Gonna Be a Bear!

This is dedicated to my sister Silver Valley Girl.

She is fed up with the lingering winter and wants to hibernate until spring comes. The way the weather is going, that could be awhile. Read her sentiments on her blog post from yesterday here.

A few summers ago pasted on the door of a woman's office was the message below. I loved it then and love it now. I just changed a few of the words for this situation.

In this life I'm a woman. If I had my life to live over, I'd like to be a bear. When you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that, too.

When you're a girl bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you're sleeping and wake to partially grown, cute, cuddly cubs. I could definitely deal with that.

If you're mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them, too. I could deal with that.

If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.

Yup, gonna be a bear!

-anon.

Sibling Assignment #93: A Perfect Pair

A Little Tricycle by Lauren Hamilton

I gave the sibling assignment this week:
"A Perfect Pair.... find a piece of art and a poem that are a perfect pair. Explain why they are so perfectly matched." Silver Valley Girl is hibernating until spring so we may not hear from her until May. When RP gets out from under his teaching load I will post his.

Recently I have discovered the artwork of Lauren Hamilton. Her paintings depicts simple things such as organic salad, a scooter, and the tricycle above. I love her series with the childlike printing behind the images. Hamilton's painting and the poem are a perfect pair. It is easy to visualize the image of a kindergarten child at the beginning of this poem. As the poem progresses, a theme of what is left behind emerges. I wonder though if she is referring to what is left behind as a child or facing "the big people" as an adult. I also found Anne Sexton reading this poem which is posted below.

The Fury of Overshoes

They sit in a row
outside the kindergarten,
black, red, brown, all
with those brass buckles.
Remember when you couldn't
buckle your own
overshoe
or tie your own
overshoe
or tie your own shoe
or cut your own meat
and the tears
running down like mud
because you fell off your
tricycle?
Remember, big fish,
when you couldn't swim
and simply slipped under
like a stone frog?
The world wasn't
yours.
It belonged to
the big people.
Under your bed
sat the wolf
and he made a shadow
when cars passed by
at night.
They made you give up
your nightlight
and your teddy
and your thumb.
Oh overshoes,
don't you
remember me,
pushing you up and down
in the winter snow?
Oh thumb,
I want a drink,
it is dark,
where are the big people,
when will I get there,
taking giant steps
all day,
each day
and thinking
nothing of it?
-Anne Sexton