Little Girls and their Grandfathers...a Very Favorite Thing

 

I was a very lucky girl when I was growing up, because I got to spend a lot of time on my grandparents' farm in Indiana.  I've written quite a bit about my grandmother and how her love of poetry has inspired this blog, but today's post is about my grandfather.  He was a quiet man, but his eyes twinkled with good humor.  He loved his family and his faith, and was respected for his character and his integrity.  

 

When I was about three his good humor slipped a little the day he was working inside the corn crib and I locked him in.  He asked me to let him out, but evidently I skipped off and went back to the farmhouse.  After he freed himself (which took quite a while, and it was hot out and the corn crib was not a pleasant place to be trapped for a couple of hours) he came back to the house and asked why on earth I would do such a thing.  I have no memory of this event, but evidently my answer was "I wanted to see what a monkey looked like in a zoo." Oops, wrong answer!

My parents and grandparents and me, Christmas Eve 1960

Grandpa on a visit to South Dakota--check out my pink hat!  What was I thinking?!

Grandpa and I enjoyed fishing in the stock pond, walking around the farm, and watching As the World Turns right after lunch.  We also checked out Lawrence Welk and Wagon Train after my Saturday night bubble baths. I loved to go on excursions with him, and I especially loved to ride in his truck to the local feed mill.  When I was back in Indiana last September for my uncle's birthday celebration I drove out to Fairbanks and took a picture of the old feed mill.  It's closed now, of course, and has seen better days, but I can remember sitting in the truck watching the men at work.  

And best of all, after we were done at the mill, we always got strawberry ice cream cones.  To this day, I always order strawberry, and every bite is filled with happy memories. 

I am linking with Favorite Thing Saturday over at Mockingbird Hill Cottage, and today's favorite thing is my charming Memories of Yesterday figurine A Sweet Treat.  Every time I look at her and her yummy strawberry ice cream cone I am reminded of my grandfather and how much I loved him.

Have a wonderful weekend--I'm now off to Chicago!  You can find other lovely favorite things here:

http://mockingbirdhillcottage.com/



It’s Windy City time!  And windy is definitely the word of the day, with wind chills of -20!  What strange weather this week—high 50’s on Tuesday (which meant I saw people in SHORTS.  Really, I did.  Fifty degree weather messes with Wisconsinites’ minds…it feels like a heat wave.)  And today the ‘actual’ temperature is minus 6, but the meteorologists gleefully insist on letting us all know that it FEELS like minus 20 outside.  Believe it or not, I can figure that out for myself as soon as I step outside!

With no extra excitement to finish off the week…no additional backyard owl sightings, no front yard fox appearances, and nothing at all worth mentioning in the side yard (except mounds of snow) I’m off to the big city this weekend for a little fun and relaxation.  I have an incredibly generous friend who shares an opera ticket with me each year, and we look forward to our annual excursion to Chicago for music, museums, and shopping (I tried to think of another ‘m’ word but evidently my creative side has already closed shop for the day).   We have our favorite shops—mostly consisting of bookstores and indy art stores, and we have a wonderful time exploring Michigan Avenue.  Last year we visited the Art Institute, but I must confess we were a bit unruly—we simply couldn’t get serious about the exhibitions in the modern wing and we laughed our way through the exhibit.  I’m afraid I’m a bit staid and pedestrian when it comes to art—give me a Monet or Degas and I’m quite happy.  Modern art?  I always feel like someone is pulling my leg. 



Untitled, 1995, Robert Gober

 


The Hang Up, Eva Hesse, 1966

Seriously??



This weekend we are looking forward to the Lyric Opera’s performance of Puccini’s La Boheme, where his beautiful melodies will transport us back in time to Paris’s Latin Quarter.  I imagine the struggling young artists will feel quite at home—icy cold Parisian garrets on stage, icy cold Chicago streets outside!  But we’ll all stay warm with the wild passion, unbridled emotions, tumult and ecstasy on stage.  Of course the ending is sad, because it’s an opera, and that’s what operas do.

But the Lyric always has amazing productions, and we’ll talk about it all the way to our favorite Italian restaurant (which, by the way, was also Al Capone’s favorite Italian restaurant…how’s that for name dropping?!), where we will feel decadent and order wine AND dessert at 11 pm., a time when most assuredly if we were at home we would already be tucked in bed with our flannel pajamas!

I'll share my adventures in the big city with you next week.  Until then, look for my 'favorite thing' post tomorrow morning, have a wonderful weekend and stay warm!  I didn't want to be too predictable and use Carl Sandburg's poem today, so instead here is a poem by Clifton King, who is searching for Sandburg's Chicago.

Finding Chicago

I wanted to write poetry like Carl Sandburg.
I wanted to write about big cities and small towns,
about open prairies and rivers in the sky.
I wanted to write about the people:
plumbers, politicians, poets,
but I’d never been east of Tucson.
So I quit my dead end job,
closed out my savings account, all 600 dollars,
and went to Chicago in search of a poem.

Chicago—City of the Big Shoulders, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago falling down around an old black man
leaning on his battered bass case, the way you lean
on a friend when you’re in need. And Thomas Jefferson
Brown was a man in need, shoulders sagging under
the weight of six decades of back alley blues bars
and his thirst for blended whiskey.

Chicago—Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler,
wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago in a rusted heap of railroad cars, twisted
tracks and 55 gallon drums where bums built their fires.
Factories and warehouses empty, workers sitting in nearby
bars drinking beer, expecting checks at the end of the week.

Chicago—Stormy, husky, brawling, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago shimmering in the shadows of towering
concrete, steel and glass along 32nd Street, poets reading
in bookstores and coffee houses, children marching
to museums, women with slim hips in black silk gowns,
men in tuxedos and Italian shoes, dressed for the theater.

I wanted to write poetry like Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find his Chicago.

Electric Blue Magic

Yesterday's bad weather ended with my husband's office closing early, but since I had to work until five I took the bus home.  One of my job perks is a free bus pass, and I'm lucky enough to have the bus stop just two houses down from mine, so I truly like the idea of public transportation.  But in reality I am a terrible bus passenger--the diesel fumes and the quick lurching stop and starts get me 'bus sick' in just moments so the twenty minute ride home seems like eternity. 

So last night when I started thinking about what to write for today's post I started searching for poems about riding on buses.  For the record, there are very few of them, and they aren't very good.  That actually surprised me a little.  But during my search I ran across a video of Ruth Forman reciting one of her poems, Poetry Should Ride the Bus.  I was stunned--I loved the poem, I was fascinated with her recitation and was incredibly excited at the thought of bringing you an amazing poem today.  Perhaps you already know Ruth's work, but in case she is new to you as well, she is an American poet whose poems focus on spirituality, love, challenge and grace.  A fellow poet wrote of her work "this is what Forman does best: brings us to the heart of all that matters and introduces us to ourselves." 

 

So here is a poem that reaches far, far beyond my hopes for a 'bus poem'--instead you have a bright, saucy and infectious poem that celebrates how poetry brings joy to our lives.  I hope it makes you smile and that you hear the electric blue magic whisper in your ear today!

Poetry Should Ride the Bus

Ruth Forman

poetry should hopscotch in a polka dot dress

wheel cartwheels

n hold your hand

when you walk past the yellow crackhouse

poetry should dress in fine plum linen suits

n not be so educated that it don’t stop in

every now n then to sit on the porch

and talk about the comins and goins of the world

poetry should ride the bus

in a fat woman’s Safeway bag

between the greens n chicken wings

to be served with Tuesday’s dinner

poetry should drop by a sweet potato pie

ask about the grandchildren

n sit through a whole photo album

on a orange plastic covered La-Z-Boy with no place to go

poetry should sing red revolution love songs

that massage your scalp

and bring hope to your blood

when you think you’re too old to fight

yeah

poetry should whisper electric blue magic

all the years of your life

never forgettin to look you in the soul

ever once in a while

n smile.

from We Are The Young Magicians Beacon Press April 1, 1993

If you would like to see Ruth recite this poem, you can watch it here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6hztae_5GE

 This is the poem of the air...

Yesterday was rain.  Today is snow.  Impossibly fluffy, huge snowflakes drifting by my window.  It looks so calm and peaceful, yet my school district is the only one currently open today--everyone else in the county is closed as the roads are treacherous with ice underneath the snow.  Here's a peek out my front door this morning:

Something rather amazing happened this morning.  You might recall that yesterday I got my first look at 'my' backyard owl.  Today, I was waiting for my husband to return from the gas station and I was standing in my front room looking out at all the snow when what to my wondering eyes should appear but this fine fellow!  To say I was in shock was an understatement.  And of course I didn't have my camera handy, because I live in the middle of a large city and really don't expect to see a handsome fox come strolling through my front yard!  But he was beautiful and looked just like this one.  What an amazing way to start the morning!  Welcome to my forest abode...owls, foxes, what will arrive tomorrow morning? Stay tuned!

Isn't this just a lovely poem?  It's a little sad, I admit, but try reading it aloud--this is the poem of the Air, slowly in silent syllables recorded...  Longfellow must have written this poem on a day much like today..silent and soft and slow descends the snow.  A beautiful day, a beautiful poem, a beautiful fox--life is a gift, isn't it?

Snow Flakes

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,

Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,

Over the woodlands brown and bare,

Over the harvest-fields forsaken,

Silent, and soft, and slow

Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take

Suddenly shape in some divine expression,

Even as the troubled heart doth make

In the white countenance confession,

The troubled sky reveals

The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the Air,

Slowly in silent syllables recorded;

This is the secret of despair,

Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,

Now whispered and revealed

To wood and field.

When it rains....it pours!

Snoopy got it right last night...the thunder woke me up at 1:27 and there was no going back to sleep.  Winds, rain, thunder claps...in January.  I finally gave up trying to get back to sleep and ended up watching all 3.5 hours of Out of Africa as I listened to the storm rage outside.  For some odd reason the old Morton salt phrase 'when it rains it pours' kept popping into my head, reminding me of a couple of kitchen cross stitch patterns I did during my 'country' phase.

What is it with this strange winter weather?  It's supposed to reach a high of almost 60 degrees today (in January.  In Wisconsin), then rain tonight that will freeze on the roads, followed by up to six inches of snow tomorrow.  A high of 30 degrees tomorrow, and then only 12 degrees on Thursday!  The radio was warning which roads to avoid during rush hour this morning due to flooding.  This is nuts, seriously.

It rained so hard even my owl was pretty quiet last night, although this morning my husband and I got our first peek at him, perched in the evergreen in our backyard.  He looked wet and bedraggled and HUGE.  I'll keep my eye out and my camera handy and maybe I'll get lucky with a picture or two.

First winter rain 

by Matsuo Basho

First winter rain--

even the monkey

seems to want a raincoat.

Okay, this post seems to be all over the place--wet owls, typing beagles, and the Morton salt girl, plus a poem about a monkey in a raincoat.  This is what happens when I watch long movies all night long instead of getting a good night's sleep!

It is a truth universally acknowledged....

that all Downton Abbey devotees have a LOT to talk about over the water cooler at work today, but since my mother may not have seen it last night I am being very, very careful to not say anything about last night's episode!  So instead I am today celebrating the 200th anniversary of one of the greatest novels in history (and one of my personal favorites), Pride and Prejudice.  First published by Thomas Egerton in 1813, it was Jane Austen's second novel and her favorite.  She described it as her "own darling child".

If we were in Bath, England, we could visit the Jane Austen Centre (I didn't misspell Centre, I'm just being pretentious and pretending I'm British today) today and take part in the International Readathon it is hosting today.  Dozens of actors, authors and Austen experts plan to read the book aloud in its entirety during a 12-hour period.  Other celebrations are planned in Bath, including the Jane Austen Festival Regency Costumed Summer Ball in June, and the Bath Jane Austen Festival, held Sept. 13-21, which will include a Mr. Darcy lookalike contest, a masked ball and workshops on how to perfect the Regency look.

Or you could visit Austen's home in Chawton, which has been transformed into the Jane Austen's House Museum, or head to Derbyshire, where many of the Austen movies were filmed in the region's grand estates and gardens.

Chatsworth House, used as Pemberley Estate, in the 1995 BBC mini-series

Everyone knows the opening line of Pride and Prejudice by heart (alright, perhaps not everyone, but a lot of people do!).  The novel has sold over 20 million copies worldwide, and has engendered numerous film, stage and television adaptations. It has even spawned a zombie spin-off (and no, I have absolutely no desire to read that version!)  And certainly, the BBC's 1995 mini-series turned Colin Firth into an international phenomenon (read 'heartthrob').

Add caption

So today let's celebrate Jane Austen and her gift to the world:  Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy, as well as a wonderful cast of minor characters that lend so much to the novel. (Remember my earlier post about my Mr. Collins/potato print in my dining room?!).  And here's a little ditty by W.H. Auden, from a 1937 poem titled Letter to Lord Byron", in which he reflects on Jane Austen:

You could not shock her more than she shocks me,

Beside her Joyce seems innocent as grass.

It makes me most uncomfortable to see

An English spinster of the middle class

Describe the amorous effects of 'brass',

Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety

The economic basis of society.

Can she bake a cherry pie, charming Billy?

My mother had a pretty impressive collection of nursery songs that she used to comfort a sick or sleepy child.  She always had a baby in her arms (her own, a relative's, a neighbor's...and the standing joke was that she always had a baby in her arms if it was time to do the dishes!). We all loved to hear her sweet and calming voice as she held us in her rocking chair.  One of my favorites was the English folk song Billy Boy, which I also used when rocking my own children. 

About thirty years Enesco came out with a line of figurines called Memories of Yesterday, designed from the art of Mabel Lucie Attwell, a very popular British illustrator in the early 1900's.  She was known for her cute, nostalgic drawings of children, based on her daughter, Peggy.  She was so popular in England that in 1921, J.M Barrie personally requested her to illustrate the gift-book edition of Peter Pan. 

I thought the figurines were charming, and my mother started gifting me ones that had a connection to my childhood memories.  I can't wait to show you all of them over the next few weeks!  Today's figurine is linked to my favorite nursery rhyme/folksong that comforted generations of children.  I can't wait until I am a grandmother and can sing it again!  Here's Mabel's illustration of a proud young baker; isn't she cute?

I had to use my older camera for this picture, so I apologize for the poor quality, but I love the memories associated with this piece...every time I look at it I can hear Mother and one of her 'rocking songs' !

 Billy Boy

Oh, where have you been,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, where have you been,
Charming Billy?
I have been to seek a wife,
She's the joy of my life,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Did she ask you to come in,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Did she ask you to come in,
Charming Billy?
Yes, she asked me to come in,
There's a dimple in her chin.
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Can she make a cherry pie,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she make a cherry pie,
Charming Billy?
She can make a cherry pie,
Quick as a cat can wink an eye,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

I'm linking today to Claudia's Favorite Thing Saturdays, where you can find all sorts of wonderful collections and memories. 

http://mockingbirdhillcottage.com/