Childhood stories

Two sisters sit
Underneath shared quilts
Telling stories
Outside, the winds howl and moan
Blowing high drifted snow.

Just Plain Furious

As if it weren't bad enough that we are abusing our military through more and more frequent deployments, now we discover that funds raised for veterans are being frittered away. This really makes me angry. Hasn't this war stolen enough?

Over the weekend, someone asked me what my dad thinks of the war. I trotted out my standard response that I really can't be his spokesman, for fear of oversimplifying his thoughts - but I also pointed out that one of the things he's talked about since getting back is the level of profiteering off the misery of this war.

And I felt odd, out of place, cold. The table was full of holiday cheer - Holy Day cheer - candles, special foods, made this one season in the year, cookies and even my candies were there, festive tableware, a special centerpiece, everyone dressed colorfully. Everyone looking forward to the gifts that would come out after dessert. The room was full of joy and fellowship, but I was talking about death and misery and the pathetic mindset that looks at that and sees opportunities for profit.

I said afterwards to my husband that I wasn't sure whether they'd wanted the answer they got, but how could I say anything else? He pointed out to me that I was alone in that room in being related to a soldier, that it's important for others to hear the real story, because it's not being told in the places it should be told.

One of my favorite stories is the one about a worthless item that turns out to be a precious gift: the hospitality of Baucis and Philemon, the fool of Notre Dame (part of the inspiration for my blog's name), the clockmaker who brings only a sandwich to the offeratory, having sold the beautiful clock he had intended to give in order to support his neighbor. I agree with O. Henry. These are the gifts of the Magi, the gift of love. Often, it's a hard gift to give. We can't know how it will be received, or what the result will be. All we can do is give in hope and trust.

Aunt Joyce

Florida wet air
Hanging hot and languid
Over the river.

Bored children fuss
Wishing the pool had water
Despite gathered clouds

Aunt Joyce sweeps dullness
Up the banana tree,
Out the front door.

Aunt Joyce tells stories.
Sneaky gator in the pool,
Wishes he could leave.

How did he get out?
Curious children demand.
Eyes big, breath held.

Big ole gator jaw
Bit the swimming pool ladder
And flip! Out he came!

Aunt Joyce has magic
To make a little gator
Live in fantasy.

A brief note

My hands have been engaged in crochet rather than typing this week, folks. Sorry, but this blanket needs to be done by this weekend, and if I type a lot and crochet a lot, my fingers go numb. As of now, there is less than a row to be attached. Whew!

I'm so happy that my mom and I have arranged to meet this weekend, so she can see it before it is sent. (In fact, I may show it to her, put it in the box, and have her come to the post office with me as we send it off.) Whee! I'm sure that probably some time next week, I'll miss this blanket, but right now, the dominant feeling is relief and a wee bit of triumph. We did it! Also, I think I'm going to ask Mom to bring a digital camera to take a picture of the thing all done, so the final picture can go up on the flickr page as well.

Whoof.

Oh, and I did get a chance last weekend to do some actual storytelling, which always makes me happy. I enjoy writing stories sometimes, but when telling them, well... there are gestures, facial expressions, modulations of the voice that make the whole thing more. I think that this is why I am sometimes reluctant to write things down - I fear that I'm leaving just the bones of the story, without the flesh. And I met someone new while storytelling, which is fun, especially since she hadn't already heard some of my favorite stories to tell and was polite enough to let me run on, telling story after story, which I really enjoy doing.