Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 13

Doctoring the Roses

An oldie...
A woman had two suitors and they both were very kind,Generous and attentive, loving both her heart and mind.The one man was a doctor, cared for others every day,The other was a grocer. People’s hunger did allay,One day, from her dear doctor came a rose of rosy hue,From the grocer came an apple. With rich scent, the air imbued,Then every morning without fail, another rose appeared,Immediately after came an apple. (Think that’s weird?)Well, this went on for many weeks, the lady none the wiser,Was the doctor being generous? The grocer, then, a miser?Or was there something else that she was obviously missing,And so she thought she’d ask the man instead of just dismissing…Said to him, "Whythe apple, Stan? What is it you are telling?It doesn’t quite compete with roses, though it’s lovelysmelling.”Well, Stan, he laughed, said, “Dora, dear, that Adage, I obey,“You know the one that says the apple keeps the doc away.”
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, you will not be missing,Cause we’ll be discussing Kissing!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Red Roses (June 12) Today!Kissing (June 19)Canoes (June 26)Mirrors (July 3)Teddy Bears (July 10)Emojis (July 17)Cousins (July 24)Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28) 

What We Did This Spring... Part Two

The Sailing...We have sailed several times on Star Clippers ships and loved every single one. Luxury and all the things you love about sea travel, but with smaller crowds than a normal cruise ship. This time was no different...
Day One: Syracuse, Sicily where we ate REAL GELATO! So nice to have the real thing again! Then onto a bus to see the city of Nota. A World Heritage Site for its Baroque architecture.




Day Two: Into Greek waters. Crossing the Ionian Sea. PLUS, I got to climb up onto the first stage of the main mast and meet some wonderful people! So...pictures of the ship...







Day Three: Pylos! Who doesn't love scrambling over an old castle?!


Yes, that is a gunport. And yes, it's pointed at the ship.



Day Four: Monemvasia! The most awesome place for pictures! Look closely--I'm at the TOP!





Day Five: I missed it, because I had moderate to severe heat stroke. Sigh. But did manage a short jaunt ashore at Napflios.


Day Six: ATHENS! We and about 50,000 other people conglomerated at the Acropolis! Gahhhh!





Stay Tuned for the last half of the sailing!

What We Did This Spring... Part One

 Twenty-two years ago, for our 25th anniversary, Husby took me for my first International, non-English-speaking holiday. It was to Greece. Then he surprised me with an added extra...Since I was little, I've always wanted to travel on a tall ship.Well, that was the surprise. A sailing on a tall ship.Since then, we've gone numerous times.And loved each one.This year, for our 47th anniversary, he did a repeat.But he added on a bit more.On Monday, April 17, we landed in Malta to begin a 24-day holiday of the Century!
Day One: Salina Park (Across the road from our hotel!) 

Day Two: The Hypogeum and Tarxien Temples

Day Three: Hop on/off bus to the Mosta Rotunda and Medina City.


Day Four: Have I mentioned I LOVE old cars? Got my fill at the Malta Car Museum!


Day Five: Fort St. Elmo and War Memorial and Marsaxlokk Fishing Village




Day Six: Excursion from Malta to Gozo, the Blue Lagoon and the Crystal Caves (And yes, we swam in the Blue Lagoon and yes, we were blue when we got out! IT WAS SOOO COLD!!!)



Day Seven: Walked around Valletta, Malta for a while, then said good-bye to Malta and boarded the Star Flyer--that same ship we were on 22 years ago!






Tomorrow: The SAILING...

75

 

Mom and Dad.
Yes, they always dressed like that. Today is dedicated to Mark and Enes Stringam, my parents. Mom and Dad were married 75 years ago today at the United Church in Brooks Alberta. Reverend Dixon performed the ceremony, which was attended by family and friends. But that was only the beginning. The young couple immediately moved to the Stringam Ranch on the Alberta/Montana border.
Mom knew she was marrying the youngest son of a notable Southern Alberta ranching family. But what she didn't know, but quickly discovered, was that she had also married a clown. A joker. Tease. And all-around goof. 
The adventure had begun . . .


On their honeymoon, they chose to camp. Rustic. Earthy. Isolated.
All the perfect ingredients for a newly-married couple.
Then it rained.
And got cold.
Whatever clothing Dad took off, Mom put on.
Then they moved their tent into a nearby shelter, along with all of the other campers in the area.
Okay, so intimate, it wasn't.
Just at dawn, Dad, always an early riser, got up and made a beeline for the showers.
Mom awoke sometime later to the loudly-belted strains of "'Cause some dirty dog put glue on the saddle!" (Still a family favorite.) Shaking her head, she turned over to complain to Dad about the rude person singing in the showers.
But Dad wasn't there.
It was about then that Mom realized just who was making all the noise.
And still, she stayed married to him.* * *Once she was settled on the vast Stringam ranch, Mom quickly discovered that life wasn't so different from what she had known on the Berg Ranch near Brooks. There, she and her mother had the care and feeding of Mom's father and eight brothers.
Now, she had the similar responsibility for Dad (this new goofball husband), and six hired men.
It was a toss-up as to which group could eat more.
Fortunately, Mom soon proved that she was more than capable of satisfying any hungry person, or persons, who strayed into her kitchen.
She spent a lot of time in that kitchen.
And in her vast gardens, which supplied food for that kitchen.* * *There was a bell on the ranch.
A large bell, rung only at meal times and in case of a dire emergency. A bell that could be heard, on clear days, at a distance of five miles.
Only authorized people were allowed to ring this bell.
And Mom wasn't, yet, authorized.
But she wanted to be.
The bell's cord draped temptingly through her kitchen window and over her sink. Teasing her with its proximity and, at the same time, its inaccessibility.
She glanced at it. Right there. Just a little pull. Only a tiny ring. No one would even notice . . .
Sigh.
Sometime later, while maneuvering a stack of dirty dishes towards the sink, she inadvertently caught the forbidden cord.
A loud 'clang' made her freeze instantly.
Oh-oh.
Moments later, the kitchen door burst open, revealing a very concerned Dad. "What is it? What's the matter?"
Mom looked at him, red-faced. "Nothing, dear. I just happened to catch the cord . . ."
"What's happened?" One of the hired men had come in just behind Dad.
"Is there a problem?" Someone hollered from the front door.
"Everyone okay in there?" Mom didn't even know where that voice came from.
Two more men bumped into those already assembled in the kitchen. "Someone need help?"
Mom could now hear the pounding of hoofs coming up the driveway.
Could she possibly just sink into the floor?
"False alarm, boys," Dad said, grinning at Mom's red face. "Let's get back to work."
The kitchen emptied out and Mom could hear Dad making explanations out in the yard.
Soon she was alone again.
Well, at least she knew that the bell worked. Sometimes a little excitement was a good thing.
She stared at the cord.* * *Dad spent a lot of time out riding. And when he wasn't riding, he was working somewhere in the barns or corrals. Or moving irrigation pipe. Or hauling hay or feed. Or doing one of the million or so things that went into ranching. And when he wasn't doing that, he was, as the area's only veterinarian, making vet calls.
To say that he was busy is a distinct understatement.
We kids saw him at mealtimes, or when we went out to the barnyard to get in his way help.
Often, his duties would call him from the supper table and he wouldn't return until long after we were tucked in for the night.
He would quietly enter the house and tip-toe to his bedroom.
Then he would empty his pockets onto the carved-leather organizer on his dresser, before getting ready for bed. Coins, his jackknife, keys, instruments. Everything contained in those pockets would be dropped into the various different compartments.
They made a 'thumping' sound as they hit the leather. A soft but very distinct sound.
And it vibrated into every corner of the house.
Inevitably, I would wake to the sound of the creaking floor as Dad crept down the hall.
Then I would hear the tell-tale thump of his pockets' contents, hitting the organizer.
I would sigh happily and turn over.
Daddy was home. All was well. * * * I don't know how they did it.
Mom and Dad had six children and numerous hired hands. Together, they still managed to organize and direct the various operations that went into running a ranch and household. Feeding, milking, planting, weeding, watering, harvesting, cleaning, sewing, repairing, overhauling, riding, fencing, driving, having babies, parenting, reading, cooking, canning, church responsibilities, veterinarian calls, Hereford club duties, neighborly visits and on and on and on. The only way they could have accomplished it all was to never sleep.
To say that I'm proud of them would be a vast understatement.
To say that I'm grateful, even more so.
Today is their day.
I love them. I miss them.

A Bit of Hot Air

His hot air balloonexperience was really out of hand,The man had gotten misplacedas he floated o’er the land,He lowered his balloonto seek out someone who could help,A guy was walking pastand so he gave that man a yelp,“Excuse me, sir,” hehollered. “But I’m really in a jam…“Please, could I ask foryou to stop and tell me where I am?”The man just smiledand nodded, “Well, I’m happy to, for sure!You’re thirty feet upin the air, roaming four or six miles per!”Balloonist said, “Confessit, now, you’re working for IT,”The walker smiled andnodded, said, “I cannot but agree.“But now I’m verycurious. Please tell me how you knewI do encoding with mydays. Your knowledge, now, imbue!”Balloonist shruggedand said, “Though given all that I asked for,Your words gave littlehelp, I’m lost just like I was before!”The walker nodded, “Iwould guess that Management, you are.”And when the managreed, he said, “It really wasn’t hard.You don’t know whereyou are, you’re riding higher on hot air,You want me to solveyour problem while you sit there in your chair,Exactly where you werebefore you wanted me to halt,Your decisions allwere yours, but now it’s suddenly my fault!”
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, we promise will be sweet,Some roses, red, we'll with you greet!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Hot Air Balloons (June 5) Today!Red Roses (June 12)Kissing (June 19)Canoes (June 26)Mirrors (July 3)Teddy Bears (July 10)Emojis (July 17)Cousins (July 24)Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)

BBB's and Me

Following a minimal wifi holiday (more about that in a few days), I am so pleased to be able to host my wonderful blog sisters in the Best of Boomer Bloggers again.They've been busy...
First up, Carol of Carol A. Cassara, Writer

Football'sa huge part of American life, but, as Carol Cassara points out this week on herblog, there are disturbing medical findings about even high school players whotake hits in this hard contact sport. Read about it in Don't Let ToxicMasculinity (and CTE) Destroy Your Sons.

Then Laurie of Laurie Stone Writes Every now and then we see something innature that tugs at our heart. The other day Laurie spotted aMother Robin sitting on her nest, which happened to be on top of the light overthe back door. The evening was cold, rainy, and windy as Laurie hurried to takeout the trash. But as she came back, there sat Mother Robin keeping her babieswarm, looking so resolute and devoted. The sight touched her. There was oneproblem.
And Rita, Consumer and Personal Finance Journalist
Interestedin brain health as you get older? asks Rita R. Robison, consumer and personalfinance journalist. New studies show – in addition to being linked to diabetes,obesity, cancer, anxiety, and depression – there’s a link between eatingultraprocessed food and increased risk of cognitive decline. 
And me, Diane, of On the Border
It was a short career. Even by the world's standard. An hour at most.It was nipped almost before it got started.Good thing, too.

One Quarter Thief

Me. Sigh.What you are about to read may be shocking. You may even want to re-think continuing your friendship with me.

I’m a thief.

Well . . . a would-be thief. If I’d gotten away with it, who knows where I’d be now.

And the funny thing is, she probably would have given me one if I'd just asked.Maybe I should explain . . .

I was nine.

Mom was chatting in the front room with one of her friends. Their discussion had turned to something that said friend was interested in purchasing from Mom.

Goods were produced and delivered.

Exclamations of surprise and delight. (Okay, I’m assuming here.)

Friend’s handbag appeared.

Was opened.

And a coin purse came into view.

A number of quarters were counted out and cradled in friend’s hand.

To this point, all was above board, friendly and honest.

But this is where bright-eyed, slightly avaricious Diane came into the picture.

Mom turned to me. “Diane, could you please bring me the money?”

I nodded, my eyes already on the gleaming silver in the woman’s hand. I moved closer and held out my hand. She tipped hers and poured the pile of coins into mine.

And that’s when my heinous plan was hatched.

There were a lot of coins. Surely Mom wouldn’t notice if just one went missing?

Deftly (?), I sneaked one quarter into my other pocket as I turned and walked over to Mom - duly delivering the treasure.

Then, task completed, I dashed upstairs with my booty (ie. Ill-gotten gains), already planning how I was going to spend it.

A few minutes later, I vaguely heard the front door close.

And then my Mom was standing in my bedroom doorway.

“Diane, we need to talk.”

Uh-oh.

She sat on my bed and held out her hand with the quarters in it.

I looked at them. Then at my Mom. “Ummm . . . yeah?”

“Diane, one of the quarters is missing.”

“Really?” My brain started turning frantically. “A quarter?”

“Diane, did you steal a quarter?”

“Umm . . .”

“Diane?”

“Maybe it dropped. You know, when I took the change? On the floor? I’ll go look.” And I escaped out of the door and into the front room where I quickly (before my Mom could get there and see what I was doing) flipped the coin under our recent guest’s chair.

Then, dropping to my hands and knees, I miraculously, ‘found’ it moments later. Holding it out proudly in my hand, I presented it to Mom. “It was there! See?”

Mom nodded and took the coin. Then looked at me.

With a ‘Mom’ look. “Don’t ever take anything that doesn’t belong to you, Diane.”“But I dropped . . .”

“Okay?”

I nodded unhappily. How had she seen through my clever subterfuge?

My career as a thief ended that day.

I obviously didn’t have the ‘knack’.Mom saw to that.

Getting It Wrong

 For International Jazz Day, a bit of fiction...

Clara studied her only daughter’s face.

Emma was lit up from the inside, delicate features a dynamic play of barely-contained emotion. It was like watching a still pool of pure, clear water breaking into soft ripples of movement. Unconstrained and uncontainable. Like the only thing keeping her together was her rose-tinted skin.

Her girl was in love.

Clara’s eyes turned to the young man seated at her daughter’s right. This stiff and stalwart-looking individual with his mortician’s hands and his thin, aesthetic face. Could her daughter – hers and Reggie’s – possibly have made this colossal a . . . mistake?

She turned toward the stage, where Reggie and his troupe were just finishing up their 9:00 set. What would her husband’s reaction be? Would he treat this proposed addition to their little family with courtesy? Or, more probably, would he rear back at the unintentioned insult and explode in artistically unsuppressed emotion. Then drag what could have been their future son-in-law out to the blacktop and toss him into the first available taxi bound for Timbuktu?

She sighed again as her daughter chattered endlessly, ceaselessly, enthusiastically on. Should she say something? Try to turn this particular ship before it hit the great reef looming before them? Should she interfere?

She tuned in to what Emma was saying. “. . . and I was so excited when I met Alphonse.” She linked hands with the sober young man beside her. “He loves jazz! Why he listens to it every day in the mortuary! He is exactly what Daddy told me to look for in a husband!”

Clara put out a hand and touched her daughter’s shoulder gently. “Oh, honey,” she said. She glanced down at the musicians on the stage. Heard the smooth, perfect notes of ‘Take Five’ pouring from Reggie’s Sax and sighed. Then she turned back to her daughter. “Honey, what your father told you to bring home was a Jazz MUSICIAN!”

Com-Posting

 THE VICTOR was a quarterback way back in college days,And, though the years had passed, his neighbours still couldbe amazed,Remembering his triumphs and the victories he’d won,And grateful just to label him their city’s favourite son!By THE VICTOR he was known and though he really didn’t press,His neighbours bragged a lot to anyone I do confess…THE VIC as he grew older, became somewhat conscious ofJust doing what he could for this old world that he loved,Began a compost pit behind his house where he would addThe food scraps from his kitchen and any trimmings that hehad,But living by himself, he really didn’t produce much,So he’d canvass the neighbourhood and take their scraps andsuch,Each Saturday at 9, there’d be The VICTOR with his pail,And folks would toss in spoiled scraps from meat to bread tokale…A newly moved-in neighbour saw all this for the first time,And asked the guy next door why folks would give a man theirslime!The man explained the offerings of the former braised or boiled,One final thing he added, “To THE VICTOR goes the spoiled!”(SNORT!)
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week will be my favourite things,Hot Air Balloons will give us wings!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Compost (May 29) Today!Hot Air Balloons (June 5)Red Roses (June 12)Kissing (June 19)Canoes (June 26)Mirrors (July 3)Teddy Bears (July 10)Emojis (July 17)Cousins (July 24)Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)

The Happy Place

WhenI was younger, I’d lean nearer,Myreflection in the mirror,Andstudy (not what you’d assume…)Thethings behind me in that room. BecauseI thought that other place, Moreintriguing than my space,Andgolly, wouldn’t it be swell,Togo there and bid home farewell?
Justthink of all the fun I’d find,Adventuresof the heart and mind,Why,I could almost picture it,Asthrough the looking glass, I’d flit.
Idid not know, I could not tell,‘Twasa reflection, just a shell,That‘other room’ did not exist,Withmy face floating in the midst.
Andeven if I managed it,(Goingthere for just a bit)Well,backward everything would be,AndI’d have trouble being me!
Andso I put that dream away,Butbrought it out just yesterday,Agreat deal older now, I look,Thingsstill look good in that Mirror nook.
Icouldn’t see the dust and litter,No noise to make me squirm or skitter,Andbackward everything may be,Butno more backward, now, than me! 
I wouldn't have to cook or clean,I'd go in and come out lean!So Through a Looking Glass you see,Sounds like a perfect place for me!

This poem is part of a Monthly Poetry Challenge.Each month a new theme is chosen.This month's theme?Through a Looking Glass!


Care to see what the others have done with the theme?Look here! BakingIn A Tornado: Look AgainMessymimi’sMeanderings