Is it over yet ???

After Christmas redux because I ALWAYS feel this way after a Retail Christmas!

Meet Diesel  - My Christmas PRESENT ... well, OUR Christmas present.  
I get to enjoy the snuggles, but Soub is doing most of the puppy mop-ups :)

My BEST Christmas present - happy healthy gorgeous kids.

Our best wishes to you and yours for the New Year!


For Adullamite .....the Lone Surviving Reader

At Blackwater Pond

You know how it feels,
wanting to walk into
the rain and disappear-
wanting to feel your life 
brighten and grow weightless
as a leaf in the fall.
And sometimes, for a moment,
you feel it beginning - the sense
of escape sharp as a knife-blade
hangs over the dark field
of your body, and your soul
waits just under the skin
to leap away over the water.
But the blade,
at the last minute, hesitates
and does not fall,
and the body does not open,
an you are what you are - 
trapped, heavy and visible
under the rain, only your vision
delicate as old leaves skimming
over the mounds of the seasons,
the limits of everything,
the few shaped bones of time.

~ Mary Oliver from Twelve Moons, 1972


thank you!

Thank you for all the warm comments.  I honestly thought Soub would be the only one to visit my hill country post.  I've been quite neglectful of this space.  But your cheery faces and sweet thoughts touched me.  I miss you guys!!   

Here's one of me and Soub in Austin during that weekend.  We drove in to meet up with my little sis and her boyfriend.  A good time was had by all :) 

soub and rdg, Austin TX

Currently a good time is not being had by all here at home as you've read on Soub's blog.  But he's being a trooper and hasn't grumped once at me even though he's in a lot of pain!

Thanks again, dear friends
xxx, rdg

hill country

The following pics are random images from our most recent travels through the Hill Country of Texas:  Giddings, Bastrop, Austin, Llano and spots in between.  The photos I took during the trip were a sad lot of rather meh images.  I have lots of excuses, but the truth is I'm not a talented photographer. Which is why I'm having fun with Picasa's photo editing tools and why the pics look ... heavily edited - they are!

Courthouse, Giddings TX
Courthouse, Giddings TX
'Hot Checks' in Giddings
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX
Bastrop TX

Austin TX
Allen Boot Co., Austin TX

on the way to Llano TX
'Stuffology', Llano TX

xxx, rdg


night work

photo by natalia drepina

I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.  I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
 of the perfect trees.  All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness.   All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom.  By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

~ Sleeping In the Forest by Mary Oliver

from Twelve Moons


it's monday, monday ...



the morning after, on a Tempur-pedic

rogue memory

Her:  I dreamed I married a cat prince last night.

Him:  CAT PRINCE ??? What kind of dream was that?

Her:  Well, he had the body of a man but the head of a cat.  And when we kissed, he had a rough, sandpaper sort of tongue that was small and pink.  It wasn't fun kissing him.  Plus I wasn't his only wife.

Him:  I think you need to start laying off the LSD before bedtime.

Her:  I blame the new mattress.  It came with some weird memories.

Him: Oh no it can't.  It's brand new!  It came straight from the factory with no memories hard-wired into it.

Her:  No.  I think the memory foam had some, you know, pre-memories.  From the time it existed BEFORE it became a mattress.  I think it's leaching its memories into my dreams.  I mean, how can you trust memory foam, right?  You don't know where it's been before it became a bed.

Him:  I think all memory foam should sign a 'Do Not Tell' waiver before it agrees to become a bed.  Just think of all the stories a mattress could tell the world?  Think of the headlines in papers:  Memory Foam Rocks World With Celebrity Tell-All Book.

Her:  Exactly!  That's my point.  Our memory foam didn't sign the No Tell waiver.

Him:  Yeah, but think how handy it will be when I wake up at 2am with a brilliant money making idea?!!  All I will have to do is whisper it to my mattress, and when I wake up in the morning, the memory foam will remember it all in great detail for me!  Phew - what a relief.  No more looking for pen and paper and waking you up in the middle of the night.

Her:  No.  What you will wake up to is your mattress auctioning your great idea to the highest bidder.  It will already be on its facebook page and twitter feed.  You can't stop it.  It's a monster.... Maybe we should return it?

Him:  What?  The mattress?  We just had our first great night's sleep in a year!  Don't be stupid.

Her:  (Sighs)


ps. This is a true story.


mary oliver

Perseid Meteor Shower Flagstaff Arizona by Logan Brumm

"Walking to Oak-Head Pond, and Thinking of the Ponds I Will Visit in the Next Days and Weeks"

What is so utterly invisible
as tomorrow?
Not love,
not the wind,
not the inside of stone.
Not anything.
And yet, how often I'm fooled-
I'm wading along
in the sunlight-
and I'm sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining
days ahead-
I can see the light spilling
like a shower of meteors
into next week's trees,
and I plan to be there soon-
and, so far, I am
just that lucky,
my legs splashing
over the edge of darkness,
my heart on fire.
I don't know where
such certainty comes from-
the brave flesh
or the theater of the mind-
but if I had to guess
I would say that only
what the soul is supposed to be
could send us forth
with such cheer
as even the leaf must wear
as it unfurls
its fragrant body, and shines
against the hard possibility of stoppage-
which, day after day,
before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
shudders, and gives way.

~ Mary Oliver from What Do We Know:  Poems and Prose Poems 
Da Capo Press 2002

for goatman and meteor scoffers


national poetry month

It hasn't escaped me that April is national poetry month in America.  According to Wikipedia, April is also:  Child Abuse Prevention Month, Sexual Assault Awareness Month, Confederate History Month, Financial Literacy Month, National Multiple Birth Awareness Month (multiple birth?? really?? I need to be aware of this ???), School Library Month, Earth Awareness Month, Math Awareness Month, Autism Awareness Month, Occupational Therapy Month, Month of the Military Child, Adenomyosis Awareness Month (what???), Polycystic Ovary Syndrome month, Southern Side Dish Potluck Month and Alcohol Awareness Month ....... phew.  What a list.  I don't know what half of these designations are ...?!  Umm... I posted on grapefruit vodka, so I suppose that covers Alcohol Awareness ..... and so on and so forth.  So much for commemorative months.  Suffice to say that yes, I am, as always, reading poetry this month thanks to Soub for gifting me with Ted Kooser's  Delights and Shadows. I wouldn't say that I am particularly delighted by Kooser's work as a whole (and this is probably more a testament to my general mood of late spring apathy than a commentary on Ted's writing), but I do find small gems of lines scattered about in this slim volume that do delight me.  And possibly in this age of the text, the instagram, the facebook wall, the tumblr blog, I am getting what I deserve:  the 60 second flash poem.  What better way to impress upon friends and colleagues that I am erudite and cultured than to wittily rejoin (without proper context of course):  The sweet small clumsy feet of April came into the ragged meadow of my soul ... e.e. cummings, thank you.  It has been quite a popular reblog on tumblr recently with 7497 likes and / or reblogs so far.  Have many delved farther into this small sweet line?  if i have made, my lady, intricate appears to be neither sweet nor clumsy.  Shall we add the rest of the truncated poem's lines?  Oh sure, RDG, let's go there:

if i have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind-if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy-if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your smile
the keep primeval silence of your hair

-let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death"-
you only will create
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul.

And my mind is utterly exhausted.  The line describing a lady's profound and fragile lips certainly changes the context of April's sweet small clumsy feet.  Forgive me my lack of intellectual enthusiasm:  I'll take the 60 second version, thank you, along with my cinnamon dolce latte with extra whip. (An aside:  I thought this inability to sustain prolonged attention to, albeit, a rather short poem would be the defining trait of 'hipster', but urban dictionary has rightly chastised me.  Aging anti-hipster is probably a better self description). And I refuse to chalk up my transient apathy to age.  I think it is more a case of the delayed blues - January and February being full of housey thoughts and doings - so my old blue friend has come to lay his head in my April lap.  I did intend to share a few of Ted Kooser's better lines, but the book is upstairs and upstairs is a lot further away from downstairs in the new house than it was at the townhouse.  There was a particularly great image of two young cousins spying on an aunt courting her boyfriend in a porch swing.  They were hiding on the roof above and so caught up in stifling their laughter, they peed on the roof.  Ted's poems are "accessible" in that way ... (yep, that was from a dust jacket review.) And I have a lovely Mary Oliver poem I want to post.  She uses the word 'corpuscle' - I just love that!  But in the way of tumblr and 60 second poems, I think the Mary Oliver poem is an amalgamation of two or three of Mary's poems.  Or a mix of her better lines ..........

I think I'll tackle Math Awareness in my next post.



A Happy Birthday

from Moon Games by Laurent Laveder

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could have easily switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

~Ted Kooser from Delights and Shadows


Here's to 50 More!

Amen to that!
It means I can still use words like "Awesome"
I was hoping for 'All you can eat Pancakes'
I ended up with a bottle of this (already emptied)
And 3 lbs of these.
Soub was not a fan ...
He wisely chose the shrimp po' boy :-)

Happy 50th Birthday to Me !!


(my) Season of Lilac

artist:  Unknown
Season of Lilac

in april you come to me again in lilac
fall on my cheek like rain
take my hair like wind.

it is the sense of you the heat
brings in august, when life glistens
on skin and earth's deep smell climbs
high, bursting the veins of leaves
with the kind of joy birds know
as night cocoons  to day, seasons turning

and december falls with the clear breath of you
sweetened ice on my tongue;

fall is the time when days drift
to sea to smother sand with damp wings
and your eyes touch fire, causing spark.

the seasons are full with you
the calendar rattles its leaves
for a glimpse of time's reflection
racing through my blood -
leaves fall, grass strains for wind
the soggy sky shakes itself dry
like a dog in from the snow to the fire
and love climbs like smoke
seeking its own level.

in april, then, you come to me in lilac
fall on my cheek like warm rain
take my hair like gentle wind
call me to lie down in fragrance.

~Dave Margoshes



march hares

Anna Pugh - Moon Run

Dan May - Roscoe's Fall

Renee Treml

Celia Hart



Moving Day .....




home sweet home

By the time this posts, Soub and I will be proud new homeowners .... and probably feeling a bit shell-shocked considering what this home is costing us!  Make no mistake, however, we are quite excited especially considering the great set-up for Soub's pottery.  We viewed quite a number of properties starting last November.  And while this suburban home lacks the 'rural' feel we were hoping for, it more than makes up for the lack with a large lot, space for the pottery and an in-ground pool that has my youngest mulette quite excited.  It is more than I had dreamed of for our family.  And that has been the overarching truth of my life since last October:  Being married to Soub is all I have ever dreamed of, hoped for and more ... so much more.  I am blessed!

The one-story wing on the left is the original garage that will become Soub's studio:

Inside what will become the pottery studio with a few modifications:

And a separate 3 car garage to house the kilns, the pugmill and
 Soub's impressive tool collection.
(I'm not sure where I will be allowed to park my car ... :-) 

This sealed the deal for my youngest mulette:

Wonder how he's going to feel about skimming the pool and mowing the lawn 
on his weekends ...?!!

Next on the list:  naming the pottery.  We're stumped.
Any suggestions?



valentine, you set my heart on fire ....!

christian schloe



howard schwartz

calling the moon closer

All at once
I find her taking root
in the soft earth beside me.
It's hard to wake her.
Even when her eyes are open
she cannot breath-
whether to draw her breath
like a young girl
or let her leaves absorb
the light.
she calls the moon closer,
and lets me hold her
in my arms,
and all the while she shelters me,
the branches are filled
with a silver light,
as if the moon had slipped

~howard schwartz from The Library of Dreams



thoughts of spring and dreams

With Soub and I crushed under mountains of paperwork - his green card, our soon-to-be first home - I find myself dreaming of gardens and flight and spring.  But mostly I find myself dreaming in odd, staccato stills:

Artists in no order:  Amy Judd, Catrin Welz-Stein, Colette Calascione, Ryan Pickart

Happy February ...


anne sexton and anais nin: random thoughts of january

Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery.
~ Anne Sexton
"Who am I to believe in dreams?
There is an animal inside of me,
clutching fast to my heart;
Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.
Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the dear,
I do not know."

~ Anne Sexton, The Poet of Ignorance

"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically.  We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly.  We grow partially.  We are relative.  We are mature in one realm, childish in another.  The past, present and future mingle and pull us backward, forward or fix us in the present.  We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."

~ Anais Nin



emily dickinson


I SING to use the waiting,
My bonnet but to tie,
And shut the door unto my house;
No more to do have I,

Till, his best step approaching,
We journey to the day,
And tell each other how we sang
To keep the dark away.

Emily Dickinson


the lessons of water

david moses
from The Paris Review:

The Lessons of Water
The best way to conduct oneself may be observed in the behavior of water. - Tao te ching

When given a place to wait, it fills that place
By taking the shape of what contains it,
Its upper surface poised and level,
Absorbing, accepting what it can as lightly
Or heavily as it does itself.  If pressed
Down, it will offer back in all directions
Everything it was given.  If chilled, it will shatter
Daylight and whiten to stars, will harden and sharpen
And turn unforseeably dazzling.  Neglected,
It will disappear, being transformed and lifted
Into thin air.  Or thrown away, it will gather
With other water, which is all one water,
And rise and fall, regather and go on rising
And falling the more quickly its path descends
And the more slowly as it wears that path away,
To be left awhile, to stir for the moon, to wait
For the wind to begin again.

by David Wagoner