Oh!

Elena over at My Quest is hosting Weekword this week, and has chosen the very expressive little word "oh". I used that word quite a bit on my latest trip to Galveston.



"Oh, what a beautiful bird. Hope he stays still long enough for me to get a good shot."



"Oh yea! I got it."



"Oh how sad." We saw a lot of dead things on the beach that day.



"Oh weird. Look how big it's scales are. They look like sea shells."



"Oh cool..." Don't ask me why. My sweetie replied with, "Oh no, next you'll be writing poetry about dead fish, huh?" Hmm... maybe another time ;]



"Oh *shoot! My batteries are dying!" (*not the word I actually used)

No sunset pics this time, due to the dead batteries, but we stayed to watch it over a lovely seafood dinner and a glass of wine, and then headed home.

Cynosure

This week's weekword is brought to us by Junebug's Musings. She mentioned Valentine's Day in connection with the word 'cynosure', and it made me think of these beautifully brilliant orchids I have hanging over my monitor. My sweetie brought them home for me as a surprise last week, so I thought I'd take a picture of them and make a card for him. I searched on the web for the language of flowers, and learned that orchids mean 'refined beauty'. I thought of a mature beauty, like the love shared between two people who have out-lived their first spouses, and have been refined by life's experiences to share a different kind of love. Different from that naive exciting first love of youth, but still brilliant in it's own way.

The poem is an acrostic, which means the first letter of each line spells a word, in this case 'romance'. I'm stepping a little out of my comfort zone writing a love poem, but I guess that's therapeutic, too.

Therapeutic

This week's Weekword is 'therapeutic'. You'll find links to other posts listed here on Domestic Scribbles. The dictionary defines it: of or relating to the treatment of disease; curative. Yet, many of us regularly refer to our hobbies as therapy. Why is that? Is life a disease? The stresses of life can cause disease. Autoimmune diseases are becoming more prevalent today partly because of these stresses.



The dictionary defines hobbies as an activity pursued in spare time for pleasure or relaxation. Yet for me, my hobbies have become a very necessary part of my routine for staying healthy. Like exercise and eating healthy, they have become needed therapy rather than a spare time pursuit.



One of my hobbies is photography. Last Friday, I went to the arboretum to take these pictures. The walk in the woods left me feeling so serene, that the obnoxious rush hour traffic on the way home didn't bother me like it usually does.



Of course not all therapy is pretty. I've got to vent some of the bad stuff too, which is usually the case with most of my poetry.


scolding darkness
pointing cold rigidity
at my chest
as if to blame

I wait numbly trepid for
bony rapping on my chest bone
unknown impact
wafts through memory pillars
and cobweb dreams
stripping reality
from a marble library

concentration dissipates
the blow never comes
just disbelief
gawking at the bloody muscle
ripped from my chest
oozing through frigid phalanges

afraid to breath
afraid to discover
I’m no longer able

outside the library
primal forces compel exhalation
awareness materializes
how am I breathing without a heart?

the pool of blood crackles
but the sound is within
slow and faint
a new one pumps
barely able to catch my breath
fingers and feet still numb
struggling to remain conscious
the only warmth
deep inside me

Recycle

This weeks "Weekword" is "Recycle". Below is a story about my friend, Lynda, that I posted on Silk Creek Portal back in March of '08. When I hear the word "recycle", I think of Lynda, and this is why:

Since one of the themes of this blog this month is Women in Nature, I thought I'd write about my friend, Lynda and her garden. Lynda has been fighting breast cancer for about ten years now. When she first started on this journey, doctors told her that the odds of surviving this long weren't good. She is currently undergoing the last and harshest chemo treatment for her cancer. She was told that she would be on this one for the rest of her life. It's left her very tired and weak, with a low blood count and low kidney function. So, when she told me about her plans for this garden, I was surprised, but happy to hear it. It could be so easy for her to dismiss the idea as being too ambitious right now.

I drove to Beaumont this weekend to help her get it started. The place she plans to grow her vegetables is at her in-laws house. In the back there are 8 or 9 raised beds that have been overgrown with about three years worth of weeds and grass. While we were busy pulling weeds and turning the soil, I asked her, "what does this garden mean to you?" She said, "recycling." I asked her what she meant, and she started to tell me about her father-in-law, Spud. These were once his gardens. He built them about 20 years ago when he retired. He was very passionate about them, especially his strawberries. He worked in his garden when he was well into his eighties. Once, not long before he died, his doctor asked him if he ever suffered from shortness of breath on exertion. Spud said, "define exertion." The doctor said, "when you're going about your normal daily activities." This eighty something year old man told his doctor that sometimes after several trips of carrying 80 pound bags of sand to his garden, he would have to stop and rest for a minute. We should all have that problem when we're eighty. Anyway, Lynda said it made her sad to see these gardens that were once the pride of such an energetic man who was so full of life become so overgrown like this since his passing.

Spud passed away about 2 years ago, so being the nosy friend that I am, I wondered why is it now that Lynda wants to start these gardens back up again. I pried further, "so you're doing this as a memorial to Spud, or does it go deeper than that?" She thought about it, and then said, "this is what kept Spud alive after he retired." I said, "so if you have no work, you die?" She said, "yes." But, it was more than that, because she added, "I can't give up now, I have gardens to tend to."

She also has work to be done at the animal shelter, puppies to rescue, foster, and find homes for. She won volunteer of the year for her work with animals. I think that all of this is more than just work for her. She used the word "recycling". In this context, it makes me think of the cycle of life. This garden is an integral part of that cycle. In spite of the gloomy forecast that the doctors give, she continues to fill her life with life, and give back to life.

Lynda passed away in October of '09, and then my mom the following January. Many of my creative endeavors came to a hault, including gardening and blogging. Slowly though, I'm coming back around. Last October, I wrote this poem for her.



Lynda's Poem

You embellished my life
with the last five years of yours
Adorned it with stories
from your animal rescue adventures
while I cried on your shoulder
after losing mine
Bejeweled it with bead work
made from our treasure hunt bounty
while helping me blow dust off mine
Illuminated it with photographic treks
no one else had the patience to join
Enriched it with gardens
that renewed environmental wonder
and recycled life

Hours spent in unspoken mirth
or in epic laughter
We shared the same muse
Your diagnosis was terminal
yet you filled life
with life and gave it back
Until the last harvest moon

It’s been a year since then
My camera and beads have
once again gathered dust
But, an overgrown flower bed
outside my door whispered
It’s creator died years ago
A thorny rose stem among weeds
Tiny begonias hidden in the grass
told the story of her love
I thought of you and recycled it

In memory of you
I took a new photo
A huge white bloom
that only opens at night
While inside my house
a bird screeched
A rescue you’d fall in love with
Thank you

Simplicity

dormancy pervades
gray coated simplicity
Winter pond’s secret

This is for "Weekword", a weekly blogging challenge that I discovered on Mary's blog. The Haiku was inspired by hers. She went into a wonderfully in depth discussion of how difficult it is to attain simplicity. My photo probably doesn't seem simple, but for me, it represents the simple peacefulness I felt while taking it. That day at the arboretum, it was so quiet that it seemed like even the turtles were hibernating; like earlier that morning they squinted a sleepy eye at the gray clouded sky and said, "Yup, today is a good day to go back to bed." In contrast, below is complexity in winter colors.



Winter’s veneer hue
cloaks complexity within
strives for clarity

You can find many other blog posts on "Simplicity" by clicking on "Weekword" above.