Musings at 50

  I am so grateful for this bunny who came into my life when I needed to embrace doing less - so I sit in the pen my husband built for us to sit in while the bunny - we named Pip - hops around and wiggles his nose and sniffs our feet - he does the bunny binky and runs and we call that the bunny zoom. His fur so soft and knowing eyes - for something so young, the wisdom and yet he comes running when he hears our voices. He seems to mock the cat’s attempt to eat him and I could spend hours just watching him grow up to be a rabbit.

 I stared across a starry sky And then I began to cry As the tears fell I remembered that once before I'd watched a night sky With a friend A friend who no longer saw my face I remembered all of those times We sat to stare at the sky We'd talk of friends and boys Of our fears and joys We'd swear by the stars That our friendship would last Forever and ever Then one day It hit me No longer did we share time No longer did we spend the night with the stars No longer did we share our feelings and fears For what we had once Was now all gone.  - DB

I rise at dawn just before the sun comes up from behind a rise in the distance. I woke from the sound of the rooster - it’s call breaking the silence as the darkness begins to fade and welcoming the sounds of so many birds - I hear them, the Cardinal, the Blue Jay, the Redwinged Blackbird - starting the chorus as if the rooster were the conductor and signaled it was okay to begin this day’s song. I notice my husband has already risen, I hear the faint sound of the tractor starting back towards the house. I pull my hair into a bun and quickly dress - my slip, and stockings, my dress neatly pressed and starched and head to the kitchen where I slide the black cast iron out and plop a lump of lard into the pan and I light the stove all while grabbing my apron and putting it on.  Water is in the kettle, I quickly lift and replace it once I am certain it will hold enough water then walk to the fridge to grab a jug of cider left over from last year’s press. I will check the root cellar la...

In my dreams... I fall from a tall place I am in the dark - so dark you cannot see only hear - bumps, scrapes, screeching, crying I am in a very bright space I see people I no longer associate with I listen to the sound of the surf I see those who I knew before they died I am not me I cower in a corner waiting for... I was a concert violinist I married a church minister I had 16 children - not all of them lived My teeth start to loosen and then they fall out I am covered by the small stuffed animals on my bed and they mean me harm My mother’s form in her blue housecoat has no eyes I am in the mountains, sitting on top of the world I am drinking a Dr Pepper and it isn’t too sweet I put my feet into a cool stream and feel the mud embrace my toes I am in a field of beautiful flowers and I am staring at the sky I am laying on a cloud - and floating I am standing on a ledge - and I cannot see the bottom I am listening to my brother play the piano - but I cannot find him I need to find a toi...

In this one you are about 20 years old.  You are holding a large floppy hat, your hair is blown from the wind, you have a smile that lights up your face, it is summer, but not in the middle of summer, as the grass hasn’t started browning from days of relentless heat.  You are wearing shorts and a long sleeved shirt, so I am pretty sure you have just come from the field.  There is a dog standing beside you and the large tree that holds the rope swing is so small.  You can just make out the entrace to the root cellar/tornado shelter behind you and then in the background you can make out the larger barn and the smaller sheds - everything is painted in the brighter blue.  I often wonder who took the photograph.  I am guessing it was grandpa - he was always the photographer.  I also am curious if you are pregnant with mom in the picture or not - but your face is not lined with the ups and downs of life with its hardship, grief, adventure, pain, happiness, l...

As the music fades - i am not familiar with the song - and it brings up so many questions, should I know it?  When was it written?  did it have a heyday? but as I was listening, my first thought was - I can hear the violin - I can hear the piano - I can hear the drumbeat, the beat, the time of the drum - those bits were so mesmerizing that I failed to hear the song lyrics - until I heard the words repeated 5 years - 5 years - 5 years...ah, to focus on the memories of the instruments or to focus on the lyrics of 5 years...so difficult to say which thing evokes more in terms of writing. So interesting - many times in a job interview someone will ask - where do you see yourself in 5 years? How to respond? Do you say, I hope to have your job? Do you say, I am living in the now, and in five years I will still be living in the now?  Is there an answer that is best and will get you a job? For my move to Olympia  - I said with a smile - I hope to be the state archivist or th...

Looking for something to post and thinking about the fires here in the Pacific Northwest I decided on this essay. The folks in my writing group suggested the title. The writing prompt was a sensory experience - something was dropped in our hands...and then you write. Fire - feeling the smooth cardboard container touch my cupped palms - as soon as it hits my hands and my fingers curl around it I know what it is - I can almost smell the ingition of a match in my imagination and it takes everything that i have not to immediately pull the first match from the book and light it - but I am in a house that is not my own, and though I am sure I will not start a house fire - my logical mind takes hold that this really isn’t the time or place.  I have always had a fascination with fire - the way the flames lick and leap up from the tip of the match with that white/blue base into yellow, orange and sometimes a brief red tip. I just spent Winter Solstice trying to burn a piece of paper with wh...