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Be sure to stop by my author page from time to time

In the meantime, while you're here, pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of coffee or a cuppa tea, have a piece of pie and always feel free to speak your mind, and your heart, here at Meanderings and Muses.

Friday, October 26, 2018

R.I.P. Tony Hoagland



“The speechless marvels of nature, and the serious conversation of friends—these are two of the sweetest things in life.”
— Tony Hoagland, interview in the Kenyon Review.


Windchime
By Tony Hoagland
She goes out to hang the windchime
in her nightie and her work boots.
It’s six-thirty in the morning
and she’s standing on the plastic ice chest
tiptoe to reach the crossbeam of the porch,
windchime in her left hand,
hammer in her right, the nail
gripped tight between her teeth
but nothing happens next because
she’s trying to figure out
how to switch #1 with #3.
She must have been standing in the kitchen,
coffee in her hand, asleep,
when she heard it—the wind blowing
through the sound the windchime
wasn’t making
because it wasn’t there.
No one, including me, especially anymore believes
till death do us part,
but I can see what I would miss in leaving—
the way her ankles go into the work boots
as she stands upon the ice chest;
the problem scrunched into her forehead;
the little kissable mouth
with the nail in it.


Reasons to Survive November
November like a train wreck–
as if a locomotive made of cold
had hurtled out of Canada
and crashed into a million trees,
flaming the leaves, setting the woods on fire.
The sky is a thick, cold gauze–
but there’s a soup special at the Waffle House downtown,
and the Jack Parsons show is up at the museum,
full of luminous red barns.
–Or maybe I’ll visit beautiful Donna,
the kickboxing queen from Santa Fe,
and roll around in her foldout bed.
I know there are some people out there
who think I am supposed to end up
in a room by myself
with a gun and a bottle full of hate,
a locked door and my slack mouth open
like a disconnected phone.
But I hate those people back
from the core of my donkey soul
and the hatred makes me strong
and my survival is their failure,
and my happiness would kill them
so I shove joy like a knife
into my own heart over and over
and I force myself toward pleasure,
and I love this November life
where I run like a train
deeper and deeper
into the land of my enemies.
–Tony Hoagland


November 19, 1953  -  October 23, 2018


Thursday, October 25, 2018

Some Days by Philip Terman


Some days you have to turn off the news
and listen to the bird or truck
or the neighbor screaming out her life.
You have to close all the books and open
all the windows so that whatever swirls
inside can leave and whatever flutters
against the glass can enter. Some days
you have to unplug the phone and step
out to the porch and rock all afternoon
and allow the sun to tell you what to do.
The whole day has to lie ahead of you
like railroad tracks that drift off into gravel.
Some days you have to walk down the wooden
staircase through the evening fog to the river,
where the peach roses are closing,
sit on the grassy bank and wait for the two geese.



Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Lesa sent me flowers


aren't they beautiful?





Annabelle admired them



and then tried to eat them














Thursday, October 18, 2018

Post Hip Surgery



Am I miserable? yes. 

Am I whiney? yes. 

Our bed is too high for me to be able to maneuver in and out of, so Donald has built me a nest on the sofa in the sunroom. 

With teddy bears, a walker, a cane, some coffee, meds and water. 

Annabelle wants to be up here with me and I want her up here, but there's not enough room and she's too heavy to stretch out on me without breaking my hip, and you better believe I am not going through this again. 

I am alive, but y'all, I am far from well. 

Those of you who have done this, you have my greatest admiration. 

One more whine - the meds have me so goofy, I can't read. 

But I can cuss.



Saturday, October 13, 2018

The Other Side of Paradise


I'm sure there's not one single solitary doubt from anyone who knows me about how much I adore Paris.

I feel very much at home in Paris.

I feel comfortable roaming at will, not having a plan or a place to be.  

If I'm lost, I'm okay with it all.  

It's just another opportunity to look up and discover another piece of wonderful.

But there's another side to Paris, and it's one that breaks my heart.

We see it here in the States - and have done since Reagan, and it breaks my heart, but I am never fully prepared when I see it in Paris.





A few feet away there was a Fashion Week photo shoot going on.


Life.


It's so full of heartbreak.


Even in paradise.




Last day in Amsterdam - time to head home . . .



We loved our hotel in Amsterdam - Hotel Fita. 

Breakfast was one of our favorite things.







What a cool clock!



















































Our hotel is located in the Museum District, which is also the Fashion District.












































































What's a trip to Amsterdam without a canal ride?





























































































































































































































and before we knew it,
it was time to go home.


Fun to walk through Schiphol Airport  and see some of the ING logo signs enticing us to do a little more traveling