It’s July, high summer, and there have been rains and days of blue sky and at night the distant back-and-forth calls of the Barred owls. The yellow beans are foremost, the sweet onions, too, and soon coming are the heavy-set tomatoes and yellow sunflowers. Quetzal and her friend Christine have been swimming at Lucus Pond with the dogs, and baking shortbread, and we have been to the ocean in the early morning and likewise at night.
This morning a crow dropped into the garden for the one duck egg I threw out days ago. He landed, cocked his head and seemed to triangulate, hopped a few hops across the furrows, paused…and drilled that egg through. When I looked with binoculars, I could see egg-shine splashed across the length of his beak. And when he lifted and turned toward Pawtuckaway Mountain, I’m almost certain that shine was his only load.
Last night after dinner, my wife, daughter and I circled around the table and knocked out signs for today’s Women’s March in Portsmouth, NH. This is what I came up with:
This Man For Women Everywhere Continue reading
I wish I could say straightaway that my mother was an original, that she had remarkable insight into the issues of her day, that she served in the Peace Corps and loved to snowshoe, that she once toured the country as a green-eyed ballerina.
But I can’t. My mother was not an original. She was born and she grew up. She married, loved her husband, had children, loved her children, grew ill, grew old, died. There is a story in this sequence of events, a worthy and beautiful story, to be sure, but in large part it’s the old and often-told story of reflection. For to see my mother was to see who or what she stood next to. Invisibility was my mother’s gift. She was a natural. She disappeared as her personality and life journey dictated almost every day of her life. Continue reading