Wynken Revised.

Emery Clay and the dog Daphne
Sailed off in the Salty Dog—
Sailed by Bishop Beach ‘n Homer Spit,
Into deep Alaskan fog.
“Where are you going, and what to you wish?”
Captain Nate asked Emery.
“We’ve come to catch cod and herring fish
That live in Kachemak sea:
Pots and nets all hole-free”;
Said the babe,
and his dog,
Daphne.

Captain Nate laughed and played a song,
As they rocked in their wooden skiff,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled snow in irregular drifts.
The little stars were lights of Homer town
On the coast of the beautiful sea—
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Hooligan--there are many”;
So swayed the kelp near the fishermen wee:
Daph the dog,
And
Emery.

All night long their pots they drew
Near the crab in the twinkling foam—
Then down by the Spit came the wooden skiff,
Bringing the fishermen home.
Twas all so pretty a night it seemed
As if it could not be.
But a mommy at home was missing her son
And smiled in reverie—
Dreaming the same dream in the minds of three:
Bailey,
Nate and,
Emery.

Bailey and Nate were two best friends,
and the babe was Emery—
And the wooden boat that skimmed their sleep,
Was a name in a memory.
So shut your eyes while Bailey sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As eagles fly by the black beach sea,
Where life was explored by the small family:
Daph,
Nate, Bail,
And Emery.

Pied Piper's not always human....

We sat around the other night confessing "bad parenting/horrible mother" tales: myself, Sandy, & Sheila the wedding bouquet maker...I can think of countless mistakes I made, yet all worked out in the end--for all of us!

Once upon a time there lived two brothers, toddlers they were, who took great joy amusing themselves in the sunshine or shadows of nature. Long afternoons they passed lolling about the rocky lane with dusty bums or in the sweet-smelling woods with muddy feet.

Between the cottage barn and the Queen's window was a slight clearing; she could watch the children play about the yard there chasing butterflies or collecting acorn treasures to fill their small pockets.

As the long summer days passed a strange occurrence transpired: before twilight cast its shadows, two odd visitors would slowly plod toward the youth from afar--a seemingly placid goat with his peculiar partner, Dog. With a cautious observance the unlikely pair would slowly circle the boys from a great distance before heading back down the road from whence they came.

At first the children took no notice, but as the days passed Goat and Dog casually tightened their path to a closer degree, occasionally nipping at grass clumps and wilted vegetables from the sleepy garden or wagging their tails beseechingly. The boys took note of the suspicious pair and soon wandered amoungst them freely, occasionally allowing a friendly lick or slight nudge before the Queen would gather them up in her arms and banish the creatures far down the lane.

Though dazzlingly bright in the sunlight, the baleful golden eyes of Goat now glinted and flashed in the evening shadows. Dog's tail grew silent and resentful while darkness fell upon all the land. A raven called. Dry lightening rumbled purply in the distance while oppressive heat settled in the uneasy valley. No rain came. Dog and Goat settled upon a high rocky ledge and scrutinized the tiny farm far below.

With dawn came the sleepy sun stretching its beams onto the earth and into the garret window. Pale yellow rays beseechingly called the sweaty-faced boys from their troublesome rest to come tumbling from the house.

It was slightly cooler under the nearby trees and much nicer to sit tranquilly on a moss cushion amusing themselves with twigs and sweet violets. Soon the children chattered amicably while brilliant charming beetles scurried about entertaining them with their antics, which caused them to laugh aloud delightedly. The queen smiled in her chamber.

A short time later as the morning hours wove the sun's warmth into a thick blanket, a gradual silence crept under the covers to envelope the still air. A sudden thudding heart drove the Queen outdoors; fierce fear speared an icy blade into her very soul. The toddlers had vanished...


more later/ more revisions!

The Hawk and the Mermaid

As I opened the freezer & laid to rest a saran-wrapped brush full of Kilz (not a dead animal) that will be resurrected by the pilot light in the morning a.m., I was glad that I'd made an attempt to paint the kitchen ceiling instead of moping about. High on the ladder, all I could think was the following:

"When the Mermaid Girl and the Falcon delivered the Frog Prince into the world, the onset of labor brought about a fierce wind and bitter snow that followed the little family for a fortnight; impeding the baby's first week check-up, yet they remained awestruck, snug and undaunted by the tiny miracle they'd created deep in their wooded cabin." or something.

Well, the first part of the sentence was a good start but I forgot the last half while I was watching "Desperate Housewives" and can't reconstruct it! Maybe I'll dream it.... I'd been calling Emery 'little minnow', while others referred to him as little frog or tadpole...my mom always called my son Tegan 'little grasshopper'. I'd received the "Owl and the Pussycat" poem re-written by Grandma Sandy a couple weeks ago and I was just tickled because I could picture each scene perfectly!
Here it is!

The Hawk and The Mermaid (with apologies to Edward Lear)

The hawk and the mermaid went to the beach
In a beautiful sea-blue Ford
They had plenty of “honey”, but not much money,
(‘Twas not in their nature to hoard.)

The hawk looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Lady, o Fishy, my love,
What a beautiful Fishy you are, you are,
What a beautiful Fishy you are!”

Fishy said to the bird, “That’s the best song I’ve heard,
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married; too long we have tarried,
But what shall we do for a ring?”

So they flew far away in less than a day
To the hills with the grass and flint rocks.
And there in the town, a jeweler they found,
With THE RING in a velvet-lined box, a box,
With the ring in a velvet-lined box.

“Dear man, are you willing to sell for one shilling
That ring?” Said the jeweler, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the “Cleric” who lived on the hill.

They ate barbecue and drank copious brew,
Minus the aid of a spoon,
And wing in arm, they strolled on the farm,
And danced by the light of the moon, the moon,
And danced by the light of the moon.

Oh they’ve had immense fun, but the story’s not done,
For what’s best is what money can’t buy.
Of the froglet they spawned they’re terrifically fond,
And the dog with the crazy blue eye, blue eye
And the dog with the crazy blue eye!

Brain Waves

Written several weeks ago: I was thinking today about my lack of ambition; my vacuous eonic state of passive winter blasé and I’ve decided perhaps that I should try to wean myself back off the pain killers I started in October. {Either that or I’m missing the sun.)
So.
I have not taken my afternoon meds. (I also missed them Friday and saw people’s faces blur and strangely twist—and that was BEFORE we went down to the bar.) So, bent over scavenging through the fridge today with my oversized ass in the air (thanks, pills, for my medicated addiction to anything sugar & the 10 extra pounds), I finally found some brew I had purchased in early fall when I was methodically taste-testing the entire beer section of the liquor store. (IN LEIU OF PAIN KILLERS, I might add.) Anyway, I found “Alley Cat” and popped one open. Ugg. Disgusting. Tasted just like alley cat. Rank. Even with tomato juice added. But meds make me taste NOTHING. Or nothing tastes right. I taste nothing except cloying metal in my mouth 24 hours a day and other strange oddities; simple foods tastes like: smoke from a firecracker, fingernail polish remover, oily garage floor, field dust, licking a rubber shoe, toadstools,any 1960’s vehicle, aluminum foil, bandaids….quite odd. And it’s hard to swallow. Physically swallow. Dry. That’s when the sugar comes into play—anything sugary creates a bizarre explosion of intense saccharine crystals so shockingly sweet it must be like crunchy honey on crack. Thus I continue to shove crap in my mouth. At least I sense a somewhat realistic taste. Sigh. It’s a catch-22. Stop the meds and I will hurt too bad to exercise (or walk or sit); be nearly pain-free, exercise but gain weight. Ugg again.
If summer were here I could mess around outdoors instead of sitting like a zombie watching ‘Toddlers in Tiaras’ or some other nonsense. One can tell I am lacking self-ambition this winter due to the sporadic inconsistency of my blogs. See, I am writing this one (and have written many mentally), but lack the motivation to open up Mozilla and type my blog password. Now that’s just damn lazy—too much work to type in a password. Go figure. Well, the weekend is over, thus I will reach for those prescription bottles in the a.m……………

TODAY!!! Laziness Update!!! 9 days ago I had a shot in my spine—yippee! It worked for 5 days, then Euphoria wore off…and I had my 2nd one this morning. “For a few moments, you’ll feel like you drank 2 beers—here’s #1!” says the nurse as she drugs my IV. “And #2!” It did! I never felt any injection in my spine either time—but whether it works or not, I am not going to take those pain killing, zombie-concocting pills anymore. I’ve stopped for 8 days and feel more human-like already! Who needs something called Cyclone (fun fun if you OD?) anyway—and I don’t have epilepsy, so why take THAT?!
LOOK! I am actually typing—and posting! And I am ready to add more details to illustration work tomorrow! And I didn’t even watch TV Sunday at all…

I got nuthin.

How Spat.

Yesterday I visited Bailey's In-laws; such a cozy house with good company and lots of books and interesting furniture pieces from all around the world. While Sandy was suggesting a list of good reading material, it made be think of a book I'd finished last summer. (I have many books I started, then grew side-tracked before they were completed--I hate this and am really irritated at my lack of focus and inner drive.)
This particular book was called The God of Small Things; quite sad but smattered with endearing words and delicious sentences. Recalling the author's use of 'Bar Nowl' reminds me suddenly of our late night visitor. The How Spat has been absent for many months and it will be several more before he shows face again, if ever. I'd gotten rather fond of his random drop-ins. Hopefully he'll be back....

Lost: 1 Antique Oak Rocking Chair

...through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

In a quandary we've all frantically searched for something; a set of keys, cell phone, a library book past due... It never fails--even if you slow down/retrace your steps/distastefully dig through the trash...its mysteriously gone forever.
Until 20 minutes later and there the object sits--right in front of your deluded, exasperated eyes. Gah!

During Thanksgiving week, we lounged around Bailey and Nate's cabin on 2 pre-owned comfortable chairs, or several couch cushions strewn on an older, patterned rug. I was telling Bailey how I loved to sit and rock my babies-- all of them snuggled and slept to the sound of my beating heart. A rocking chair is a life-saver needed by all new mommies--how I wished I could ship her the one I used.
The summer I was 18 and out of high school, I stripped the crinkled blackened finish off an old gently curved, low-seated, slatback rocker, exposing the lovely golden oak underneath. I sanded, rubbed and steel-wooled until it glowed, not realizing that I'd actually be using it 9 months later.

Baffled, my old memories soon grew even more confused. "I don't know where it is!" I told her. "I remember exactly where I used to rock Brigham, but I don't recall it at the smaller house." We'd moved. I racked my brain and wanted to cry. Had I left it in a garage and someone stole it like they did my cute iron day/trundle bed? Had I been feeling overly generous and let a former friend borrow it? Who? Who? Would my Ex have it? No... How could it be gone for so many years and years-- It was not in the garage...

So I came back from Alaska with that niggling predicament: What happened to the rocking chair? At my mom's? There was a clunky one in the garage after all, but it had a cushioned bottom and broken rocker. It bothered me in bed--I was heartsick at night and I've laid awake ever since--each of my babies fed and held there, sleepy, sweet, fussy or sick. Perhaps I was just overly excited about Bailey's new baby--who is already loved by so many people and he's not even here yet... I can imagine him cradled in mommy and daddy's arms...

And then, just sitting here, I knew! Oh brother--I sheepishly and embarrassingly admit what an idiot I am. Bailey, do you know where the rocking chair is???