I am a little worker bee,
Nose to the grindstone;
punching out the work
I am a little worker bee.
So this is my 100th post. I am amazed I have kept up with this over the past year and a half. Maybe because I didn’t force myself to blog every day. I have enjoyed my first 100 posts and I hope you have as well. I love writing and really hope you all don’t mind that my blogs are a bit random. I know people enjoy my photography, those get the most attention.
So with spring well and truly here in North Carolina I have worked around the house a bit, mostly outside. I am too terrified to start another painting project.
I have gardened. Removing Irises from one bed and moving them to another. Well the replanting has not begun yet, but maybe next week.
I am still working on reading Scott Peterson’s book, Let The Swords Encircle Me. Even with a degree in History I am really slow reading Non Fiction. I vowed when I finished my MA that I would never get involved in something where I had to read nonfiction for an assignment, because it could take me a year to finish the book. Yes I know I read a lot, but I can only manage a few dozen pages of a nonfiction book before I need a break. The book is fascinating though, a real look into the mind of the Iranian people. Scott is a very accessible writer which makes it easier to read the book. It feels more like a conversation with him and not a massive book about Iran, the revolution and recent activities there.
Everything with my mother’s estate is pretty much getting caught up and taken care of. Eventually the houses will be sold and my ties with that side of the family will be at conclusion.
One of my good friends is getting married in just over a week. I know she would accuse me of getting to into finding the right dress and shoes, but I didn’t really have anything to wear. Plus I am breaking my “no heels” rule for this event.
So instead of doing something grand and profound I thought this might be more fun.
I think I will close with a Poem I believe my grandfather wrote to my grandmother during their courtship
I’m thinking of that island we talk about still. Daydreaming as it is called. What I see is this:
An island in the sunset
Set apart from the rest of the world
Where love can grow unmolested
By a nation’s flag unfurled
With beaches of pure white sand
Untouched by human feet
A place where only love
With hatred would never meet
That’s the island I’m looking for
The island I think about
An island of love and happiness
From the hate of the world locked out
But I’ll never find this island
The way I want it to be
Unless the one I love
Goes on this trip with me
The trip is a long and hard one
A real journey for two
It means forgetting everything
Except the “me” and the “you”
There can’t be any turning back
Or memories to change the mind
There can’t be any suspicions
If this island we are to find
For it’s only for those who are willing
To start their lives a new
To occupy this island which
I am describing to you
No, this island is not in the ocean
Nor of this world a small part
This island of love and happiness
Lies right here in my heart
So I’d like to inhabit my island
To live there the rest of my days
With a partner in love and happiness
Who will understand my ways.
Fireflies blinking blinking
flying about in the warm summer night.
A jar clinking clinking
in the hands of a fascinated child.
Hands clapping clapping
to catch the bright little creature of the night.
The lid tapping tapping
as the little light bearer begs to get out.
Fireflies winking winking
in a glass jar on the shelf.
A little life sinking sinking
to nothing in that glass jar on the shelf.
April 7, 2001
I gaze beyond the glass as the cricket and frog raise their voices
in their nightly duet of spring.
A silken breeze plays upon the air with its
warm strumming fingers.
Lightning begins to quietly conduct the song
in softly brilliant flashes.
The drumming of thunder rumbles low across
the hot southern sky.
A curtain of mist rises slowly from the over damped earth
to meet the hidden moon.
The stage is set as the rain begins to dance softly
upon its rich fertile stage.
An audience of trees rustle and sway to
this soft meadow song.
While I sit at my darkened window gazing entranced
by the performance of spring.
April 7, 2001
It is strictly an image,
what people see.
I can always chose to project
a part of myself or the whole.
No one ,but you, has viewed
my true self.
I only let others see
But you have seen it all.
You were part of my beginning and
you will be a part of my end.
I wrote this in college
In a world of uncertainty
When I try to protect myself
Sometimes I end up hurting others
This is what living has brought me to
In this world of uncertainty
When I try to reach out, I get burned
Why can’t I be honest with everyone?
Instead of hiding behind a mask
I want to live as best I can
In my world of uncertainty
There is one thing that is sure
When I need someone to protect me
You will be there
You are steady and strong.
Jan 30, 1989