Being back online is a blessing for a writer

Time for air conditioning

                How dependent I am on a working internet at my advanced age was brought home to me when a July 2 thunderstorm took out the modem. Even after a 52-minute consult with two Filipino women—one whom I could understand; the other whom I couldn’t—and trying everything they suggested, which I’d already done once, a tech was scheduled for Tuesday, the 7^th between 2 and 4 p.m. FIVE DAYS LATER! OH, WOE!

                By my schedule, I should be napping since I arose with the alarm to get my taxes to town to the agent, to buy stamps at the post office, to buy printer ink at Office Depot, which was locked and barred, then buy birdseed at Tractor Supply with Mother’s Day gift cards from my younger daughter. Three errands out of four wasn’t bad, eh? Oh, and I stopped at a Dollar General for retirement cards. Lately, my cousin and my BFF have both retired. And now I had stamps!

                I was more careful selecting bird seed this time because the young birds didn’t care for all the small yellow seeds; they wanted sunflower seeds. In desperation one day, I bought some cockatiel seed from the grocery store. No, thank you. Perhaps the squirrels and chipmunks enjoyed what was spit out or pushed out, or what I dumped out the following morning.

                I was saddened by the death of Hugh Downs. In 2014, I read his book, Letter to Great Grandson, 2004, Scribner, p. 93 where he said, “To walk around the south pole—thus around the world—takes twenty-four steps, each step in a different time zone.” This scrap of paper was one of the things I found when I cleaned off the surface for the modem. Isn’t that strange, that I found his quote from six years ago around the time of his death? Wonders never cease.

                Birthday joys abounded even as late as today. My older daughter and her son, who was in Finland as an exchange student until the country “deported” all exchange students at the onset of COVID, came by to visit. We social-distanced. She brought fresh plums and tommy-toe tomatoes from a farmers’ market in Conway and a fresh, still-in-the-package mask. Jake, who will be a music major at UCA this fall, looked through my enormous stack of LPs and took home a plastic crate full. Now, who would like the others?

                Stay out of the heat if possible; wear a mask in public, and stay safe otherwise.

Grandson Billy Paulus and nephew Keith Hoggard @ my 80th birthday party

               

Flag Day June 14 -

                It just so happens that while reading A. Scott Berg’s 2013 biography of President Woodrow Wilson, titled eponymously Wilson, I came to the summer of 1916 when, after much provocation from Germany upon its neighbors far and wide, and after years of Wilson’s determination to “stay neutral,” things got so bad that the president went to Congress for permission to put the U. S. into the war.

                I’ll pick up on page 403 and since copyright allows reviews, I’ll quote a few sentences: “June 14—the day in 1777 on which Congress had adopted the Stars and Stripes as the emblem of the Union—had been sporadically observed ever since the start of the Civil War; but in the spring of 1916, Wilson officially proclaimed it a day for ‘special patriotic exercises’ on which Americans might ‘rededicate ourselves to the nation, ‘one and inseparable,’ from which every thought that is not worthy of our fathers’ first views of independence, liberty, and right shall be excluded.’ It had an electrifying effect.”

                From The Big Book of American Trivia by J. Stephen Lang published in the waning years of the 20^th century—1997—come these questions about “Grand Old Flags”: “Flags are more than pieces of fabric. They’re symbols, often highly charged with emotion. Small wonder that their design and care have been important parts of American life.”

                I’ll skip the first one (June14 is what holiday?) 2. What was John Philip Sousa’s flag-waving march, written in 1897? 3. What familiar D. C. sight is 555 feet tall and has fifty American flags around it? 4. What southern state’s flag shows a woman trampling a man? 5. What southwestern state’s flag features the sun symbol of the Zia Indians on a yellow background? 6. Over what historic Maryland fort was the first fifty-star U. S. flag raised in 1960? 7. What was added to the original U. S flag in 1795? 8. What state’s flag was designed in 1927 by a 13-year-old schoolboy? (Hint: the 49^th state)

                Answers: 2. “Stars and Stripes Forever”; 3. The Washington Monument; 4. Virginia’s—the female figure is actually an Amazon warrior woman, trampling on a tyrant. The state motto is Sic semper tyranniss—“Thus always to tyrants” (in other words, “Don’t mess with us Virginia folks”). 5. New Mexico’s;

                6. Fort McHenry in Baltimore, site of Francis Scott Key’s writing of “The Star Spangled Banner”; 7. Two new stars and stripes for the new states, Vermont, and Kentucky; 8. Alaska’s.

                Finally, from The Morrow Book of Quotations in American History by Joseph R. Conlin, 1984, these tidbits: Oliver Wendell Holmes – 1809-1894, Physician, poet, and wit: “One flag, one land, one head, one hand/ One Nation, evermore!” from “Voyage of the Good Ship Union,” 1802. And John Greenleaf Whittier (1807- 1892) Poet: “Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,/ But spare your country’s flag,” she said.” (from “Barbara Freitchie,” 1863.

                Fly your flag on Flag Day.

c 2020, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Mostly photos of flowers and happenings around the Couchwood acre

What's left of a two-story-high brush pile in the southeast yard

One of two drift roses, second year, with driftwood, in front yard

Rose campion (I used to call lamb's ear) in the south patio. These plants grow everywhere a seed falls and are beautiful this time of year.

A community of toadstools that son says show tree roots below. Indeed, this is where a hackberry once lived until it needed cutting for the neighbor's fence, and I agreed.

Close-up of toadstools, south yard

I had trouble keeping the photos in the order I downloaded (uploaded?) but I guess it doesn't matter how they are arranged, does it? The rain keeps coming, the grass keeps growing, and we'll be thankful this summer if there's a drought.

First Sunday back to church at Tull AR, Mother's Day '20

c 2020, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

What to do with a persnickety feline?

  On my latest “must-do” list, I accomplished two: resupplied meds and bought Fancy Feast canned tuna for Greye, the 14-year old who was born on this hill and is the only one of his litter still living. Oh, how I wish I'd kept a ledger of the cost of the cans of cat food I've thrown out to the other creatures who live on this acre. 

              A little history: Mid-October of last year, he brought the back half of a rabbit to the door wanting inside. Of course, that was not an option. I picked up the late animal and threw it as far south as my left arm could throw. And ever since then, Greye's refused the dry food that he'd been eating all these years: Nine Lives with added nutrition. I finally sacked up the remaining and gave to Roxie W. for her feline.

            Since then, I've had to try something else--many something-elses. At first, he gobbled up cat cannedsalmon. Then, sniffed at it. Later, he gobbled up tuna, then sniffed at it. Cod, whitefish, shrimp, salmon mixture, pate, shreds, gravy, every brand and style that was available. For a while, he scarfed down Fancy Feast's tuna grilled flaked. I bought all the stock the stores around here had. (They didn't restock after a week, boo.)

        Last Sunday morning, I was in the car by 8 a.m. for a quick trip to the close-by dollar store. Greye needed Fancy Feast Grilled Tuna or Flaked tuna. None on the shelves (I’d bought up the last cans last Monday. )Another walk back to the front door with an empty buggy drew questioning eyes from both clerks. “Gotta find something Greye will eat. ‘Bye.”

                On the road to the nearest other dollar store (same brand) about three miles south, I met zero vehicles that early on Sunday. This store didn’t have the food Greye liked, but I bought a box (12) cans of various Fancy Feast fish/ salmon pate, plus three packs of four each tuna push-ups. Plus, litter. Plus a host of other things for myself.

                Face covered with a scarf (I was the only one with such), I checked out. An older man was in line behind me, also with cat food. We chatted about the changing appetites of our pets.

                At home, I pulled down a small plastic bowl, put one can of Fancy Feast in it, stirred it, then added one serving of tuna push-up, rather like a thick gravy. I mixed it and set it down at Greye’s “table.” One look, one smell, and he turned away. Now, what do I do?

              Since then, he's snubbed all the different kinds of Fancy Feast, the shreds of Friskies. All he'll eat are Temptations treats.

             Tonight while making my supper of turkey and Colby cheese on rye, I  tore off  small piece of the cheese and threw it to where he was standing. He actually ate it. When I placed a Ritz-like cracker beside it, he didn't "bite."  Then I thought, 'Wonder if he'll eat part of this sandwich?' So I sliced off an inch slab, placed it in a plastic bowl, smothered it with a push-up pack of tuna-flavored gravy and showed him. 

            Aha! He appeared to be eating, but when I looked, he'd only licked the tuna gravy and left the sandwich. Tomorrow's another trip to the store. Early. With face covering.

           And by the way, I'm way too old to have such a recalcitrant "child" to tend. Anyone want an otherwise sweet old cat?

                 

           c 2020 PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA     

What can we do while sheltering at home?

                 For us without small grandchildren to homeschool, for us without (on purpose) TV, for those of us who prefer quiet to ‘white noise’, how have you spent your ‘shelter at home’ time? Some folks binge watch old or Netflix movies, clean out cabinets, file computer works and hard-copies that probably won’t be read until our descendants happen on them (when and if they go through our stuff ) after we’ve moved on.

                Others have used the time to catch up on reading. Since I ‘shelter at home’ most of the time anyway, nothing much is different other than the cancellation of various groups—Bryant Bunch Lunch, local poets’ meeting, church, Lucidity in Eureka Springs, Spring Celebration of Poets Roundtable of Arkansas, Girls of ’54 breakfast.

                Instead, on days without rain, I’ve worked in the yard trying to tame the spring-growing, ubiquitous privet, rake leaves from the flower beds, trim back the loropetalum, and move the houseplants to the front porch.

                Several folks from church (fifteen miles away in Tull) have checked on me, and a family going by the house who saw me outside wheeled in to see if I needed anything, and my retired-from AR-DOT son came over to mow and weed-eat. He and I stayed six feet apart during the entire morning, which was hard to do but we blew kisses to each other.

                I can tell more folks are on their computers or iPhones; my computer is much slower nowadays, it seems. I completed my MFA assignments on Tuesday before they were due on Sunday, so I began reading David Brook’s The Second Mountain. Greye-the-old-cat climbs up on my throw-covered lap for some close, quiet contact. Now, if I could find something he will eat longer than two days at a time.

                This past Sunday, I did vary my routine a bit. More than a bit, really. First, I slept (and dreamed) until nearly 10 a.m. I brought the local and state papers inside, cleared them of the advertisements, made coffee and checked email, Facebook, national news online.

                I looked through my CDs to find some choral music and found two discs of such. One was “Vivaldi” and the other was Faure’s “Requiem” both performed by my sister’s community chorus, NoVa Lights when she lived in northern Virginia. Then, instead of sitting at the table or on the loveseat, I sat on the sofa by the lamp table and began reading the Perspective section of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. I actually read nearly every article, column and letter to the editor, which I usually do NOT do. And by four o’clock I had even begun the BIG PUZZLE, always a difficult one. But it was nap time, so I turned off the music player, set the alarm for 6:30, warmed the heating pad and neckpiece and enjoyed a shortened snooze. Monday, things got back to normal.

              Now that the daffodils have gone, irises are popping up everywhere. My roadside bed is full of early whites and a few blue-purple ones. Later, the nursery stock whites and maroons with dazzle with their large blooms. Azaleas are coming into their fullness and beauty. If we have to stay home, we can enjoy the blooms. And hope the bees flock to the flowers, too.

c2020, PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

An update on—and happy birthday to -- Kid Billy

                 On Thursday, March 19, Kid Billy a.k.a. Billy Joe Paulus, turned the ripe old age of 30. Gee-whiz, it seems like only yesterday he was 8 months old and asleep on a woman’s shoulder in a foster home somewhere in rural Clark County--on a 72-hour hold from Human Services.

                Still asleep, he was moved from one shoulder to another—mine—placed in a newly-purchased car seat, and we traveled to Benton in Saline County. We were both unaware of what our future together would bring. 

Seventy-two hours? How about thirty years? His first five years were spent in Benton on West Sevier—across the street from Our Lady of Fatima School. At only $135 a month, the tuition was worth walking him across the street to (the late) Mrs. Debra Cloud’s classroom. He loved Mrs. Debra.

In September after the beginning of first grade, I took a job in Arkadelphia. Before I could secure a house there, I drove back and forth. The Fatima teacher and principal wanted to medicate him for ADHD. I actually asked the teacher (whose son was a problems my in middle school music class) if she wanted me to take him out of school that very day. She backed off and said no, so we were good for a time.

We found the perfect house in Arkadelphia on North 15^th Street with great neighbor-landlords. They had a son a little older than Billy named Jesse. And they had cats.

Sure enough, Dr. Kluck watched Billy for 10 minutes and pronounced him, yes, definitely afflicted with ADHD. He prescribed Ritalin.

But that was then and this is later.

 On the first day of March when he was 23, I watched him sing with both the Henderson Concert Choir and the Chamber Chorale. He stood stock-still for long periods. His hands held the music folder up so that his eyes could flit from score to director without obvious head movement. Focused? I’d say so!

After the concert, he introduced me to the friend who’d asked him to go in with some others and rent a house in town for next term. I wrote out his part of a down-payment (in addition to paying his on-campus apartment rent: what we do for love) on the spot.

                I still give thanks to Dr. Jim Buckner, who offered KB, from Benton High School, a band scholarship to HSU. Thanks also to the former choral director, Dr. Eaves, who accepted KB into the select choral group, and to Dr. Ryan Fox, the choral director, for being supportive friends and excellent—no, superior––choral men. KB was one of only two or three non-music majors in this group. Which made Grandmother extremely proud.

                Even today, two trumpets still lie somewhere in our residence, unused. But KB, after six years as a Reddie, who changed his major three times, and finally quit school, worked at Cracker Barrel in Arkadelphia, then in Bryant, and now in Hot Springs where he lives.

                This “fifth child” of mine is why I don’t volunteer. I think 30 years of raising a grandson, seeing him through low-salary times by paying his car payment and rent occasionally, should be considered my volunteer work.

As well as my passion. Happy birthday, Billy.       

Gifts for the senses and the mind

                Pulling an empty wagon from the burn pile last week, I discovered what I’d missed seeing

this wishy-washy, warm-cold season between winter and spring: both blue and white Johnny-Jump-Ups, or bluets.

                Returning from the mailbox one day, I noticed the irises beginning their ascent through their as-yet-unraked leaf cover. Behind them in concrete blocks that delineate the yard’s edge, spots of pink among the greens caught my eye: thrift was responding to the warmth of the past few days. Soon, pink would overtake the green. 

The jonquils and buttercups are blooming profusely, and on several days when at the mailbox, I would pick a few blossoms, twist off some japonica/ quince nearby, then, when inside, position them Into a water-filled vase. Now, when I sit at the dining table to read or eat, the fragrance assails my senses of sight and smell, and I sigh. Contented, thankful.

When I have time, I’ll purchase and plant a flat of dianthus or pansies along the south border of the old driveway in openings of long-in-place concrete blocks. 

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I’d like to plant a wildflower garden in the former driveway section that’s closest to the road. This will be the third year I’ve worked toward this project. Trouble is, it’s full of moss, grasses and white-rock gravel.  Two years ago I planted  two rows of irises along the edges and around an oak stump. I’m thinking of digging up some of the daffodils that might be too thick in the north yard and replanting them in front of the irises. If I can dig out the gravel and replace it with soil. I think I can do that myself.

My second MFA online class, Poetry Workshop, has been so much more satisfying than the first class. Each week requires readings about the assigned poem, plus writing a poem. the next-to-last poem was a sonnet. In addition to reading and creating, we have to (workshop requires it) comment on each classmate’s poem. Though there are only seven in the class, the comments by some get to be a little much.

Last week (each Sunday at midnight is the deadline for getting work done), the assignment was a form of poetry so old that Psalm 118 is said to be written (in Hebrew) in that form, an abecedarian. Never heard of such! But I’d written acrostics, a similar pattern, so it wasn’t such a big deal. 

Happy remainder of March to you. 

c 2020, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA