.
.
.
.
.
.
I have been taking photos of the spring sprouting up
all over my travels. The rains, then the early warmth
have created some outstanding natural beauty. The
blossoms on the trees are bountiful and a sight
for the eyes to behold.
Trees fascinate me…never too many photos of trees
in my book ! Becca invited me to share some of my
trees on her Sunday Trees. Enjoy.
.
The trees on Bridge Hill, in Ellsworth, Maine.
I look forward to seeing this particular view every spring.
.
The Spring green leaves with the white
trunks…make my heart sing!
.
The buds on these trees glistened like
diamonds in the sun.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Their hearts were on fire:
eyes met across crowded room
just like in the song
.
Seventy years flew
she remembers the fall night
her heart’s fire was lit
.
They met on dance floor,
ignoring crowd around them
joined by fire, love lit
.
.
The lady told me on an anniversary of her wedding,
that when she met her husband, it was just like “One Enchanted Evening”.
“Some Enchanted Evening” is a show tune from the 1949 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical South Pacific. From wikipedia.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It’s time to say goodbye
… it’s usually for me:
“see ya”
or
try to find a way to
avoid the whole scene.
.
It’s time to say goodbye
for you to move on
to a new adventure
in your life.
You are young,
your life is ahead of you
with many awesome thrills
to fill your days.
.
It’s time to say goodbye,
“til next time..
I’ll keep you in my
dreams”
Hope life is fulfilling for you.
I’m happy for you
to have a new life
ahead of you.
.
It’s time to say goodbye
I’ll keep you in my thoughts
and prayers
and wish the very best
for you.
Work hard.
Play hard.
Have friends that
support you
and love you
and encourage you
to fulfill your future
dreams.
.
It’s time to say goodbye.
No. That’s not a tear
you see.
I don’t cry
or wear my heart
on my sleeve.
So before you really see
a flood of tears
and my heart
out for all to see…
It’s time to say goodbye.
(and wish I didn’t have to)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
In his imagination my brother
became a Sendak’s “wild”one.
You could hear my brother from
morning to night. He created voices
for his characters, it seemed he
.
became each one to the hilt.
The house would shake as
he moved around playing … I called it
“talking to himself”. Sendak would
have called it “maximizing his imagination.”
.
Looking back, remembering,
I realize that I had felt sorry for him:
when he had worked so hard,
setting up his soldiers,
on the dining room table,
.
only to have to dismantle the scene,
putting everything away,
to clear the table for the next meal.
In other ways, our Mother was patient,
allowing him to play
.
hours on end, with or without
his figurines or toys…
I mostly remember
the olive green molded soldiers …
He didn’t need the toys
.
for he would jump and run about
the room, and I would complain that
I was annoyed with “all that noise.”
Our Mother would tell me
to ignore sounds of his playing
.
and concentrate on what I was doing.
I have a memory of our
maternal grandmother telling me
to “get the other kids out of the
kitchen”… she had told him he
.
couldn’t bring other boys into the house
to play. When I checked, it was just my
brother, alone, jumping, talking,
shaking the house, playing all the roles
sounding like a crowd, with different voices
.
for each person in his play. High pitched;
low pitched; deep dark voices;
children or adults; somehow keeping
them all straight in his imaginative play.
Sendak would have liked that….
.
.—————————————————————————-
Sadly, Maurice Sendak passed away this week
due to complications from a stroke. We were asked:
“Please write about anything Maurice Sendak related.
Be it his books, any memories you have of his words
or images, his personal life or even putting yourself
into one of his stories.
Or maybe even try to see the world as a child may see it.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
move to new grade school
fear masks excitement he feels
with new friends, new life
.
he hides with a mask
of smiles, excess energy
wants to hide away
.
mask willing disguise
to fit in with his young peers
fear almost wins out
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Household machines and I don’t get along
too well. It’s not a mutual love affair.
I love them, time saving and handy:
they seem to want to test my love
at every turn.
.
VCRs mystify me…
my husband #2 was in the hospital
years ago. All he asked was that
I tape a program for him each night.
.
He loves machines,
and had three VCRs to tape “his” shows.
Well, the first night he was gone,
I deprogrammed all three…!
.
My resolution was to stay up
til it started at midnight, hit “start to record”…
I woke up the next morning when
I heard the tape hit the end and rewind !
.
The same hospitalization,
I did something to the washing machine
that needed a call to “Browns” the store
all appliances come from, for a repairman. SIGH.
the trusty repairman
.
My list goes on and on.
Some machines and I get along quite well.
Those that I don’t fair well with,
I’m not allowed to touch !
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
An awesome sight, a delight to the eyes.
.
.
The small park has pink tulips throughout the gardens.
.
The bleeding hearts are soggy with rain drops but holding firm.
.
My spirits are dampened
and it’s going to get wetter
the Downeast Coast of Maine
is in for a gully washer tonight !
.
It’s time to keep the windows closed,
and batten down the hatches.
Even the cat wants to stay
cozy and warm inside tonight.
.
The new tulips and jonquils
must be trembling to the depth
of their roots,
the soil is already soggy.
.
My guess is that Mother Nature
has told them to hold tight tonight.
And sun will come eventually
to dry out their dampened souls.
.
I keep hoping that the storm
will not be as bad as predicted.
The pink tulips in the park
are budded and ready to bloom.
.
The bleeding hearts tremble
against the house.
They survived the winter,
and will survive to see the sun again.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
. Tulip tree after the rain.
.
Tulip tree refreshed by the raindrops
.
.
.
.
have you seen grass grow
falling raindrops make it so:
sun out, grass grows fast !
.
corner tulip tree
pink blooms filling with raindrops
branches heavy, droop
.
little children stomp
puddles from raindrops tempting
hear laughter stomp stomp
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Waiting to be rescued
from myself !
.
It’s hard for me to believe
time has flown so quickly.
I want to be who I was before
old age and creaking bones
caught me unaware.
.
So,
I’m waiting to be rescued
from myself.
.
Wanting to live life as it was…
fast paced,
packed full of things to do.
(Note: “Fast paced” in
Downeast Maine, is not
the same as “big city”
fast paced !…
Jordan’s snack bar
before catching your kids or
grand kids latest local
ball game or play;
bean suppers on Saturday night,
shopping in Bangor…Portland
and Boston a really big deal:
an overnight stay is in the cards;
late nights are out after 8 PM. )
Waiting to be rescued
from myself…
.
The self that thinks
old age is just a number,
why should I have to
“adapt” to getting tired
experiencing “unplanned naps”,
less tolerance for change,
.
….
.
OMgoodness,
.
News Flash from local NBC news:
.
the dinosaurs flatulence
may have caused a greenhouse
effect that caused their demise !
Imagine that !
.
….
that was a news flash just now
on the local tv night time news.
Hot off the presses
as I sit here typing.
.
It makes me think,
.
I may need to be rescued
from myself.
.
I should never think after
a news flash like that.
It made me think of all the
aging baby boomers …
our numbers increasing
day by day.
Bran in our meals
causing increased flatulence…
OMgoodness….
Who would have thought ?
.
Is that what is causing
the greenhouse effect
the world is supposedly
experiencing these days ?
.
I may need to be rescued
from myself.
.
The Mayans have predicted
the end of the world
on December 21st this year.
We seniors need to cut down
on our all-bran and
“dried plums” right now !
.
I’ve been thinking.
.
I may need to be rescued
from myself.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It is of old bones. It’s an exhibit in the National Museum of Scotland in their ‘prehistoric’ section.
.
Wrapped in a ball:
weary bones.
Mixed with others,
how did that happen? Sigh.
.
My body feels like a pile of bones.
Old bones. New bones.
Bones that have met with a saw.
Petrified bones, weathered bones.
.
There’s a Super Moon,
barometer’s changing.
Damp weather to dry weather.
What’s the difference.
.
Youth can roll themselves into a
graceful pile of bones.
Aged…if they can get there,
there is no straightening without help !
.
Go with the flow,
do what you need to
for yourself.
Life is short. Live well.
.
Comfort, hiding, fetal position.
Each has a need to be there
some days.
Wrapped in a ball.
.
.—————————–
for 100WCGU
siggiofmaine 