20 Lines A Day

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RUST

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On a cold day here in New England

The shoreline still calls out to us

Our trips here are usually never planned

We just know we must get out or sit at home and rust

JT is always ready for our trips to the shore

We never  have to tell her that is where we are going

She sees him get the metal detector out  and she goes right to the door

On this day she was sad no Frisbee with the way the winds were blowing

He swung his machine over the sand

He left a path of places he had dug and filled back in

Nothing ever seems to go as planned

With him though it usually ends with a grin

His collecting apron has many treasures within

Pull tabs, copper wire and piping and so many coins and rings

Want to know the reason for the grin

Well he is always happy when finding THINGS

So on a cold day with nasty raw winds gusting

JT and I walk into the wind defiant to let it ruin our day

I remind myself we could have been home rusting

So glad we went it was such a pretty day given the fact we stayed

Eunice


Winter- Her Thoughts

She incubates
it’s winter
and the world
is dim

she conceals
with wool and sheets
of many threads

sheltered.. comforted

she snuggles tightly
escaping winter chills
spiralling outside

beyond her window frame

she wishes she could
quell the snow flakes
that enshrine the green
and brown

blanketed like herself

she listens
the wind roars
between forks of trees

solitude a tranquil time

when winter hits her world


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Our Yard in January

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Trees have swollen buds

 

 

 

 

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The hill to the right of our upper gate is where my Perennials sit under snow sending out roots to grow bigger and bigger

 

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Where I will try to make a living fence of Roses and Raspberries. From the stonewall border of cemetery

along this whole hill with southern exposure.

 

 

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Southeast corner of the yard, along the stream.

 

 

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Covered in Snow and Ice

 

 

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One of our male Cardinals through the Lilac and Forsythia

 

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Another beautiful Blue Jay peeking at me too cold to spend the energy to fly away

 

 

With temps in the 50′s and 60′s this weekend I may have to go to Maine to detect and walk JT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Mittens

My grandchildren were over recently, before our early Christmas celebration, before the hassle of the illnesses we’ve had, before the travel. It was a typical Friday, a cold day, and before I started giving my grandson his piano lesson my granddaughter said, “I’m going outside to play. OK?”

“Sure, honey.”

Five minutes later she was in again.

“Grandma, do you have some gloves I could wear? It’s colder out than I thought.”

I gave her a pair of my mittens. Turns out she had a “job to do,” and she picked up lots of twigs on the ground that a very strong wind had blown around.

“And I wanted to check Snuggles’ grave,” she said, “to make sure the sticks around it were still there.

On the day she and her brother came over to decorate our beloved cat’s grave, she had encircled the grave with sticks. Snuggles’ final resting place up on the hill is duly marked.

I got to thinking about those mittens after she came in, had her piano lesson, then after we took them home that evening. We so often say “walking or following in someone’s footsteps,” but in this case she mittened in my handprints. I love the fact that her little hands have warmed my mittens.


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Winterfall.

FP6

Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose, on the University of Calgary campus.  Please check out my post “Winter Magic!”  for more photos in this series.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!  I know many of you will be gathering with family and friends - enjoy!  :)


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Hard road

Along the hard pavements, walked miles today,

In a town with which I’m unfamiliar.

We thought we were right, but gone the wrong way,

And all the roads seem to look similar.

Our upward climb hard, the hill is so steep,

Our breath comes in rasps and, clouding the air,

Visible token of how we dig deep

To find strength enough left in this sad pair.

Exhausted we find our destination

And sink into a chair with elation.


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Sun — Where Have You Been?

I’ve been waiting in the cold

dark, forever, it seems, at least

to feel your warm hand upon my body.

Unbury me from this hovel of dampness

that infects my bones, my joints.

I need your electric balm to invigorate

my mind, my soul.

This gray shadow has cast its’ net

too long, too far.

It has swallowed

too much of this earth

causing a great bulge

in yesterday’s news.

One – sided blues

that propagates itself

over the tops of its citizen’s moods

clamping down hard with its monotonous recital.

Sun! Unleash your soothing rays

for we cannot wait

patience has seen its overdue days.

© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


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Chef and Bird, Sitting in a Tree..K..I..S..S..I..N..G..

Skull and crossbones

Skull and crossbones (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It has long been a suspicion of mine that Chef and I are a tiny bit too competitive with each other. We can make anything into a competition when we feel like it. Any time we have to take two vehicles somewhere, we race. Yes, irresponsible and dangerous. But fun. Chef having his own blog has been fun, too.

But today, I feel he has taken it a bit far. I woke up with a full-blown case of the flu. I feel awful. I can’t breathe, and I feel like I swallowed a porcupine whole. My body aches, and when I cough, it takes me awhile to be able to stop again. All of this, and yet, Chef showed me no mercy today even though I was in a weakened state, obviously near to death, miserable, grouchy, and in no mood to play stupid games…

He called me from work to check on me.

Me: Hello.

Chef: Hey, Birdie. How are you feeling?

Me: Like death would be an improvement.

Chef: Sorry, kid. Have you eaten anything? You need to eat.

Me: No. Let me starve…

Chef: Well, at least you get to stay in bed and recover. You kept me up all night long hacking and coughing., and I still had to get up and come to work. I can barely function today…

Me: Sorry, honey.

Chef: Seriously, Bird. I am exhausted.

Me: Well, I didn’t do this on purpose…I’m sick! I didn’t plan to keep you up all night. I was dying.

Chef: … I have to stand on my feet all day. We’re short a person around here, and I can’t get anyone in to replace her, so I’m having to do it myself. …You know, Bird, I’m getting the feeling you don’t really care…

Me: (in my most fake sincere voice) Whatever, Don. Fine. I truly apologize. I am really, really sorry I kept you up all night with my several near-death experiences, and it made your day harder…..I mean, seriously, what do you want from me here? You want to win the ‘Who Feels Worse Right Now Award’, ’cause hey, you can have it. You win! I lose! Can I go back to sleep now??

Chef: Yes, I want to win that one, and the I’m Employed and You’re Not one too.

Me: I’m hanging up on you now..You probably had better hope I die….

Chef: I really am sorry you feel like shit. I’ll bring you home some soup…

Me: I hope I’m contagious, and I infect you, then you will die too…preferbly at work…

Chef: I love you, too.

And with that little offering, I’m going to sleep…Have a nice day!

– Bird

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