New Poem

Went to the LAC poetry group meeting yesterday evening. This time, there were about twenty people there. I read this little new poem, that needs a lot of work:

The Near-Sighted Shepherd

There was heavenly music, and dazzling lights,
and we all looked up at the sky;
I saw what looked like some fuzzy white lambs,
but thought they were clouds floating by.

When someone said “Angels!” I wanted to weep
because of my poor feeble sight
that couldn't see angels but only some sheep
and a light that made day of the night.

When the “lambs” started singing, I suddenly could see
more angels than stars in the skies!
But the Babe in the manger, to me, seemed to be
a Lamb with heavenly eyes.

by JRC 11/26/12

Feeling Useful

Cleaning out kitchen cabinets. Such fun.

Quilting Daze

I've been working on this quilt for several days, trying to finish quilting it, and now it's complete except a couple of outer blocks and the border. Hope I can get it done by Christmas. Got holes in my fingers. This will be the third of my "Big Three" quilts, the best ones I've made, except for a couple that I've sold or given away. The other two "best:"

Bear's Paw with Flying Geese Border



Broken Sash

The one I sold was called Mountain Echoes, and the one I gave to Sharon O. for her wedding was a Palm Leaf pattern. Wish I had pictures of them, but I don't. They were both more intricate and striking than any of these. But the Bear's Paw, shown above, is still my favorite.

Mouthing Off

I don't know why it suddenly strikes me funny, that so many of our body parts are verbs as well as nouns.

Head for the hills. Face the music. Foot the bill. Back up. Butt out. Toe the mark. Arm the troops. Knuckle under. Heel!

What got me started on this was, the handle of the tea kettle being too hot to handle.

Looking Up

The sister supper Friday was great--just Ramey, Susan and me, but a good time was had by us! Susan's chicken and dumplings was scrumptious, and Pat brought a luscious lemon crunch cake.

Dr. G.'s prescription for my problem is working, and I'm about well. Which reminds me of a story. Long ago, Alabama had an elderly senator named Albert Boutwell, and he had an elderly wife. One day I was in Burger-Phillips department store when Mrs. Boutwell was shopping there. A saleslady said, "How are you today, Mrs. Boutwell?"

The lady answered, "'Bout well, 'bout well!"

The saleslady whispered, "She always says that."
*
I sent my poetry manuscript, The Lightness of the Dark, to the Walt Whitman competition, or did I already say that? And I'm getting the Big Baby ms. ready to submit to a N.Y. publisher. So those two things will be out of my hands and off my to-do list for several months.

There's really not much to hope for in the poetry line. I've received a couple of the American Academy of Poets' prize-winning books in the past. It may be an oxymoron to call my poems, and the kind that the AAP chooses, poetry in the same sentence. But there's always a faint possibility they'll assign the wrong judge this time.

Hurricane Mo

I'm thankful for this beautiful, glorious day in which to clean up after him.

Cedar Waxwing, by Rod McIver

It's a pretty watercolor, but doesn't look like the Cedar Waxwing I've seen--a beautiful crested brown-and-yellow bird with a scarlet-tipped feather on each wing.

But the real bird that I saw at the apartment in Birmingham was more amazing than any picture. The red spots on the wings were deep scarlet and looked like jewels.

Man!

I'm having a spell of the visual aurae that the neurologist once said was migraine. Been so long since I had this, I almost didn't recognize it at first. There's no pain, just drifting clouds and flashing lights. I guess it's the equivalent of a headache, and it'll pass in a few minutes or so.

Yesterday the doctor reviewed all the medications I'm not taking, told me to get back on some of them, told me to quit smoking, got Onae to give me a flu shot, and sent me to the lab. Said he'd call me in a prescription if necessary, etc.

Mr. Obama is still presiident, and I hope they give him a little more cooperation and elbow room this term. A little is about all  you can hope for. It was trying to figure out how to vote on the state constitutional amendments that took so long at the voting place. Seemed to me, best I could decipher, that the state wants to go back a few decades--amendments to repeal amendments that that were made years ago. I hope the way I marked them didn't help to make things worse than they already are in this state. I hope.

This morning I got out my unfinished autumn leaf quilt (part of which is shown in the masthead of my blog), spread it out on the living room floor, and gave myself orders to finish the thing and redecorate the guest room around it, before Christmas. So that's my project for now--as soon as I can see again. I gave up on the November novel; didn't like the people in it.

As Usual

Have to be at the Clinic at 10:00, and of course I'm feeling fine, except hurried and anxious. I've left my coffee mug somewhere in the house, and it's probably empty anyway.
*
So, I went to the Clinic, then I voted. So I've done two things today.
*
A pretty good book: Bag Men, by Mark Costello. Yesterday, to calm the fidgets, I picked up this book and read it. Ultra-violent and gory, but very well written, gripping and suspenseful. And only 3-4 typos. One of the worst, most vengeful killers in literature--the author saved him, probably for another book.
*
I noticed that our PBS channel is showing Season 1 (and presumably Season 2) of "Downton Abbey" again. I think it was on Sunday that I saw the tail-end of episode 2 or 3 on the channel.

What a Team!

Never thought I would cry over a football game, but when Alabama got that ball in the last minute of the 4th quarter, I clapped and cried all the way to the extra point!

Done

I went through the poetry manuscript and just deleted most of the ones that didn't make me cry or make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Then I submitted it to the Academy of Amer. Poets for the Walt Whitman Award. They expect the judging to be done by April of 2013.

For the Walt Whitman Award Competition

I've got my collected poems pared down to 120-something, but the limit is 100 pages. So I've got to cut out about twenty of them. Wish I had someone who's familiar with publishing as well as modern poetry, to read them and help me decide what to cut, and where to rewrite if necessary. Guess I'll just have to use my own judgment, which is biased in favor of every blessed one of them.

Slow Start on the Novel

Well, I wrote 800+ words this morning and ran out of steam. Maybe after I find something for lunch, I can add some more.

So we'll probably postpone the sister supper until a week from tomorrow, since Ramey is going to a writer's retreat in Florida for the weekend, Friday through Sunday. I hope she gets a lot of writing done, on her next book in the Moonlight Ridge saga.

Susan has a new maid, who left her house spick-and-span yesterday. Lucky her, poor me in comparison. But comparisons, as they say, are odious.

Last night I had three groups of trick-or-treaters, all dressed in delightful costumes. I gave them most of the candy, so maybe I won't get fat on what's left.

Yesterday evening I watched some episodes of Downton Abbey. I'm trying to get so familiar with it that, while I'm watching it with the family, I won't tear up and sob when Thomas cries or Bates kisses Anna.