Rainy day projects

The rain is pounding down.

Two plus inches in the rain gauge.  
A great excuse to stay inside and do "projects". 

Dish scrubbies.  
Crocheted out of boat line. 
These little hummers should last forever. 
Much better than a sponge or a store bought scrubby. 
They take about 10 minutes to make.

Cotton washcloths.  

I haven't crocheted in awhile, so good practice.  

They finish up fast, and if I make a mistake, it doesn't matter.  

They are, after all, just washcloths.

   A "never-ending" scarf. About 1/3 finished. 

A much larger project. 

I got a little bored, began messing with the stitch pattern.  

If it doesn't turn out, 

more scrubbies and washcloths?

Snow

First Snow of the Year!

The first snow of the year is always exciting.  I get up a couple of times during the night just to watch it come down.  Snow means a walk up the hill with the dogs and hot toddies by the wood stove.


However a couple of years ago, the snow did not stop.  It just kept coming.  For 14 days it fell.  28 inches of snow.  For us that is an incredible monster snow storm. Temperatures dipped into the low teens every night.  All this meant that we had no water, no electricity or phone for a very long week. We cooked on the wood stove, melted snow on the wood stove, and huddled by the wood stove.  We kept candles lit in the pump house to keep the pipes from freezing.  Our generator kept breaking down, and the roads into town were impassable.


Now if you live in the midwest, Cordova, or Connecticut, this might not be a big deal, but out here, we simply are not prepared for snow that deep or temperatures so low. 


Because this is National Poetry Month and because we got our first snow yesterday, here is the "snow poetry" written during that Oregon storm.

Snow mini poems

-1-

Three days in a row

Snow

-2-

All white

What a sight!

-3-

Heat

Neat

-4-

Seven days in a row

Snow

-5

Water gone

No john

-6-

Ice

Not Nice.

-7-

Ten days in a row

Snow

-8-

Pipes freeze

Oh jeez!

-9-

Birds can’t fly

Die.

-10-

Generator won’t start

Tear it apart

-11-

Truck stuck

Ahh f_ck

-12-

Eleven days in a row

Help, marriage is on the rocks, he smells like diesel, she just smells, melting snow is no fun, shoveling snow is a drag, almost out of candles, gas is low, out of birdseed, barn cat has disappeared, steps are icey, can’t make it out of here……HELP!

May all your snow be enjoyable (and temporary)! 

An Oregon Treasure

William Stafford (OHS)

As a middle school student I remember reading William Stafford's much anthologized  "Traveling through the Dark" and "Fifteen".  And since then I have never stopped reading him, teaching him, and loving his poetry.  In most every workshop that I have ever taught, I have read a William Stafford poem.

In 1975 Governor Tom McCall appointed him Oregon's first Poet Laureate.  This time of year, around Stafford's birthday...January 17... many Oregon communities have Stafford poetry readings.  Students study and learn to love Stafford.  They write Staffordesque poetry.  There is even an international Stafford poetry contest.

So on the event of William Stafford's coming 98th birthday, two of my favorite Stafford poems.

Allegiances It is time for all the heroes to go home if they have any, time for all of us common ones to locate ourselves by the real things we live by. Far to the north, or indeed in any direction, strange mountains and creatures have always lurked- elves, goblins, trolls, and spiders:-we encounter them in dread and wonder, But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold, found some limit beyond the waterfall, a season changes, and we come back, changed but safe, quiet, grateful. Suppose an insane wind holds all the hills while strange beliefs whine at the traveler's ears, we ordinary beings can cling to the earth and love where we are, sturdy for common things.

A Ritual To Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

William Stafford

Sometimes in the evening, I will sit down with "The Darkness Around Us Is Deep" and read every single poem, and every one is my favorite.

Do you have a favorite poet?  Someone you return to time after time?  Someone whose words, nuances, and ideas provide greater meaning every time you read them?  That provide threads to be followed that will take you to a different place with each reading?