Sunday, January 10, 2010


"The earth is my sister. I love her daily grace, her silent daring and how I am loved." Susan Griffith.
Before tucking myself in for the night I read several poems by John Trudell. Now, I told myself, you will dream of industrial dragons loosed upon the world by tech-no-logic demons in 3-piece suits spun from fibers of nuclear waste material. But I did not.
In Jan 1883 Louisa was caring for her father who'd had a stroke. She wrote, "Too busy to keep a diary. Can only jot down a fact now and then." Yes, life can get between the writer and her pen.
My Grandfather Vanoss wore a straw hat in summer. It was a flat affair. The crown wrapped with a wide grosgrain ribbon. How dapper as he stepped along the avenue. I always wanted to step out with him. One day he took me on the electric street car that stopped at the corner of Portland and Franklin. We stood in the half round room at the back with windows all around. There were other men and they took turns spitting into the brass spittoon. I asked if I might spit in it as well. Grandpa allowed it and so I spit but found it a dismal event. I suppose the men laughed at me. I know I never spit in the brass spittoon again.

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