Serendipity

I took this zoom shot of Independence Monument in the Colorado National Monument. I was pretty much blind, but I’ve spend so much time photographing in sunlight on the beach, that I am happy with the composition. I had no idea that I captured the climbers until I looked at it at home.

This is without any zoom.

Zooming closer.

And later along the canyon, we saw the first climber on top. They are both there, but I was shooting blind again.

What an amazing and fabulous day.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: off-beat.

Northern lights

Walt Kelly wrote this poem, which I love.

Northern lights

Oh, roar a roar for Nora,
Nora Alice in the night,
For she has seen Aurora
Borealis burning bright.

A furore for our Nora!
And applaud Aurora seen!
Where, throughout the Summer, has
Our Borealis been?

________________________

A friend named her daughter Nora and I sent her a copy. I especially love the word furore, because it doesn’t rhyme , even though it seems like it should.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: aurora.

Elwha is still missing and I did not see the aurora, though tons of friends have posted pictures. This shot of Elwha is from January. I wonder if he saw the lights in the sky?

doppelbird

A doppleganger for a bird! Three hummingbird moths were hovering around this flowered bush yesterday! They are huge, 2 by 2 inches and I think the proboscis that curls up must be another 2 or 3 inches long. Beautiful!

And where am I with these strange bird like moths?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: doppelganger.

Clementine

If I lose my memory, at least, if it’s Alzheimer’s, it’s like a trip back through time. People seem to lose recent memory and then they are in past memories, which burn out like small fires. Like matches, taking the neuron with it.

I have joked that if I was in memory care, I would be singing. I know 9 verses of Clementine and I would sing and sing and sing, because my earliest happy memories are singing.

I know the silly add on verses.

“Now all ye boy scouts, learn a lesson
from this dreadful tale of mine
Artificial respiration
would have saved my Clementine.”

“How I missed her, how I missed her,
how I missed my Clementine
‘Til I kissed her little sister
And forgot my Clementine.”

“In my dreams she still doth haunt me
dressed in garments soaked in brine
In my life I would have kissed her
Now she’s dead, I draw the line.”

Here is Pete Seeger, banjo and all.

The words change. Second verse for me is “Light she was and like a feather”. His version is “like a fairy”. It’s lovely to see how the versions change over time. I did not learn the churchyard verse, and he does not sing the three verses that I add above.

Meanwhile, Steeleye Span did not do Clementine, at least not on Youtube. But this is my favorite moral song from their albums. Would you run as, well, you’ll have to listen to the ending to hear the three seven year penance punishments.

Anyhow, I learned to sing at the same time that I learned to talk. Singing was the happy and safe part. That is where I will go if my memory fails me.

The photograph is from my father’s 70th birthday, in 2008. He is the one with the guitar. Andy Makie is on harmonica and CF is in the back. I don’t know what song this was, not Clementine. My friend Maline took this photograph. She died in 2023. My father died in 2013 at age 75. He was not confused when he wore his oxygen. Without it, he sounded drunk.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: dementia.

Ages

Here is my daughter on the lap of her great grandmother Evelyn Ottaway. I think my daughter was a little over one and my grandmother was 90 or very close. We flew from Colorado and visited friends and family. My grandmother was living with my aunt Pat right then. My daughter was very relieved when we got home, but she let many people that she didn’t know hold her. This was the only time she saw her great grandmother.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: age.

Rumor

Oh, kindness. I think one huge kindness is not to listen to rumors and not to assume that they are correct. Whew. Though if you are ever the victim of a rumor, it will tell you who your real friends are. They will stay present, stay in touch, stay with you. Some will ask about it, others won’t, but they will stay. And you may be amazed by how many people disappear into the woodwork. They are staying “neutral”, they’ll say, but they don’t call, answer calls, or include you any more. Then they may show back up in the future. You will not trust them again. Ok, if they were going through some trauma of their own, but otherwise, no.

Sol Duc is keeping an eye on the neighborhood. She never tells me rumors, ever.

Here are three versions of Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out. I like the Bessie Smith one best. The John Lennon tune is different.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: kindness.

And another:

Soft my heart

Soft my heart forgives and lets go,
lets go of reconciling. We won’t. I won’t.
I have waited long enough. I forgive all
and I am done waiting. I let it all go and
walk forward into a different life.
The Sufis lead me: the teacher must judge when
the student is ready. I am not a teacher.
I am always a student. I want to learn
always and change. I let go. Farewell, my dears,
you still have my love but you do not have me.
I no longer care, I don’t long for your love,
I let you live your stuffed and twisted lives
in peace, without me importuning you,
to listen to think to grow with me
and you don’t want to so I am free.

____________________________

Written February 17, 2024. As with most of my poems, I don’t know how it will end until I write it. Poem as prayer. The ending surprised me, too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: reconcile.

I don’t know who took the photograph. From left to right, my sister, cousin, me, cousin, taken at Lake Matinenda in Ontario, Canada.

room

In my room, where is that?
In my room, the room in my head, there is home
and wilderness, unexplored and unending, never tame.
All the wild places I have been, or seen, or heard of
or imagine. It’s a wonder that I can speak at all
words in the daily day, after wandering the wilds.
Why does anyone ever come back?

Why does anyone ever come back?

Except to explore other rooms and add them to ours.
I listen to the Brahams Requiem, a painting in orchestra and voice,
of his room, his wilderness, his despair and joy.
I am glad to come back for this and others like him.

That is why anyone comes back.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: in my room.