Saturday, January 31, 2015

Hawk; Mom (unreal); Maryland crabs

Breakfast time
at the Odd Fellows 1-28-15

1.  Hawk in the tree in front of the Clarke;
2.  Dave's breakfast sandwich board;
3.  KD Cat considers her breakfast on the other side of the glass

We feed the birds from the window sill

Sometimes when we are hungry
here at the poor man's penthouse
we will capture fat pigeons for dinner

So we can't blame the hunting Goshawk
perched in perfect camouflage
in the nicely- lichened tree 
hiding place across the street
for having eyes for the squab too.

A lucky hand-held photo
thanks to Dee who spotted the hawk
with own very sharp eyes.

Mairzy doats and dozy doats
and hawks eat nice fat pidge-

For months we've occasionally heard thumps
at the bird feeler sill
and they would mightily scare KD off, where she would
cower under the sofa or chair
regaining her wits and courage.

We've never actually seen a hawk strike
but have seen feathers in the air after being startled
and looking toward the window.

Now we know:
This hawk knows where we live.
Lucky for him we're onto
 eating squab.

Attn:  SRN readers
who were around in 1944 



A tree comes down in Waukesha


Into the ornament box
for another year goes one of our favorites

a hard-shell crab creation given to us in 1995
by Dee's family where the Chesapeake Bay crabs grow -

Crabs are well known to the Maryland folk

who buy them by the bushel and sit out on Gramaw and the now late Poppy's porch
comsuming vast quantities at the groaning board, shucking and eating them over spread newspapers
that get rolled up and thrown out after fills are had ~
on special occasions; reunions.

The Santa ornament came from a craft fair out there.
Fragile; handled lovingly; we observe that maxim.

But during crab festivals on Gramaw's (and Poppy's) porch
they get man-handled.

Maryland's and Means Rest's gift to Wisconsin
Denise Means
 here since Sept.1982


Saturday, January 24, 2015

'Deep Purple' ~ the song ~ 1933; Rescued; Skin

1930, Ruth Elies, prom queen at Sun Prairie WI high school
beneath arrow, center.

From age 13 Ruth had her own dance band
a music woman more to be.

Three years later the song DEEP PURPLE was written.

It became Ruth's favorite.
She played it through life
and for her children time after time
on her grand piano.

I remember it well
` ~ indelibly ~
and am moved when I hear it,

Even when jazzed up as in
this brother and sister act that won 
a much later Grammy Award for their version.

Or even when mentioned in a poem
as it was this week on Keillor's `WRITERS ALMANAC:  

The Guest
by Patricia Fargnoli

In the long July evenings,
the French woman
who came to stay every summer
for two weeks at my aunt’s inn
would row my brother and me
out to the middle of the mile-wide lake
so that the three of us
would be surrounded by the wild
extravagance of reds that had transformed
both lake and sky into fire.
It was the summer after our mother died.
I remember the dipping sound of the oars
and the sweet music of our voices as she led us
in the songs she had taught us to love.
“Blue Moon.” “Deep Purple,"
We sang as she rowed, not ever wondering
where she came from or why she was alone,
happy that she was willing to row us
out into all that beauty.

"The Guest" by Patricia Fargnoli, from Winter. © Hobblebush Books, 2013


by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold
And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying
Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country
I’ve never understood
Why this is so
But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow
For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest
And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country
We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams
And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows
Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

"Music" by Anne Porter, from Living Things. © Zoland Books, 2006




His note:

"cute critters in crisis,
rescued in the nick or tick of time.
but I'm
wouldn't it be good
if we would
exert as much energy and effort
to rescue endangered humans
as we are moved to and by saving endangered animals?"


I've got you
under my skin

Cole Porter

This was another of Mom's favorites
I heard it a lot

Saturday, January 17, 2015

No better than; Party line; Inverted exla-point; Dust on the bible

Life may not get much better than this:

Retired minister John Helt
reads to his grandson

Think of all the times he's read scripture
from pulpits here
and there

 ~ I was there when he started his preaching career
at Friedens United Church of Christ (UCC)
in the shadow of Pabst brewery
at 13th and Juneau in Milwaukee ~

we may not have provided more willing faces
as thoroughly appreciative Emerson Helt does,

 shown here.

John Helt was sent here fresh out of
A gracious demographically dying old church
peopled only by die-hards.

As his first assignment
Helt worked to raised it up.
Helped give it death with honor...

Nice start in a long pastoral career,
reading a lot and etc..



Play here:

All God's children got a place in the choir
some sing low and sone sing higher


Appeal to the Grammarians
by Paul Violi
We, the naturally hopeful,
Need a simple sign
For the myriad ways we're capsized.
We who love precise language
Need a finer way to convey
Disappointment and perplexity.
For speechlessness and all its inflections,
For up-ended expectations,
For every time we're ambushed
By trivial or stupefying irony,
For pure incredulity, we need
The inverted exclamation point.
For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,
For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift
Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,
Or felt love or pond ice,
Give way underfoot. We deserve it.
We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,
The child whose ball doesn't bounce back,
The flat tire at journey's outset,
The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.
But mainly because I need it – here and now
As I sit outside the Caffe Reggio
Staring at my espresso and cannoli
After this middle-aged couple
Came strolling by and he suddenly
Veered and sneezed all over my table
And she said to him,
"See, that's why
I don't like to eat outside."

Paul Violi, "Appeal to the Grammarians" from Overnight.                                                                                                                                  Copyright © 2007 by Paul Violi.  Reprinted by permission of Hanging Loose Press
Yours in mystery,                                                                                                               poetry,                                                                                                                                         and the yet to be,

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Black-tufted catbird; McNally Joel; Step back; Recent Almanac

This creature was seen peering through
the window at the bird-feeding ledge
atop the Odd Fellows.

We don't believe the species
is known to Waukesha...

May be just a matter of perspective?

Another way of looking at things:

On these recent cold days, good reading to you.


Step back..., further:

Yes, that's it:

Hello to the WHS class of 1954

Always remember this:

Jackson, note the requisite saddle shoes...


My old flame...*

( today's Writers Almanac leads to...*)

by Barton Sutter

Well, Old Flame, the fire’s out.
I miss you most at the laundromat.
Folding sheets is awkward work
Without your help. My nip and tuck
Can’t quite replace your hands,
And I miss that odd square dance
We did. Still, I’m glad to do without
Those gaudy arguments that wore us out.
I’ve gone over them often
They’ve turned grey. You fade and soften
Like the hackles of my favorite winter shirt.
You’ve been a hard habit to break, Old Heart.
When I feel for you beside me in the dark,
The blankets crackle with bright blue sparks.

"Static" by Barton Sutter from The Book of Names. © BOA Editions, 1993.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

You got a friend in me; Wonderland - Gerygone and Twig; Atty. John Grau does pro-bona for the Waukesha Burmese refugees; Some pix at New Year


Grace and Alex with cat at the door

Our grand-
Grace Kari

First singer on this CD...
that's HER voice...

Plans to marry up with this fine chap
Alex Lindgren

Their quartet band, expatriated from Alaska to Missoula Montana
 has been fitting itself up for professionalism
and I think they've now got it
when I listen to Winter Wonderland.


the much anticipated Grau year-end letter:

Who are the Graus, some may ask?

John Grau, a Waukesha attorney, was the pro-bona legalist
for the 1st Congregational UCC Burmese refugee project.  That's been a while now,
 but we are on their Christmas letter list apparently indefinitely.

We're glad of that!


Re the Burmese;


Hla In The Trees, Making Sunlight

Our church’s Burmese young father, refugee from a Thai border camp
Soldier of a freedom army used to climbing jungle trees as a lookout
- ‘Monkey Boy’ he calls himself self-deprecatingly -
Balanced and raised a 30 foot extension ladder by himself with muscular arms
To a high branch of the Honey Locust tree in the secret garden
Then ascended to that branch and even higher into the tree
With a sharp Swedish pruning saw over one arm

He walked the branches with supporting hands grasping higher branches
Studied the sun above him and applied the saw to appropriate shading boughs
Sawed them almost clean through and then when they tipped downward
He finished the cut and guided them to a pinpoint drop zone away from the flowers
Some of the outer branches brushed the flowers but they will survive
And already, two days afterward, they are raising themselves to the sun

Some of the neighbors and my wife express alarm when Hla does these wing-walks
But he just smiles and bobs his eyebrows;  my function from the ground is to give the thumbs up or thumbs down when Hla approaches a target limb
And now the tree is thinned and sunlight beams through onto the garden below
So that next year we can plant not just shade-loving varieties of perennials
But all manner of things there;

(The Lawnist’s oft-called  tree-trimming firm would have had at least two men and a cherry-picker
To do what Hla happily did at a fraction of the cost.)

{David Dix 9-15-2002]

Me Monkey Boy

Soon to retire new car set-up man
my good neighbor Darrell
was heading back to work on his motorcycle
when I waved him into my driveway

And lawnist's wife Carol next door came out
when I called to her through her dining room screen:
"Look up there," I said to Carol and Darrell
This was yesterday around one o'clock

Carol looked up and rushed her hand to her mouth
"Oh, my ---!" she exclaimed
Darrell on his idling cycle said
"I sure hope you've got good insurance, Dave!"

He also said, "Man, I could never do that!
My balance isn't that good!"
That from an old-time motorcyclist
sitting on his throbbing machine

Dee came out the back door
and looked up on our roof too
and her hands flew involuntarily
to her graying hair, and she hollered

He was lying legs-splayed, head-low on the edge
of our two and a half story roof reaching down and under
scraping and painting the overhang bottom

With no net;
To get up there he used our fully-extended
extra-long ladder carrying a bucket of paint
and a stiff putty knife in his pocket

He laughed skyward like Buddha
at the shocked, sedentary Americans gathered below,
Then stood up on the edge of the roof on one foot
raised his arms and said, " Don't worry!

Davidix (always as one word),
DeeDix (always as one word),
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, I Monkey Boy"

[Daid Zep Dix 8-9-2002]

Hla rode working elephants like this formerly, in Burma

from the Raccoon: 

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Speaking of stones

Fecund, full of life
Lithop pretends to be stone
Doesn't make it


Late 2014-15 pictures

A good one!
A seemingly congenial shot of Reilly and Scrima.

It illustrates an old YIBAWEan premise:

The value of hair
will continue to fall:
Yes I'm Bald, And What Else?

were out, come election day.

(Fez interior label is satin)

There is DRAMA
and there is D-r-a-m-a

SRN editor wears his DOKK fez
on New Years Day,
parades, and
special occasions

as 1-1-15

Happy New Year!