I've been a terrible blogger. For the last month, I've been getting ready for my third foot surgery. My operation was last week at the lovely St. Elizabeth's Hospital in Boston, and after I was discharged, my darling sister took care of me for a couple of days, and then my other sister brought me back to Cape Cod on Friday.
I wish I could say I've been using my time well, but I'm afraid I haven't done much of anything but watch mindless television shows (bad) and reading wonderful, inspirational blogs (good).
There are so many generous bloggers who provide fabulous tutorials, and I'm dying to make things, but I'm just not up to maneuvering my walker. So, for now, no sewing machine foot -- just my left one!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Wonday, Wonday!
Wowie! I'm not up and out of the house as early as usual because I'm heading to Boston for my last doctor's visit before my foot surgery. I was drinking another cup of coffee, and checking through my beloved blog roll feed, when I saw this note from Just a Girl:
A Winner and an Announcement!
Yikeys; that's me!
I won a fabulous something at Sodderbug.
It's going to be very hard to chose from her beautiful photo charms, but I'm leaning towards this:
And check out the other wonderful pieces at Sodderbug here...any suggestions?
Thanks very much to Just a Girl and Sodderbug -- what a lovely way to start Monday!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Contribute joy
This is for my darling cousin, Janice, who needs this during a dip in her usually joyous life:
We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Blessed
Beach Attitudes
Blessed is the beach, survivor of tides.
And blessed the litter of crown conchs and pen shells, the dead
blue crab in all its electric raiment.
Blessed the nunneries of skimmers,
scuttering and rising, wheeling and falling and settling, ruffling
their red and black-and-white habits.
And blessed be the pacemakers and the peacemakers,
the slow striders, the arthritic joggers, scarred and bent under
their histories, for they're here at last by the sunlit sea.
Blessed Peoria and Manhattan, Ottowa and Green Bay, Pittsburgh,
Dresden.
And blessed their children.
And blessed the lovers for they shall have one perfect day.
Blessed be the dolphin out beyond the furthest buoy,
slaughtering the bright leapers,
for they shall have full bellies.
Blessed, too, the cormorant and the osprey and the pelican
for they are the cherubim and seraphim and archangel.
And blessed be the gull, open throated, screeching, scolding
me to my face,
for he shall have his own place returned to him.
And the glossy lip of the long wave shall have the last kiss.
And blessed the litter of crown conchs and pen shells, the dead
blue crab in all its electric raiment.
Blessed the nunneries of skimmers,
scuttering and rising, wheeling and falling and settling, ruffling
their red and black-and-white habits.
And blessed be the pacemakers and the peacemakers,
the slow striders, the arthritic joggers, scarred and bent under
their histories, for they're here at last by the sunlit sea.
Blessed Peoria and Manhattan, Ottowa and Green Bay, Pittsburgh,
Dresden.
And blessed their children.
And blessed the lovers for they shall have one perfect day.
Blessed be the dolphin out beyond the furthest buoy,
slaughtering the bright leapers,
for they shall have full bellies.
Blessed, too, the cormorant and the osprey and the pelican
for they are the cherubim and seraphim and archangel.
And blessed be the gull, open throated, screeching, scolding
me to my face,
for he shall have his own place returned to him.
And the glossy lip of the long wave shall have the last kiss.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Somebody's Mother
Somebody's Mother
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of 'school let out,'
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away."
"Somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of 'school let out,'
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away."
"Somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"
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