Summer Peaks

I have been so busy
that I have ignored time's passing.

But last night the farmer cut the hay
in the field behind our house-
and time rushed over me
like a heavy shadow.

All of a sudden I saw
him cutting away the summer-
chopping it off before I could enjoy it-
rolling it up in a neat display of lost days-
ready to be stored away in only memory.

I breathed deep-
hoping I could smell summer-
hold it in my lungs
and let it penetrate my soul...
Let it dance in my heart
a while longer...
Let it live in me
like a beacon of sunlight...

And I beg to please let summer
give me another chance to embrace it.

The grass curls crispy beneath my feet-
Sunsets melt into pastel watercolors.
The garden grows weary.

My days fly
like a kite that has no string-
like a butterfly
I cannot capture.
Like a song whose tune
fades with every moment.

Forgive me.

A New Look

Trying out a new look!
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Our Independence Day Theater

About this time of year,
my brothers would mount up the riding lawnmowers,
rev up the weed eaters
and push their spinning blades
through the overgrown thicket
behind my parent's house.

What began as stickers and stubbles-
bushes and brambles
and unruly vines gone wild-
soon transformed
into a well groomed outdoor theater.

And the featured show
was the Forth of July fireworks.

The celebration was less than a mile away-
across the field and over the runway
at the little local airport.

It was a family gathering.
Bigger than Labor Day
and almost as exciting as Christmas.

Our large family would begin
their migration slowly-
a few couples lugging lawn chairs and suntan lotion
through the sagging barbed wire
onto the freshly landscaped arena.

Others followed-
with bug spray,
blankets,
babies-
and bubbling excitement.

A trail of popcorn
or impatient sparklers
always led the way for friends
and strangers who had been invited
to share the family festivities.

Like spectators in an opera house,
we gathered in our seats-
anxious for the sky to grow dark
and the show to begin.

The first pop of a firecracker
sent giddy waves of giggles
from the little kids-
and smiles of anticipation
from grownups.

Ooohs and Ahhhs began immediately-
as giant flowers of light
burst in the summer sky
with trails of glitter and gleam.

Explosions of blue and red and green
created stars in the heavens
as we all tilted our heads back
and opened our mouths
to voice our evident approval.

The show was never long enough.

When the last pop finally faded,
we felt cheated-
swore they were shorter than last year,
and then gathered our gear for
a dark walk back to the house.

Then we visited over leftover hot dogs
and potato salad,
never really saying it-
but knowing that we were a lucky family.
That God had blessed us with wonderful parents
and special siblings
and memories that would last forever.

Mom and Dad are gone now.
Strangers live in the house
where I grew up.
Vines twist over the fence
and honeysuckle chokes out the view
of our old Independence Day theater.

But this weekend,
the first snap of a firecracker
will bring it all rushing back-
with an unpleasant tug of time
and pure childish joy.

Checking In

I think I've forgotten how to type.

No- wait.
I never did know how to type.
All I do know is- these two fingers sure have
been away from the keyboard
way too long.

More than writing,
I have missed reading.
You bloggy friends have been
the unending source of inspiration,
friendship, communication
and entertainment.
I can't wait to have the time again
to visit you all individually
and leave comments.

But, my husband is still off work
and we have been like DIY'ers on steroids.
Hallelujah!
I think- I hope- the cabin is about done.

I have never been so hot and tired
in my entire life.
I just can't wait to sit back and enjoy
the fruits of our labor.

I hope to be back in blogging mode
within a week or two...
Hope these hammer wielding fingers
will know right where to pick up
where I left off.

Click on these before and after pics
to see what I've been up to.
My husband and I did this all ourselves.

And I think we make a pretty good team,
don't you?

A Year

The world misses you, Bob.

Short Hello

Just taking a few minutes
to say hi and let you know
how much I miss all of you.

We bought back the little cabin
that we sold ten years ago.
Great story,
but gotta save it for later.

Needless to say,
there is no internet-
no cell sevice-
and we spent last week without a bit of TV !!!
Kinda felt good.

Fixin the place up-
hadn't been cleaned in ten years.
I'll post some before and after pics
next week.

Got spider? Tick? bug? bit:

 But the doc says I'm gonna live!

I miss reading all my favorite blogs
and commenting to my good friends.

I promise I'll be back real soon.

With just a little more hillbilly in me...:)

It's Ours!

Life's Laundry

In case you aren't aware-
this is National Clothesline Week.

That means: Shut down the
ol' Kenmore,
grab a basket of wet laundry-
and head outside
for some good old-fashioned
sun-dried garment therapy.

Some of the best times I spent with my Mom
was while she hung clothes on the wire line
that Dad had strung between a heavy post
and a maple tree.

We would sit in the cool clover
and watch as Mom pulled wet shirts
from the frayed wicker basket
and slapped them into the air-
grabbing the clean, cotton corners
with wooden clothespins
and suspending them
like wispy dancers
in the summer breeze.

Her gingham bag of pins
bulged like an expectant belly at first,
then slowly deflated
as the army of bluejeans
and sock soldiers lined up
against the blue cloudless sky.

There was something quite soothing,
even as a child,
to see once soiled clothes
renewed with fresh air
and fluttering with a sweet soapy scent.

Later, when the blue jeans became stiff
and the shirts grew tired from their
fight against the honeysuckle breezes,
we helped Mom pluck them from their
temporary restraints
and fold them loosely
into a clean basket.

There were days when we rushed out
to save the laundry from unforeseen raindrops
and unexpected storms-
haphazardly ripping dresses and white sheets
from the grip of wet clothespins-
tossing them carelessly into a bundle
to save them from a cloudburst.

When there were no clothes flapping from the line,
it was a perfect place for pitching a tent-
pulling an old woolen army blanket taught over the wire
and securing the four corners tightly.
We snuck in the shed and borrowed Dad's good hammer
and drove clothespins into the dry earth-
our substitute for a poor man's tent stakes.

There we were agin-
amid the cool clover-grass, now wet with evening dew.
We laid on our bellies in our makeshift pup tent,
watching as the fireflies gathered in the field
and the moon smiled on our special little world.

Even now, when I slip between sweet smelling sheets,
I think of my Mom.

And I can still see her silhouette amid the green grass,
her blue dress dancing in the wind
and her hair kissed by warm sunshine-
as she adorns the clothesline
with garments of our life...