Of squirrels, buzzards, and babies

The wheel of life keeps turning, and I love the Tibetans' take on being alive: it is a glorious opportunity, we're very fortunate to have been born human, because we therefore have the ability to end our own suffering.

Today is my birthday. I always thought I would live a long life, so I feel very young (even though I'm nearing retirement age). The Hindus believe that life comes in stages: the first 20 years is for youth and learning to be responsible, the second 20 years is for starting and raising a family, the third 20 is for the career and making the world a better place, and the final 20 is for rest and spiritual practice. I like that notion.

It's delightful to hear from almost all of you, and I hope you're all being poets (in various ways). I'm working on a birthday poem, but my mother is here for the day so I haven't made a lot of progress. Today is really a day to honor her, b/c she's the one who delivered me, and from what she says, it wasn't easy!

Bagman's resting right now

It must be spring. A few of the Rugfarmers are about, sighing about things and missing each other. Bagman and I have been just hanging out doing stuff. Our son, Brian (actually it's not really "our" son...its the son we have with Karen) is engaged, living in a trailer in the middle of nowhere with the love of his life, Melody, and expecting a baby (actually he's not expecting, she is...well, I guess he's "expecting" but won't have to do all the work...yet). And I (the singular pronoun that covers the Bagman and Butler twins) have been corresponding alot and talking on the phone with my long lost daughter...8 when I last saw her and 30 now...So I guess all is well on the dirt road that runs by the Rugfarm fence.

good friday morning

sigh... i miss bagman, and sophie is fresh out of pearls.

Help Tiny Tim or Bill

Just call me Tiny, as in reduced memory, not to imply a areas... I have survived relatively unscathed where it counts! (-:

So, I need everyone's email address again. I've lost them somewhere in the new job transition with addresses changing and names and numbers flying. Will anyone oblige me or allow me to swing slowly in the ethereal void?

TB

Back from Alabama

I've been in Alabama taking care of my mother. She had an ovarian cyst removed. It was benign and she has recovered quite well. I stayed until she was able to drive herself around. I really love sitting on her front porch early in the morning. Here are two cutesy poems that came to me there.


BEAUREGARD

Beauregard, the Labrador,
barks at buzzards. Not ground bound
vultures, but the ones circling

in the sky. I remind him
to get them down he should be
less lively. He’d rather bark.

The idea of carrion
he finds offensive. Who knew
dogs can see so far.



SQUIRRELS

All the dogs I know proclaim:
Squirrels! Most evil and devious
creatures in the universe!
Do not let them in your yard!
In my mother’s neighborhood
evil abounds. It searches
for acorns, chases itself
in circles, and flees up trees.
It chatters from a safe height:
All the dogs are fenced or leashed
and no one owns a kitty.

I'm Tired

It's that point in the year...semester's end, flagging spirits, incredible fatigue. Every year the same struggle, my mood lightened only by the return of the nesting hawks, the flycatchers' early whistle, and the appearance of blooms on our native shrubs. I turned in my spring grades last Friday, had a housefull of guests all weekend, then started teaching Maymester on Monday (Latinos in the U.S.). Mrs. Lytle steps in and takes over at this time of year. Eve is teaching a yoga class at the university, which is among the few bright spots in my May and the only time Zoe appears until I get rested.

well

So, where is everybody? I know. Life doesn't allow for every dalliance. I think it's more about time than inclination. I just heard a most remarkable CD by Peter Rowan with guitar viruoso Tony Rice. It's Rowan's latest effort, and he demonstrates that his voice is pregant with lyricism. There is poetry here in presentation, very much in the tradition of poetry readings/slams. The lyrics of virtually every song on this album are like incantation, a form of magic transporting the listener to places that exist eternally in the human heart.

I'll have more on this later. Consider this a call to arms for the RUG. So?