I have been watching my human learning to use her new computer (I catnap on her desk while she is working away) and I think I have the hang of it. Her old computer was not to my liking - much too slow for my nimble mind. But I think this new-fangled machine is the cat's meow.
So here goes - a blog by me, Maggie the Cat.
I want you to know that my sister Pixie and I have been taking our responsibilities seriously as owners of this house. When I am not here next to this computer, I am at the open sliding door in what I call my room in this house. It is a lovely screened porch (I believe that's what my humans call it) and can survey almost the entire back gardens from my post at the door. A cat needs to keep track of the activity outside - birds, squirrels, and the like.
Several nights ago, there were a couple of large animals I had not seen before with black masks across their eyes and striped tails. Pixie and I went on high alert. These creatures moseyed around sniffing at things in my backyard. I have no idea why they were doing this, but one must observe them carefully. Pixie and I both watched from my porch and then in a dignified way befitting responsible cats, we walked as fast as we could to the other end of our house to gain another vantage point.
Back and forth we went. Our humans paid little attention. Probably because they knew we were keeping track of these strange animals. I was glad I as inside, protected by a screen. I wouldn't have wanted to challenge one of these creatures to order to chase it away.They were BIG.
Earlier this week my two humans left and were gone over night. I think they figured we two cats were now mature enough to monitor this house in their absence. The Jan-human from down the street did not even come by, as she usually does when my humans go away. It was good to be fully in charge. Pixie even caught a little mouse and left it by the back door where the humans would be sure to see it when they returned.
It has finally stopped pouring water down from the sky outdoors (I'm glad we are inside cats, all tidy and dry). It has meant the return of sunlight which fascinates me as it plays on the walls and ceiling. I have tried to catch this light, but so far I have not been successful. My humans tell me Ansel Adams (another human) spent all his life trying to catch the light, so I guess I have plenty of time to strategize how I might accomplish light-catching.
Oh, I hear my human coming into this room where her computer lives. So I need to sign off until later.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
cacophony
four am . . .
perched in the lilac bush
outside the bedroom window
he begins singing at the top of his lungs
signaling all the neighborhood robins
to join him in his enthusiasm
for the dawn he believes is imminent
doesn’t matter whether it is April or June
he consults the wrist watch worn
around his left leg with the precision
of a station master in charge of arrivals
regardless of when the sun
pushes the darkness away
no consideration given
to human occupants huddled in beds
after a long winter of snows
unwilling to shut the window
or bury their heads under pillows
to shut out the robins’ cacophony
life is like these dilemmas
one can’t have it all
sleep or singing can’t coexist
the robins make a clear choice
in favor of singing out their hearts
the better choice in this crazy world
Monday, June 17, 2013
Ode to My Cane
For some reason a number of odes had been showing up in my life, so I decided to memorialize my cane that has traveled far and wide with me.
Ode to My Cane
Trusty is her name
keeping me safe from all harm.
She prevents me from
falling flat on my face.
She has traveled across the globe
putting her footprint
on strange and foreign soil.
She has kept me upright
during fierce seas
and cobbled streets.
She endures all manner of weather
snow, sleet, heat, rain, and ice.
She bears the signs of age
her blackness nicked and scratched.
She wore out one padded handle
so wears a handle transplant.
She endures being hung
from tables and chairs
while maintaining her dignity.
She is common in appearance
a soul friend who resembles me.
She bears no envy of other canes
with fancy painted designs or elegance
She is dependable and ever curious
as to where we might go next.
And if I should ever be in danger
I could use her to wield a mighty whack!
Ode to My Cane
Trusty is her name
keeping me safe from all harm.
She prevents me from
falling flat on my face.
She has traveled across the globe
putting her footprint
on strange and foreign soil.
She has kept me upright
during fierce seas
and cobbled streets.
She endures all manner of weather
snow, sleet, heat, rain, and ice.
She bears the signs of age
her blackness nicked and scratched.
She wore out one padded handle
so wears a handle transplant.
She endures being hung
from tables and chairs
while maintaining her dignity.
She is common in appearance
a soul friend who resembles me.
She bears no envy of other canes
with fancy painted designs or elegance
She is dependable and ever curious
as to where we might go next.
And if I should ever be in danger
I could use her to wield a mighty whack!
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
BLINK
This sprung weather is like
dark grey, rain
bright green, sunshine
dark grey, rain
bright green, sunshine
dark grey, rain
then -
finally night descends
as if the eyes of our neighborhood
are blinking
in disbelief
-Clem Nagel
dark grey, rain
bright green, sunshine
dark grey, rain
bright green, sunshine
dark grey, rain
then -
finally night descends
as if the eyes of our neighborhood
are blinking
in disbelief
-Clem Nagel
Monday, June 10, 2013
We are BACK!
No, we did not die, leave the country (other countries do have Internet, you know), or quit writing all together.The problem is that we have been suffering from a serious medical disorder called Garden-body.
Seriously!
Garden-body occurs from an excessive number of hours and days spent gardening.
Usually, we begin cleaning up our garden sometime in March - after the snow has disappeared. Not that it doesn't snow here again in April, but late season snow does not usually last very long. Then, the first of April, we plant pea pods for stir fry, followed by radishes, lettuce, scallions, broccoli, and other cool season crops. By the first of May, when the oak trees' budding leaves are the size of mouse ears, as my grandfather used to say, in go the potatoes. By mid-May, its time for tomato plants, peppers, and eggplant.
In between veggie planting, we trim dead wood out of shrubs, put in new shrubs, including a rose or two, split and move perennials, and put new perennials in empty spaces. Though by now there aren't many empty spaces left. It's like a symphony with its moods and movements, all carefully composed for the pleasure of its creator and its listeners.
However this year it was still snowing in early May and the ground covered with winter snows.
The result? Garden-body. We have done about two months of gardening in two weeks. Other than keeping bills paid, milk and OJ, in the fridge, and gas in the car, our lives have been consumed by retrieving our garden from the effect of last summer's drought and this year's extended winter.
Now I am happy to say the hard work is over. And we can resume normal life. That is, if life can ever be described as normal.
The worrisome issue is climate change underlying all of the "crazy weather." Part of the present cause of weather events is melting Arctic ice, pushing cold air much further southward into the USA. When that cold air encounters warm gulf air it creates the makings of disasters. The melting ice floes from the high Arctic that we encountered, as we crossed the North Pacific last spring (that meant returning to Japan to find another route), was further evidence of these massive changes.
Folks here, me included, have been grumbling and complaining a lot about the weather this spring. One grey rainy day after another. But we have had it easy compared to other places around the world.
Excessive high temps in the SW and forest fires. Flooding in the east and central parts of this country. Tornadoes. Eastern Europe flooded and unseasonably cold. The list goes on . . .
So in scheme of things, our sore Garden-bodys will heal. At this point, our garden looks like we are living in an English gardener's paradise. And we now have time to "take pen in hand" and resume our writing lives.
Seriously!
Garden-body occurs from an excessive number of hours and days spent gardening.
Usually, we begin cleaning up our garden sometime in March - after the snow has disappeared. Not that it doesn't snow here again in April, but late season snow does not usually last very long. Then, the first of April, we plant pea pods for stir fry, followed by radishes, lettuce, scallions, broccoli, and other cool season crops. By the first of May, when the oak trees' budding leaves are the size of mouse ears, as my grandfather used to say, in go the potatoes. By mid-May, its time for tomato plants, peppers, and eggplant.
In between veggie planting, we trim dead wood out of shrubs, put in new shrubs, including a rose or two, split and move perennials, and put new perennials in empty spaces. Though by now there aren't many empty spaces left. It's like a symphony with its moods and movements, all carefully composed for the pleasure of its creator and its listeners.
However this year it was still snowing in early May and the ground covered with winter snows.
The result? Garden-body. We have done about two months of gardening in two weeks. Other than keeping bills paid, milk and OJ, in the fridge, and gas in the car, our lives have been consumed by retrieving our garden from the effect of last summer's drought and this year's extended winter.
Now I am happy to say the hard work is over. And we can resume normal life. That is, if life can ever be described as normal.
The worrisome issue is climate change underlying all of the "crazy weather." Part of the present cause of weather events is melting Arctic ice, pushing cold air much further southward into the USA. When that cold air encounters warm gulf air it creates the makings of disasters. The melting ice floes from the high Arctic that we encountered, as we crossed the North Pacific last spring (that meant returning to Japan to find another route), was further evidence of these massive changes.
Folks here, me included, have been grumbling and complaining a lot about the weather this spring. One grey rainy day after another. But we have had it easy compared to other places around the world.
Excessive high temps in the SW and forest fires. Flooding in the east and central parts of this country. Tornadoes. Eastern Europe flooded and unseasonably cold. The list goes on . . .
So in scheme of things, our sore Garden-bodys will heal. At this point, our garden looks like we are living in an English gardener's paradise. And we now have time to "take pen in hand" and resume our writing lives.
Friday, May 17, 2013
dis asters
sometimes I wonder why I keep things
things of which I know little
or fear to know more
like a small crumble of red brick
I took from a pile of rubble
I know I should have
left it where it lay
but it already was broken
and there were so many
just as lives once filled
long rows of barracks
I saw the museum with pictures
and all the shoes
and signs in languages
I didn't understand
why I chose that broken brick
near children's barrack #23
I do not know
not often, I hold that remnant
and wonder why I keep it
why do I keep the memory of my escape
from those memorial grounds that day
to eat a sandwich from my day pack
seated on a gray boulder on the sunny hillside
overlooking a far-distant river and
watching a storm pass through the valley
why did I feel so unsafe when I became aware
my discarded granite boulder
was just one of ten giant jumbled stone block
letters that once spelled Buchenwald
why do I remember myriads of blue asters
peering through tangles of rusty barbed wire
behind me
by the guardhouse watchtower
somehow feeling safe outside the compound fences
knowing I could go home . . . and would
sometimes I wonder why I
keep things
that never should have been
The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy
is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet,
alone with the heavens, nature, and God.
Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be.
-Anne Frank
1929-1945
things of which I know little
or fear to know more
like a small crumble of red brick
I took from a pile of rubble
I know I should have
left it where it lay
but it already was broken
and there were so many
just as lives once filled
long rows of barracks
I saw the museum with pictures
and all the shoes
and signs in languages
I didn't understand
why I chose that broken brick
near children's barrack #23
I do not know
not often, I hold that remnant
and wonder why I keep it
why do I keep the memory of my escape
from those memorial grounds that day
to eat a sandwich from my day pack
seated on a gray boulder on the sunny hillside
overlooking a far-distant river and
watching a storm pass through the valley
why did I feel so unsafe when I became aware
my discarded granite boulder
was just one of ten giant jumbled stone block
letters that once spelled Buchenwald
why do I remember myriads of blue asters
peering through tangles of rusty barbed wire
behind me
by the guardhouse watchtower
somehow feeling safe outside the compound fences
knowing I could go home . . . and would
sometimes I wonder why I
keep things
that never should have been
The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy
is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet,
alone with the heavens, nature, and God.
Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be.
-Anne Frank
1929-1945
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Untitled Until Later II
Poetry is an oral and written art form. It is meant to be read both in silence and aloud. Today, much of the poetry that is written is free-style. Here, poetry becomes a visual art - the white spaces on the page as important as the words themselves. And such poetry relies on a rhythm and music embedded within its words.
When I sent my poem, "Untitled Until Later" to my dear friend Carol, who is a marvelous poet, she asked if she might suggest some changes. When I received her efforts back, I said WOW! What an illustration of the visual importance of a piece of poetry.
Below are the results of our collaboration.
trees bewildered by continuing snow
stark bare silhouettes against grey sky
waiting for the signal to explode in green
when this prolonged winter becomes summer
in one day
tiny white snowdrops
hopeful sentinels bloom under May snows
buried bulbs hesitant to push upward
Arctic melt carries seals on ice-floes
blown far southward
fearful frightened people
reach for stability in the absence
of seasonal cycles a stability no longer
existing they are afraid to trust
any sudden warmth
inept brothers bomb innocence
shatter illusions of safety
a thirsty nation devours every detail
in a media frenzy so many questions
elude answers
during grey days winter-weary people
collectively search for some assurance
crying out for anchors they cannot find
while heavy air saturated with chaos
hangs over all
trees frozen symbols in time and space
everyone uncertain of any future
waiting for something not named
for what lies ahead what is possible
beyond imagination
still having hope
Now scroll back to my entry on Monday, April 29th. Read this first version out loud. Then come back to this entry and also read it out loud. At first glance, this latter version looks jerky and abrupt with all the spaces within the lines. But surprisingly - there is music embedded here too.
When I sent my poem, "Untitled Until Later" to my dear friend Carol, who is a marvelous poet, she asked if she might suggest some changes. When I received her efforts back, I said WOW! What an illustration of the visual importance of a piece of poetry.
Below are the results of our collaboration.
trees bewildered by continuing snow
stark bare silhouettes against grey sky
waiting for the signal to explode in green
when this prolonged winter becomes summer
in one day
tiny white snowdrops
hopeful sentinels bloom under May snows
buried bulbs hesitant to push upward
Arctic melt carries seals on ice-floes
blown far southward
fearful frightened people
reach for stability in the absence
of seasonal cycles a stability no longer
existing they are afraid to trust
any sudden warmth
inept brothers bomb innocence
shatter illusions of safety
a thirsty nation devours every detail
in a media frenzy so many questions
elude answers
during grey days winter-weary people
collectively search for some assurance
crying out for anchors they cannot find
while heavy air saturated with chaos
hangs over all
trees frozen symbols in time and space
everyone uncertain of any future
waiting for something not named
for what lies ahead what is possible
beyond imagination
still having hope
Now scroll back to my entry on Monday, April 29th. Read this first version out loud. Then come back to this entry and also read it out loud. At first glance, this latter version looks jerky and abrupt with all the spaces within the lines. But surprisingly - there is music embedded here too.
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