Thursday, July 30, 2015


Ah, I love this time of year. All the folks I know who are avid gardeners are casting about looking for folks who will take in their extra produce. I don’t garden but I love the fresh fruit and veggies. Lately it has been plums and I just got a call about yellow squash. Oh boy!

I’m crazy about zucchini and actually any of the summer squash varieties. Keep this in mind folks!

Wednesday, July 29, 2015


I am a person who has spent a lifetime trying hard to find, to create, ORDER in the world around her.

It is a world gleefully, energetically, willfully cleaving to disorder and chaos.

I go through my day straightening pictures that seem to prefer hanging slightly lopsided.

I dust tables that instantly sprout new patinas of dust… complete with fingerprints.

I tidy drawers. They beome disarranged.

I fold and hang things that return to being flopped and fallen.

I file and correlate. Documents move and disappear.

And then there is the willful and sudden appearance of dirty dishes where once there were clean.

I think I'll surrender. I will dwell in a house amidst this whirlwind and attempt calm acceptance of the inevitable.

But first let me adjust that frame and hang up those towels.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Story Telling

This morning I listened to myself recount a family anecdote to a friend. It was one of the well-worn sort of stories that we all tell, like how your sister once locked you out of the house when you were in your pajamas, or about the year your parents took you on vacation to a dude ranch that turned out to only be for folks over 65. Those stories become part of the mythos of our lives, stories we tell over and over and sometimes embroider to entertain our listeners.

As I told this particular tale a favorite one about my mother, I was suddenly aware of the many times I’ve recited it and how impossible it is to remember who among my friends had heard it.

Was I telling this story to a patient friend who’d heard it before? Maybe.  And heard it before that? Possibly. Was I being boring and repetitious? Oh dear. Was she suppressing a yawn or a groan? Oh dear again. Was she simply too polite to cut me off? Could be, although my friends are made of tough stuff. They have practice in the (in)delicate art of anecdotus interruptus, that finely timed art of breaking into an on-going monologue with “Oh, I remember that story! Funny!” also heard as “Get to the point! Cut to the chase! Don’t make me listen to this again!" and the teller gets the hint and curtails the memory.


Perhaps this is why so many of us learn not to listen as we speak. We’ve already had the thought and we can set our mouths to flapping as our brains retreat to gather more material.