August 25, 2025
Oh happy days, oh happy days.  We are back in the pool.  People who get it really get it.  It's unbelievable how much it helps to allow me to move around.   

 

This is Marti's daughter, Lila, and this is Lila's dog, Griffin.  The last time I saw Lila she was an infant.  She and her mother are in the middle of a little trip and they came to W. Mass to see some of Marti's old haunts. I'm one of Marti's old haunts.   We met at the Bookmill on this absolutely gorgeous day and visited for a couple of hours.  Griffin enjoyed himself, too.

Marti and I worked together at The Literacy Project in the first few years of its conception and then she worked at Hampshire for awhile and had a job in New Haven.  So when she was working here she stayed with me.  We had so many lovely evenings.  


Marti is one of the people in the world that I feel absolutely comfortable talking to.  Now I think most people think I'm comfortable talking to anyone.  I am able to talk to anyone, but sometimes that is hard work.  But with Marti there is no difficulty, no tension.   Lila felt a lot like her Mom.  It was really nice to spend an afternoon hanging out.   


Then I went down to Migratory Way.  Saw 2 heron, 7 swans, 2 families of geese and an occasional mallard.  I wish I could name all of the wild flowers.  I love when the fields are purple, orange and green even though it means the summer is ending.   

Of Feather And Flower, that's what I'll name this one.  There is a lot of growth in the canal at the moment.  

Where are all the mergansers this year?   I haven't seen any since May. And I suppose the eagles were down by the cove today.  


The sun is setting right now.  It feels early to me tonight.  Weatherwise it really was almost perfect.  It was a little humid, but not horrible and the blue of the sky was lovely.  (I think I have to make a new list of adjectives that describe landscapes.)  



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
  January 3, 2025 The Complexity (what I refer to as the texture) of Life This is a photo of Michael Whiton, eldest child of Jean O. Whiton.  If you knew our mother, you know whose eyes he inherited.  Picture was taken by Linda Boardman.        I did not take pictures today, nor was my brain very able.  So tonight you get a poem I wrote 25 years ago that is more spirited than I could write tonight. I Believe in Color   I believe in red the changing forever-ness of red.  A pure rich red: cotton tee shirt red, berries on the bushes in the dead of  New England winters, cherries in June next to a slab of ripe brie. Magenta, a little redder than wine, blood as it begins to dry, the curtains I always wanted, floor length heavy velvet. Orange red on the skins of a tangelo; blood oranges in a light blue porcelain bowl on a small table near stark white walls. Dusty rose of an old flannel duvet, the height of fashion in 1980. I believe i...
Read more
Image
January  4, 2025 Michael E. Whiton  June 30, 1944 - January 4, 2025     I always talk about patterns, it is my researcher's brain.  This morning I texted with my niece, Grace, and asked her what her 12 year old was really into. She told me math.  He plays the flute in his school band.  I had an epiphany when the 2 things got put together.  To grow up with music as a constant all through your childhood you are exposed to patterns.  You become aware of what can follow what.  My 3 year old great niece makes up little songs, repetitive musical patterns.  Her father repeats them or adds to them.  She already knows how to put notes together.  That's math.  That's what Liam does.        So what does all that have to do with Michael's leaving us on this plain today.  Well, one pattern is that we all seem to be good with babies.   When Mike was 21, Jason was born.  He was good to babies....
Read more
Image
  January 2, 2025 Time is both too soon and too late.   Just keeps slipping.     I believe it was 1996 or 7 when I flew out to Bainbridge Island to see my brother, Mike.  He was very ill and my Mom was worried and wanted me to go assess the situation, which I did, probably in not such a diplomatic way.  He really was ill.  His liver was failing and he wasn't getting put on the transplant list, yet.  I've never quite understand the whys and the wherefores of all that.  But for the next 4 or so years he maintained, so sick, sometimes optimistic, sometimes beaten, but he made it to a liver transplant in August 2000 in Worchester.       24 years ago, holy shit.  EJ's entire life, a third of mine; and again he kept living, kept listening to music and trying to be kind and never regaining any reliable health.   His story is fascinating, and I'll tell it sometime, but not tonight.  Tonight I just want to ...
Read more