My friend Leslie is here visiting from the states for a month. Two years ago, she helped me decorate the graves I have “adopted” in the Ajijic cemetery for Day of the Dead, and she wanted to go see how they were faring this year. As you can see, they have become very overgrown again, so I’ve hired Yolanda’s sons to go cut down the year’s growth. Yolanda and I will go clean off the stones and Leslie and her friends want to come help me decorate them–perhaps on Halloween. I had heard the cemeteries will be closed again on November 1 and 2 because of Covid, as they were last year, but rumor has it that that restriction has been lifted. Both Ajijic and San Juan Cosala are having their plaza celebrations, so I guess things are back to normal. I’ll post more photos after the graves are cleared and decorated. Below are links to two earlier posts about past years:
The inhabitants of the graves that I have adopted are:
Frances Cutting Fletcher, born 1901, died 1966.
Katherine Root Fletcher, born 1873, died 1957.
Charles Arnold Fletcher, born July 19, 1893, died October 4, 1970.
I did extensive research and finally figured out the relationships, but can’t find the notes I took two years ago. Trying to research last night, I discovered from census and military records that there are three generations of Charles Arnold Fletcher, so we never could figure out the exact relationships, but I’ll keep searching.
Celebrations in one’s seventies require an appointment
with your favorite doctor for a painkiller or ointment for sprains or aches or bruises from one’s excesses of being a good sport about camping out or ice skating or skiing.
What once you took for granted may now be an act of will to engineer that final run or execute that hill. Trying to be a kid again may put you out of touch. The x-ray that they’ll take today will indicate how much.!
When Re-Farmer published a blog about making his lovely wooden spoons, I had to make a comment about how much I love all of the handmade wooden soons and other wooden implements that I have purchased over the years and the Turkey with holes all over it that I bought years ago and ended up using to display some of the wooden spoons, knives, forks and spatulas I’ve purchased over the years. I have been using some of them for over 30 years and they are all still serviceable.
I remarked that I’d like to send him photos of them but in the end, the easiest way seemed to be to publish them on my blog. Holding some of the implements with handles too large to fit in the holes of the turkey is a hand-carved buna (coffee) holder that I bought in Ethiopia in 1973. The other wooden implement is my grandmother’s lemon squeezer. See Re-Farmer’s spoonsHERE.
This form consists of 5 five-line stanzas with aabb rhyme schemes, each containing 8 syllables and each stanza concluding with a three-syllable compound word that had one element the same as all other compound words in the final lines of the stanzas. Phew!
Although his past proclivity was to regurgitate, allow me to encapsulate the bishop’s present state. He’s rickety and yet he has no tendency to brood. In fact, against all reason, he’s in a euphoric mood.
And lest you think nobility has anything to do with it, when he eats, he has a brand new medicine to chew with it. Since they’ve added magic mushrooms to his omelets of late, he’s finishing his breakfast and licking clean the plate.
He’s ordered a new upper plate and hopes that what he’ll do with it is to exercise his jaws by learning how to chew with it. Then he’ll have special omelets morning, noon and night and justify it, saying he’s practicing his bite.
Night has come to my great sorrow, Light won’t be here ‘til tomorrow.
Can’t go fishin‘ ‘til the morning, but I’m wishin’ that the warning
that dad made could be forgotten
and these fish were caught, not boughten!
Night has come to my great sorrow. Light won’t be here ‘til tomorrow.
Still we will rise before day dawns,
rub sleep from eyes and stifle yawns.
There’s time left to grant our wishes,
bait our hooks and catch those fishes!
This is the trickiest prompt that I’ve seen in a looooong time. Tina’s Zigzag Rhyme rules are the quirkiest and I think I’ve followed them to a “T.” (In no place does she say that it’s not legal to end every line in a rhyme–just that you must do so in lines 5, 6, 11 and 12, so I rhymed every couplet. Words that must be rhymed by Tina’s rules are underlined in my poem, just to make your checking up on me easier. No, that’s not Tina pictured with me. That’s my big sister Patti. I’m pretending to have caught all those fish she’s holding.
Tina’s Zigzag Rhyme is a form created by Christina R Jussaume and found at Poetry Styles (site no longer accessible.)
It starts with a sestet, refrain, quatrain and then another refrain and quatrain if you wish.
It must be uplifting subject.
Rhyme in first two lines is at left,
next rhyme is center in lines 3 and 4,
and rhyme in lines 5 and 6 is an end rhyme.
Refrain is first two lines of poem.
After refrain , in the quatrain you use center rhyme, then end rhyme.
It is an 8 syllable per line poem. No limit to stanzas but must have,at least one sestet, refrain, and quatrain.
Thanks to David at Skeptic’s Kadish for sharing this form. See his poem at his link HERE.
Vermillion Flycatcher–or is it a scarlet tanager? They aren’t supposed to be this far west in Mexico, but who knows?
Woodpecker Duo. They or their forefathers have awakened me every morning for twenty years.
Click on photos to enlarge and read captions. I need some help in identifying two of these birds.
Each consecutive melody, sung with a full-throated enthusiasm and answered in kind achieves a second purpose that I’m sure is one unintended by nature. Encapsulated in deep sleep as I am, only they are effectual in actually arousing me, for they form a chorus of alarm clocks that cannot be turned off.
I smooth the matted mane of Matteo, my love who sleeps through it all, and stumble to the kitchen to put on the coffee. As I drink my first cup, the male woodpecker joins his mate in the tallest palm tree outside the kitchen window. A second later, Matteo joins me as well and all is right in the world. He croons a soft aria into my ear and I answer in perfect harmony.
Wood to ash and flesh to dust, stone to sand and iron to rust. Leather snaps and fabrics fray. All things living must wear away. What we seek to save, we save in vain. Nature wipes out every gain, and blessedly, also our pain.