Friday, May 09, 2003

I have a final addition to the Mothers Day Suite of poems, but it's about the mother of a murderer and I think it's too dark to share with you (it's called December 6th, 1989, to give you an idea). So, in the spirit of fun-making, here's The Friday Five!

1. Would you consider yourself an organized person? Why or why not?
I am organized to a fault. I make rough drafts of shopping lists, and have a pen and notepaper in every room.

2. Do you keep some type of planner, organizer, calendar, etc. with you, and do you use it regularly?
Even though I have no job and no agenda except walking a dog, I use and refer to my agenda book every day.

3. Would you say that your desk is organized right now?
Actually no, it isn't, and it bothers me.

4. Do you alphabetize CDs, books, and DVDs, or does it not matter?
I organize all the books according to genre: Cdn. Lit, Victorian Lit, Romantic Lit., poetry, signed first editions, and "his" books. Mr. Crabby carefully alphabetized the CDs, and I'm not allowed to touch them.

5. What's the hardest thing you've ever had to organize?
Sigh. A drawer full of photos, dating back almost 60 years, that constituted the CNIB's photographic library. Some needed to be archived, so as an added bonus, I got to work with my best friend who was responsible for archival material.

Wednesday, May 07, 2003

Mothers Day Suite
II: 1976

I asked you to be there
and you were
when I was too timid
to take the bus all by myself,
afraid to end up far away, late for school,
lost to you
like the cat we left behind
somewhere in Saskatchewan.

Without asking you understood
the dangerous flick of
light and shadow
light and shadow
of each new place.
You dressed our old worries in new uniforms,
and fresh kisses,
your little soldiers lined up, ready
to be led
but only by you,
our general, our medic,
our mother.

Tuesday, May 06, 2003

I'm going to visit with Ice Queen this afternoon, to make candy and drink a cocktail. Or two. Meanwhile, here's what kept me up last night.

Mothers Day Suite
I: 1965

I owe my life to a dinner party
a mixer, a social
arranged for young teachers and dashing airmen.
Hooking up, we call it today.

Were there other evenings that year,
with bankers, brokers, and bores?
I'm glad you chose the airman,
young-Elvis handsome with his liquid eyes
and shy smile -
the man you would follow to Africa and back,
the man who would make you my mother.

"Please pass the salt,"
his first words to you,
but the rest is history
the rest is my history.

Monday, May 05, 2003

Caveat Emptor

I bought a wee pot of hand cream at a store in the country this weekend. I opened it up, used some, and was thrilled with how emollient it was. This led me to inspect the label. Here's what it said:

"Wash udder and teat parts thoroughly with clean water and soap. Apply to the udder after each milking. For teat cracks, apply in sufficient quantity to fill crack. For aid in softening swollen udders after calfing, apply liberally twice daily."