Vicki Lane's Blog, page 66

Early Morning Flotsam and Jetsam

                                                                                 

Jenny wakes aroundsix, flaps her ears whap whap whap and moves about the room, makinglittle whining noises. She wants to eat and go outside but I am determined notto let her out till seven. So I say NO! Go night-night! And she sighsand goes back to curl up on her bed.

Then I liethere, half awake, and the oddest thoughts float through my head. One day itwas two words—eleemosynarary and sublunary, o,r morespecifically, dull sub lunary lovers. Later, when Jeny had achieved hergoal and was outside howling and I was having my coffee, I looked them up. Eleemosynarypertains to charity and sublunary lovers (ordinary, earth-boundfolks) is from a famous poem by John Donne.

I amfascinated by the stuff my half-awake mind comes up with, like seaweed, driftwood, and assortedflotsam and jetsam left on the shore of my mind by the unending waves of thought.

                                                                             

A Message from the Kittehs

                                                                                  

Three dog day? Please, give me a freakin' break. So, what are we, chopped liver?                                                          
The woman says all we do is lie around all day and that doesn't make for very good pictures.

This is true. We are busiest at night with all the little toys to bar around. 

Perhaps she needs to explore the night capabilities of her camera. 

As if. She doesn't wake up even when we jump on her.

Our public will simply have to take it on trust that we are active and agile, especially between 2 and 4 am. 

An aura of mystery never hurt anyone.

                                                  

At the Beach--Long Ago

More from the trove of old pictures that didn't make it into my grandparents' albums. This first one, probably from the Twenties, puzzled and then startled me. The bulky fella on the left is identified as a Mr. Anderson, next to him, looking demure, is my grandmother, and on the far right is surely my grandfather. But who is the long-legged armful stretched across his lap? Mrs. Anderson? I know that my grandparents had friends named Anderson--but just how friendly were they? I know things loosened up a good deal in the Roaring Twenties but my grandparents?
Finally, I realized--that babe is my mother, probably in her mid-teens. Mrs. Anderson was likely behind the camera.

I zoomed in on my grandfather. When I knew him, he was mostly bald with a fringe of grey/white hair and a tidy little mustache. A distinguished gent. But back in the day, he was pretty darn good-looking.
When I showed this closeup to Josie, I asked if she knew who it was and she immediately said, "My daddy." Yep, there's a very strong resemblance.



Fast forward to the Thirties and my mother and a group of friends--probably at Indian Rocks, the favorite beach of Tampa folk. I love the beach house and actually remember visiting either it or one like it. Alas, all replaced by high rises now.


 

Three Dog Day

                                                                           

                                                                                       

The Cunning Man

                                                                          

Davies is one of my favorite authors, to whom I return again and again, always finding something new to think about, always enjoying his keen perceptions about humanity.
This is the second book in his (unfinished)Toronto Trilogy, but it reads like a standalone. The narrator is a physician with an uncanny gift for diagnosis and an unusual methodology. Humor, high jinks, a possible saint, a possible murder in a very high Anglican church and all the convoluted relationships among a certain set of Toronto's intellectual/artistic crowd are grist for Davies' mill--which grinds exceeding small, indeed.
An utterly delightful re-re-read!
NOTE: Regarding the caduceus --the physician's symbol of two serpents twined around a staff--Davies (through his characters) has this to say: 
". . . the warring serpents of Hermes--Knowledge and Wisdom, balanced in an eternal tension."
"Knowledge being science and all the accumulated lore you have pumped into you at medical school; science which keeps changing and shifting all through your lifetime, like a snake shedding its old skin--"
"And Wisdom, with which you have to apply and temper the whole business, and fit it to the patient who sits before you, so that it too has a serpentine sinuosity and of course the wisdom which snakes are--quite mistakenly--supposed to possess."
I've been fortunate to have known a few medical providers who seemed to try for that balance.

Snow Days and Imagination Exercises for Meema

                                                                          

First of all, look at this! No front teeth! (But there are new ones coming in.)                                                        

Monday and Wednesday were snow days and I stayed with Meema. I found lots to do.

                                                      
I had a remote learning packet with stuff to do. It was all pretty easy.                                                     

Meema kept asking me questions, so I went and got her spatula for her to play with. I am good at schoolwork. And on the last Awards Day, I got an award for Expressive Reading. Meema was very happy--she always tells me how good it is to read with expression. I sometimes do different voices too.

                                                          
The babies love the story about baby dragons.                                                          

All that was on Wednesday. On Monday, Meema and I worked on putting together a kaleidoscope and she kept looking at the directions. I told her to use her imagination and she kept saying we needed to follow the directions. (There was glitter and little tiny stars and little purple balls EVERYWHERE.)                                                      

We finally got the kaleidoscope together and then I decided to give Meema some Imagination Lessons.

                                                                                

I made her an Imagination Mask to help her use her imagination. (There is a back part with brown hair but you can't see it.)                                                                             
                                                                             
             Then I made an Imagination Trail for her to follow. (Editor's note: Coins are good for playing with but haven't the importance they once had.)

                                                            

 I showed Meema how I used my imagination and put the leftover glitter in some play dough. I also did a song about imagination. 
The we took turns doing puppet shows. I think Meema's imagination got better. But I will keep working on her.                                                         

                                                     

Rabbit, Rabbit

                                                                                    

Trying something a bit different. Apologies for the lack of drawing skills--I thought I'd have time to do a better version, but life caught up with me. 

Sunshine Came Softly . . .

                                                                               

                                                                                    

To Be Continued

                                                                        

                                                                        

Josie is writing a chapter book. My only input has been to spell the hard words.

Like many authors, she got to a big scene and is having trouble deciding what happens next. I am not allowed to make suggestions. 

Sparkling

                                                                         

At dinner a few nights ago, the question arose: Where does the name amaryllis come from? After several wild guesses, I went to Mr. Google.
Amaryllis is from the Greek and means sparkling. There was a nymph of that name who fell in love with a handsome shepherd (as so often happened.) But, alas, he only loved flowers... (insert obligatory sheep joke.)
So, after consulting with the oracle at Delphi, Amaryllis visited the shepherd's cottage daily, and on each visit, pierced her heart with an arrow so that drops of her blood fell to the ground. 
On the 30th day, sparkling red flowers bloomed where the blood had fallen. The flower-loving shepherd was impressed and fell in love with Amaryllis.
A perfect Valentine's Day flower? What with the heart pierced by an arrow...
However--the red flowers referenced in the Greek legend are not the same as these familiar beauties. These popular flowers are of South African origin and were given the name in 1768 by a Dutch botanist. The Dutch have long been mad for bulbs and most amaryllis bulbs come from Holland now.