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The other day in class two students simultaneously announced it’s 11:11.

A few others repeated the number 11:11. They all smiled and laughed.

“What’s the significance?” I asked.

“Make a wish” one explained. “Wishes are granted at 11:11” he added in jest.

Their tone and mood was playful.

I did start thinking about what my wish would be.

Ideas of fame and fortune did cross my mind.

When my heart and mind came together, I thought about my daughter.

I realized my wish would be for her.

I am smart enough to get by. I’ve been toughened up with age.

My deepest and darkest fears and worries lie with her.

I fear my death not for me, but for her.

What will happen to her when I die?

I knew my wish needed to be tangible and attainable.

I made a wish that I could work with her daily to reach a goal.

This goal will improve all our lives, but mostly hers.

There is no pie in the sky for us. I just need to take a leap of faith.

By working with her steadily to make improvements,

Her future will look brighter.

In the end, my wish was for us to be successful

In reaching this goal for her.

 

 

A couple of weeks ago when the weather was nice, I finally got out into my garden to do some work. My garden is in serious need of restoration. I started last summer and made some progress. However, I started too late, and the weather got too hot, and my mind wasn’t 100 percent into the project yet.

Now, my mind is about 99.5 % committed. My first goal is my pond and the area directly surrounding it. This area is center stage from the viewpoint of my kitchen window. When I started weeding the area of dirt around the pond about 2 weeks ago, I found a ladybug nestled down in the dirt around some rocks. I took off my garden gloves and gently picked her up and brushed some flecks of dirt off of her. I was delighted to see her move and respond by lifting her wings and attempting to fly. She didn’t get far, so I lifted her again and brushed a little more dirt off of her. This time her wings were able to fully expand and she took flight. She was the only bug I saw that day.

Today, finally my life and the weather allowed me to get outside again. I found my thigh-high fishing boots and put them on. I reached down into the pond to retrieve the two pumps and the submersible ultra-violet clarifier/sterilizer. I didn’t even get these running last summer.

I had to step into the pond to try and readjust the round granite bowl that had slipped down off the granite blocks it rested on. I also found the bubbler that brings water up into the bowl. The garden birds love this bowl and bubbler.

It suddenly occurred to me that I might not be able to lift the bowl. It is extremely heavy for me, especially with the water in it. We’ve had so much rain the pond is at full capacity. In the past, my husband has been able to help me. Now, he can’t, at least not yet.

I was determined to try. I turned the bowl onto its side so it wouldn’t hold the water when lifted. With all my strength, and the help of angels, I was able to get the bowl up onto one of the columns  of blocks. It needs two columns to rest securely. So much shifting has taken place I determined that I’d need to drain the pond to get everything realigned properly. The water lilies have taken over.

I needed to get the bowl out of the pond. Using my arms and back and thighs, I was able to do a squat walk of sorts with the bowl in tow. Miraculously, I was able to get it to one side and tip it over the edge onto the pebbled ground. Then, as I stood in the pond with the raindrops beginning to fall on me, I saw a lone ladybug floating on top. I lifted her out and held her in my palm. She didn’t move. The raindrops began to fall harder and the wind began to blow. I stepped out of the pond carrying the ladybug and moved quickly to my covered deck. I set her down on the round wooden table so I could pull off my boots.

The feral cats my husband had adopted were looking at me with their begging eyes. I picked the ladybug up and moved her inside to my stainless breakfast bar. I quickly went back to feed the cats. My husband would like me to do this for him.

I came back inside and the ladybug was still there where I ‘d laid her. It was apparent that life had left her shell behind.

I sure hope there is a ladybug heaven. I don’t care what anyone thinks about me for wanting this or even thinking that it is possible.

The rain passed quickly and the sun is out again, though now, I need to work on dinner.

I couldn’t get the ladybugs out of my mind. It seemed so odd for me to find only one each day. There must be a lesson for me here.  The ladybug that got away was in the dirt and not the water. I decided that I’d better keep my hands and mind on my garden. The ladybug’s spirit is pushing me to 100 percent.

 

 

 

Reading about the planet Mercury’s transit across the sun the other day

Had me thinking about all Mercury related things.

This transit only happens about 13 times a century,

So it is a fairly rare event.

There was a mythical Roman god named Mercury.

He was a messenger between humans and gods, supposedly.

There is also an element Mercury which is atomic number 80 and

Its symbol is Hg. It is a silvery liquid used in many weather instruments.

With Mercury on my mind, I was reminded of a necklace

I inherited from my mother-in-law. I wore it today.

It was made with a 1939 (S) Mercury dime. The background surrounding

Lady Liberty’s smooth silver face was artistically colored red.

She’s wearing a Phrygian cap which has come to symbolize freedom

And liberty. I think the wings also symbolize the Roman god Mercury,

And therefore the dime was given his name.

The more I read about all the different forms of Mercury, the more

I marvel at the many cultural and scientific connections.

And of course, I couldn’t ignore all the numbers.

 

 

Mid-morning a feeling that I was in the doldrums

Began to creep in. It was like I was living out on the plains

Of an anti-climactic life. I thought that Flat Stanley

Could be a real friend. I was in a math class

Where all the students were diligently working.

No one needed my assistance at that time.

Then I began to hear what sounded like a racket.

I was drawn to the windows in the classroom.

No one else seemed to notice the commotion.

I looked out and saw two bright red cardinals

Chasing round and round the one and only courtyard tree.

Whether they were playing or arguing was unclear to me.

This spike activity going on before my eyes woke

My heart and mind up to the wonders of our world.

 

The number twelve on the dial of my watch keeps calling me.

It signals noon- midday and it’s at the top.

This brought to mind the bookmark I found the other day.

There it was at my feet.  Gandalf from The Hobbit – An Unexpected

Journey- December 14, 2012. His journey took him to Middle-Earth

Where humans live. Then I remembered the beautiful picture I saw

The other day. There was a brown wooden fence running down the middle.

A clear distinction between right and left. I preferred the left where the daffodils grew.

Oh, the places my daydreams go! The idea of Middle-Earth made me open

My bedroom blind. I was stunned to see my red camellia exploding with blooms.

At that moment a young blue jay flies down within view. I think he was hiding

In the ivy tower. I really need to get outside!

 

Pig Latin is a way to talk in code.

A way to disguise your words.

Hidden from the clueless.

Groups like to invent their own language,

So they can secretly talk out in the open.

It’s like a glue that holds the group together.

It keeps the outsider excluded.

Sometimes it is filled with double meaning,

Often misunderstood.

The pig conjures up within me all sorts of feelings.

I’ve never forgotten my brother telling me:

“Don’t worry little piggy, you’ll grow up to be a hog one day.”

I was twelve and he was sixteen. I wasn’t fat or lazy.

In my mind, there was no comparison between a pig and I.

He meant no malice; he was a teenage boy.

My feelings about pigs have softened over time.

Long ago, I picked out a pig at Restoration Hardware.

It now holds a place of honor in my garden and in my heart.

Happiness is elusive for some. The pursuit can tire one out.

One day you might catch it. The next day it is gone.

It slipped away while you weren’t looking.

Some build a temple for it and bolt the doors.

The constant need for validation can wear it down.

Thin and fragile, it can dissipate.

Some say it is a choice. A decision to make it be.

No pursuit needed.

There is no universal definition of its specifics.

It’s just a general feeling.

Happiness has many enemies. Among them: Jealousy and Rage.

These are the most aggressive.

Faced with adversity, Happiness can shrink away.

It must stay tethered to a well-braided rope.

 

 

The beauty of snow adorned trees reaffirms Mother Nature’s exquisite taste.

Frozen water forms intricate patterns that elicit awe.

From a distance it covers all in non-discrimination, gender-less and fair.

This cold and frosty lace is a crowning glory. The old magnificent trees

Patiently wear Winter’s royal dress. They know the soft and flowery

Warmth of lovely Spring will renew their vigor soon.

Scanning the Twitter-verse,

Reading random tweets.

Not necessarily following my feed, but rather

Following a chain of people, a chain of thoughts.

One person leads to another, and this goes on until

The redundancy becomes absurd.

The degree of condescension seems high to extreme.

We humans have a need to put each other down.

Perhaps, it is a desire to place oneself above.

Many reach up by educating themselves, then assume

A patronizing stance. I’m up here, and you’re down there.

Sometimes in good fun, of course.

Not everyone falls into this trap, though it is all so easy to do.

A good laugh at someone else, mostly hidden behind their back,

Covered up in the guise of some other silly conversation.

All so smart, so superior, so cultured,  definitely not native.

The need to condescend might come from a more deep-seated concern,

Possibly a weakness at one’s core, an uncertainty of one’s own worth.

The posturing of one’s ego holds one up above the rest.

No one wants an ‘average’ designation, and I include myself in this.

All these poses, guises, and masks give off an unauthentic air,

Or a pompous cloud that breeds contempt.

It is no wonder that the belligerent buffoon rises.

 

 

The days and nights fold together when I stay warmly wrapped in fleece. No sharp delineations.

The gray landscape turns white as precipitation falls. The black pavement has ridges of white encroaching on the lanes of travel. The noisy plow comes through to crush the rising mounds.

Morpheus has been on my mind since yesterday when I looked up morphine. I saw his naked body pictured with Iris, his female companion. His skin looked as soft and smooth as hers. Both their bodies curved. His reclined while she stood aside.

Then my mind turned to morphemes, morphology, and butterflies. Form and function are always holding hands.

These days my thoughts move around with no direction until they come to rest. My voice is giving way to my listening ear. My daughter seems intent on interruption until I yield.

Darkness falls outside. Still I hear the crunching sound of blades intent on keeping clear an open path.