Thursday, December 20, 2012

Our solstice sun; Caribou reunion; Gyroscopes

on the window sill at the Odd fellows
prepares to swing back from the dark
to the light
with vengeful eyes that go left and right
determined no matter what
to mark the lengthening of days ~

There will be welcoming parties
gathered at such places as Aztalan
near Lake Mills WI
where the mystery pyramids 
lie beneath the waves ~

We have been there
to contemplate the meanings of all this, 
beaten drums, shaken rattles, been
overall lovely Pagan.

Click the video:

Friday, 12-21-12:

We did get a little snow overnight, contrary to other parts of the state where there were inundations.  We awoke to find snow blown against the northwest Odd Fellows windows.  KD Cat was thwarted in hunting the little TV tray birdfeeder on the windowsill by the coverng snow.

So we broke the icy snow frozen against the window so KD would have something to do - not that she's bereft of many toys scattered about - and chipped away the ice and snow.

And that was the extent of the shoveling for us.

Oh yes:  we also chipped away the icy white that was concealing our outside thermometer.

Soon, KD was back at her post, watching for birds.

Tonight we get our son at Mitchell airport, home for Christmas.
Our two week long kitty will meet her brother.  8 months old when we got her, 
she seems much larger now.  Doubtless our NYC son will seem larger too.

When KD leaps at the window, the sparrows scatter, but they may be
grateful for the unburied birdseed.


Last Sunday,

there was a beautiful Christmas Pageant/Happening at the Congo.  We took many pictures we thought of note, but on reflection decided not to run them on the internet, thanks to the event at Newtown CN.  It was a lovely service which Wis and I witnessed from our pew in the Peanut Gallery.

We were joined by William, who frequently bookends this editor in the Gallery, he on our right, Wis on our left.  Wis, 94; William, 12.  It leaves yours truly in the middle feeling like Moe of the Stooges.  Wise men, Wis (left) and William (right).

William’s twin brothers had parts in the pageant, cracking William up.  He was pretty much engaged in a series of drawn sketches to explain to the editor the birth and death of a star.

Afterwards, Wis Gurhrie and I went out to Caribou Coffee Shop on Bluemound Rd. Brookfield, to reunion with Norman Rupnow who we haven’t seen for quite a while.  We three have been friends since the 1960s at least.

So after doing our usual thing at the Congregational Church and partaking of the Santa Lucia gift exchange there, we headed out  for a spot of coffee with Uncle Norm and the other gentlemen who assemble there every Sunday morning.  See:

It was happily discovered that we could make it out to the Caribou after church and still get in on the fellowship there.

During the conversation, retired IRS agent Paul pretended to examine our P6000 Nikon, sighting through the finder, etc.  We engaged in chat with Wis and Norm, and Paul, ever clandestine, shot a picture of the editor who was engaged mid-sentence, elsewhere.



Wis Guthrie's annual Christmas letter.  Over the decades, he has opted to use his Grant Wood
American Gothic theme for this letter.  This year, however, after picturing the late Ina with a halo on last year's letter, Wis for the time being took a different tack and drew from his amusement
of a 3 year old girl who as a social gathering studied Wis carefully, and then at an appropriate time she whispered:

You're going to have a baby!

Wis laughed hard, and later took pen in hand and drew Santa having trouble getting down a chimney due to his girth.  In the drawing, the little girl points at Wis who waits to take his turn at the chimney.

The letter reads:


 After Newtown

Imagine the  agonizing underway
Counselors and clerics
Themselves dazed
Trying to assuage, heal others

From what deep well
Can they draw the curing waters?
Here in Waukesha
Our once restorative waters
Are radioactive now

Let us drink the milk of
human kindnesses
found overflowing in our
houses of worship

And treat horror tales
as string wound
Round the axles of

Pulled so hard
That forces are released
To hold balance
Even when things are tilted.