’d just dust it off and eat it anyway, but as I leaned down to pick it up, I saw a slight movement. It took a minute to register that lying as close as possible to the wonton was a cockroach, now on it’s back with feet up in the air. It was then that I realized that when the wonton had fallen, it had fallen directly on the cockroach, knocking it for a loop. It was just now that it was starting to regain consciousness and its legs waved a bit in the air before I administered final rites by stepping on it. I then picked up bug and wonton for simultaneous entombment in the garbage can.
It was then that the utter absurdity of death by wonton hit me. Did it seem an appropriate death? It was not usual for a roach to venture out into the light of day. This one must have been led to its sad demise by an overwhelming love of wonton–its aroma as it bubbled in the hot grease just so irresistible that it overrode the roach’s usual schedule of secretive midnight meanderings. It died considering doing something it loved to do––namely, to mount and have its way with any food it might find in its path, making it useless for human consumption. What irony that in its final act of culinary terrorism, for once the food got the better of it.
Death by wonton. Not a bad way to go.
A year or so ago, I began sticking the labels from bananas up on the blank ugly white side of the cupboard near my sink. Over the past year, I’ve added interesting liquor bottle tops with their sides cut to sunburst out around them, beer bottle caps and a little virgin plaque my friend Judy gave me. Imagine my surprise when I looked up yesterday and saw that Yolanda had decided to cut out a cane of Caffeine Free Diet Coke from the side the the carton of it I had in the fridge! A friend I told about it didn’t see the humor of it but I loved it. She certainly knows me, and all those rum bottle caps just didn’t cut it without a bit of Caffeine Free Diet Coke to add to the mix! At $2 a can (if and when it is even available in Mexico) the Caffeine Free Diet Coke is by far the most expensive thing up there per serving, which certainly adds an air of the exotic.
One of my two dearest friends once told me that the two of them thought I had always had an air of entitlement. This was a shock to me as from the inside out, I’ve always felt like I had to earn every bit of success or recognition I’ve ever received and that I’ve worked hard towards it. In trying to remember the exact conversation that led up to this statement, I have remembered that I had written an angry letter to my boyfriend who had totally overlooked my birthday, merely jotting his name down on a card someone else had provided for my birthday party. Luckily, I decided to read the letter to my friend before sending it to my boyfriend, and the statement above was her reaction to my complete disappointment in that. (No, I never did send the letter.)
Let me say first off that I harbor no resentment against my friend for her statement. I think it is the purpose of friends to occasionally bring these blunt truths and perceptions to light, and there was no malice in her statement––just a wish to furnish me with some insight into myself and to perhaps stay my action in sending the angry and heartbroken letter. She went on to say she’d never had a birthday party in her life. Now that got me to thinking, because I’m sure if I have ever been with her on her birthday, that I would have thrown some kind of a party, even if it was just for the two of us; but perhaps she meant as a child and if this is so––and if expecting some sort of celebration of one’s existence on earth means one projects an air of entitlement––then she is correct, because I am a great believer in celebrations for whomever and for whatever purpose.
Christmas is a big deal to me, even if it means making a crepe paper tree by twisting streamers from a central place on the ceiling overhead down to the various corners and edges of the tiny desk on an ocean liner–which I did when I happened to be on a boat mid-ocean one year for Christmas. Another time, when I was on another cruise with my sister and mother for Christmas, I even packed wrapped presents and a tiny foldable tree in my luggage.
I believe that there are enough days to “rue” in this life, so given any excuse to celebrate, I’m going to take it. On Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, Valentines Day, May Day, Halloween, Easter, New years and Day of the Dead––I’m going to use it as a reason to do something creative and something celebratory. Yes, I admit, over the years I’ve forgotten a few birthdays of friends and relatives not physically present. One other year, everyone forgot mine–even my mother––but when you are with me on your birthday, believe me, we’re going to celebrate it!
Such events smooth out the choppy seas of life and give us something on which to pin our memories. Think back. How many of the best memories of your life involve celebrations of some sort? If I tried hard enough, I could probably remember more childhood events centering around holidays and celebrations than any other factor. I vividly remember the costume party my sister had when she turned 13 and the complete southern belle ruffled hoop-skirted costume (complete with picture hat) that Kitty Reynolds made for Cheryl Lillibridge to wear to it–out of crepe paper! My sister went in our older sister’s prom dress, complete with a wrist corsage and dance book (remember those–with a tiny pencil attached for the guys who wanted to dance with you to sign up for a certain place in line on your list?) I went as Alice in Wonderland, accompanied by my sister’s giant yellow “white” rabbit.
The only photo I have of the party shows me, as Alice in Wonderland, in the foreground, but you can see Cheryl in her remarkable southern belle costume in the background as well as Patti in the polka dot prom dress. Perhaps because we have recorded them with photos, we remember these events the best, but so what? if they weren’t memorable enough to take photos, there wouldn’t be any photos to help us remember. (Now that is a cyclical statement if I ever heard one.) And yes, Patti, I do remember that you are the one who reminded me that dress was made out of crepe paper when I mentioned it in a comment on Murdo Girl’s blog.)
At any rate, I was going to list a number of other examples of memories associated with Christmas and other holidays, but I think I’ve proven my point as clearly as I would have if I were to give twenty more examples, so I won’t. The point is that life is going to furnish us with countless choppy seas. In the past few months, this has been especially true with friends and friends of friends suffering terrible tragedies. In some cases, it has been almost too much to bear, but in the midst of all this sadness, we continue to plan these special life events: Easter egg hunts, reunions, summer camps for kids, special dinners with friends, birthday celebrations, writing retreats and trips to far-off places to visit friends we’ve been promising to take for years. Because life on its own doesn’t furnish us with very many smooth spaces, I think we need to furnish them for ourselves!
Recently I quoted this statement by Will Durant to a blogger friend in the comments section of his blog. It is probably one of the quotes I’ve requoted most in life, and forgive me if you’ve heard it before, but I’m gonna do it again:
“Civilization is a stream with banks. The stream is sometimes filled with blood from people killing, stealing, shouting and doing things historians usually record, while on the banks, unnoticed, people build homes, make love, raise children, sing songs, write poetry.
The story of civilization is the story of what happened on the banks. Historians are pessimists because they ignore the banks for the river.”
I think Mr. Durant will forgive me if I add one item to his riverbank list of activities. The word I would add is “celebrate.” It is one more everyday occurrence between people living their ordinary lives that helps to smooth out the bumps that the “big things” provide.
Billy Sorenson and I dressed up as characters from fiction for our town’s 50th anniversary parade. Why Robin Hood looks terrified of Little Bo Peep and why she looks like the cat who has swallowed the canary is lost in the annals of history. If my sisters hadn’t been fond of very large stuffed animals, I would have been limited in my costume props. The sheep was won for my sister Betty by her boyfriend who spent a lot of quarters and got a sore arm tossing balls to win her favor. The big rabbit in the first photo was my sister Patti’s.
P.S. Remember that little twig in the ground I was sitting next to as a two year old in “Dreams of Flying” ? It is the same tree pictured in the first picture above. It took seven years to grow even that big–which is how slowly trees grow in the dry climate of South Dakota, even though I’m sure my dad or mom probably watered it daily. It would have been that size in less than a year in Mexico.
This tabachine bush was covered with butterflies, but they are almost impossible to photograph. They are constantly lighting for a few seconds and then flying off, circling, lighting––but never long enough to get much more than a blue. I felt fortunate to get one good shot.
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/06/04/flower-of-the-day-june-5-2016-peony/
Anyone who has children, anyone who has been one, needs to read this poem and then nod a head and say, “So true!”
I’ve developed an odd proclivity
I’ve developed an odd proclivity
I’VE DEVELOPED AN ODD PROCLIVITY
I say everything repetitively
I say everything repetitively
I SAY EVERYTHING REPETITIVELY
For me to say something one time, or two
For me to say something one time, or two
FOR ME TO SAY SOMETHING ONE, TIME OR TWO
It falls on deaf ears—this is nothing new
It falls on deaf ears—this is nothing new
IT FALLS ON DEAF EARS—THIS IS NOTHING NEW
Rather than wait for an elusive response
Rather than wait for an elusive response
RATHER THAN WAIT FOR AN ELUSIVE RESPONSE
I say it three times if I say it once
I say it three times if I say it once
I SAY IT THREE TIMES IF I SAY IT ONCE
The third time said with an audible force
The third time said with an audible force
THE THIRD TIME IS SAID…
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Every Child’s a Child of All
Though some of them are ill-begotten,
our childhoods cannot be forgotten.
Filled with love or merely fuss,
still, they are what started us.
Those in their good fortune who
got to the front of childhood’s queue
happy and content and loving
without undue stress or shoving
need to thank each lucky star
that they’ve turned into who they are.
For there are children born in stress––
to poverty or loneliness.
They live next door in every land,
unguided by parental hand.
Born carelessly into this world,
inside of each, a self lies curled
needing care to help it grow
from shadows into sunlight’s glow.
These children belong to us all
so if you hear them, heed their call.
There are so many different ways
to parent them–with smiles or praise.
Share what gifts you have to share.
Each child is valuable and rare,
although, it’s true, they may not know it,
help them find a way to show it.
Teach them, praise them, love them, show
each child you meet the way to go.
For, in places tame or wild,
It takes a village to raise a child.
This year Campamento Estrella will again be held on July 25-30 for 30 children (age 9-12) from San Juan Cosala, the village where I live. (For those of you unversed in Spanish, “Campamento Estrella” means “Camp Star,” for it is our belief that every child is a star.) The photos shown above are from last year’s camp, which was a smash hit. This year we will be stessing kind treatment of animals, town history, serving the pueblo and personal hygiene and ethics. These themes will be dealt with through the activities listed above as well as interaction with town elders and young adults from the pueblo who can serve as excellent role models to the children.
We are currently seeking donations to cover the cost of art supplies, food, equipment rental, camp T-shirts and the salaries of the young Mexican camp counselors. We greatly appreciate donations in any amount.
Donations may be made via Paypal to jeredepaul@yahoo.com
If you live in the Ajijic area, donations may be made at Diane Pearl’s, Viva Mexico Restaurant in San Juan Cosala or by contacting Judy Dykstra-Brown at jubob2@hotmail.com (387 761-0281), Audrey Zikmund at az62343@gmail.com (766 106-0821) or Jere Fyvolent at jeredepaul@yahoo.com. (387-761- 0813.)
The camp will culminate with a dance performance by camp participants as well as performances by the San Juan Children’s Orchestra and Chorus and the Ajijic Ukulele group at 3-5 p.m. on Saturday, July 30 at Viva Mexico. Please call 387 761-1058 for table reservations if you wish to attend that performance. They will be serving from their regular menu. Admission to the show is free, but any donations to help fund next year’s camp will be gratefully accepted. Next year we hope to include a second week of camp in El Chante. Why not set up a camp of your own. There are children waiting to become stars everywhere on earth!!!
