"Two wrongs may not make a right but a thousand wrongs make a writer.”

Monday, August 27, 2012


                                              "Big Room" Andrew Wyeth

They had the room for the afternoon. She placed flowers in a vase as the white sun flooded the room. A fireplace (will they need it?), fruit to slice and a clock to tick off minutes to the planned rendezvous in a ravaged city.  She smoothed her dress and her hair and waited in a chair in the sun until the sun left the room. She lit the fire and opened the wine, and twirled a lock of hair until a clump came out in her hand. She waited for the soft tread of her lover, the scout; for his shadow to fill the door, but the only sound was the clock, the clock, the damned tock of the clock, and the shadows that lengthened were not of him. They took him by ambush to pry loose his secrets, but all they found was a photo, a date and a time.

Photo prompt is from Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales  where the links to other creative takes on the photo reside.

Friday, August 24, 2012


What to write about when you think you have nothing to write about?  Once you start writing, you find you have much to write about.
From ten days ago:  Rain continues and the bean harvest was stellar. Time time time defeats me. No time to make favorite recipes or new recipes or query that finished manuscript or pull weeds from my flowers, lots of weeds in the garden to pull and pile and stack and burn. No, we don’t burn them; we throw them to the chickens. I discovered the chickens like Swiss Chard. As I was pulling off the tattered bottom leaves, they were clucking behind me in their pasture, and I threw the leaves over the fence on a whim. They converged on the leavings like buzzards on carrion, scrapped and fought over the juicy tidbits and colorful stems. Then there are the pigs. Pigs woof down whatever the garden offers them, overgrown summer squash is a favorite. They tidy things up. They even eat the hardneck garlic stems. You've heard the story about the missing hunters and the pigs? It's easy to get rid of a body when you have pigs.

Rain?  What rain? Here we are ten days later and watering the lettuce again. July brought record heat and August has brought record cool nights. I’m sure the basil is less than pleased. The tomato worms are voracious this year. They have horns and eyes and they're green all the way through. Hubby killed a 4-incher yesterday. Left alone, they'll devour an entire plant. I don’t like them. I don’t like getting green guts on my shoes or toes should I make the mistake of trying to step on one in my flip flops. Duh. 

Today I will take a jar into the tomato patch and collect the tomato worms and save them for the chickens. They like them. I shall not stomp on them, splattering green goo across the garden. I shall not. 

I can tell fall approaches, not so much by the early darkening as in the foggy mornings and the cricket noises. They greet me at the entrance to the greenhouse and I hear them in the night. Seems like only yesterday the June bugs were banging their heads against the screen in the window beside my table on which my laptop rests. Only yesterday was it light at 9:30 in the evening and the grass was browning in the heat. Only yesterday was I swimming laps in the pond with arms and legs muscled and brown, reaching for the shore and the world beyond the top of the hill that abuts the water. Reaching and reaching with arms that didn’t tire, with no concern for the outside world and politics and the environment and whether I would be published or happy or strong. The burden of adulthood is the knowledge we acquire. Is it any wonder our parents walk with a stoop?

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Questions and Conundrums

Midsummer thoughts: When the shift in daylight hours is gradual, why do you suddenly notice the shorter days as a drastic change? We could power this country on solar even on the darkest days. Where is the political will to stand up to the fossil fuel industry? I want a solar panel on the top of my car and one on my roof. I don't need one like the farm has. But I sure am proud of the farm and brother John and father Bob who made it all happen.

Midsummer grumbling: When Hilary Clinton is on television, why do people comment on her hair and her age and her clothes when no such questions are asked of male diplomats and politicians? Why has Barack  Obama turned gray in 3 1/2 years while George Bush never changed a whit in 8? Why don't people talk about the real cause of this summer's record heat and drought conditions? Why aren't weather reports serious instead of focusing on picnic plans and baseball games? Why don't they teach geography in school? Why do weeds grow faster when you go away for a weekend? Why do zucchini turn into small canoes overnight?

I like my leaders to show wear and tear and sleepless nights. When the weight of the world has been upon them, I like to know they have known it. I like women in power who are smart and articulate and know their geography. I don't care about their hair, anymore than I care about Mitt's doo or Mitch O'Connell's forehead (Republican leader in the Senate) and the frown lines he's developed from the nastygrams he composes in his sleep. I want earth to remain blue with an unbroken ozone shield and thick ice caps. I like normal weather where the highs and lows balance each other out, instead of the 10-1 recorded in the last year. I like snowstorms and thunderstorms with the reporting of the same above a 4th grade level. I like gardens free of Monsanto poison and my zucchini voracious. When they grow into canoes, we hollow them out and set them out to sea.

Lake Huron, our big shining sea, the middle child in the Great Lakes family, the national treasure that belongs to all.