What's In My Journal?

I think many of us that enjoy writing have tried journaling at some point. I have gone to bookstores and bought very fancy journals. I have had a black and white composition book and written along with my students. Calendars have ended working oftentimes as a timeline journal of events. I love the following poem by William Stafford. As he opens his journal up to us-it's a metaphoric journal:its contents are objects, jokes, images, and things that make him unique. Put together they say quite a bit about who he is as a person. When I read this poem I want to create that metaphoric journal myself. What would be in yours?

What's In My Journal

Odd things, like a button drawer, Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in you hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beautify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

-William Stafford

Here's To You Papa Pert

Eleven years ago today was my father's funeral . Earlier in the week I wrote about the weeks leading up to his death here. My niece The Princess was around during the time Dad was very sick. One day I took her with me to Spokane because I had a hair appointment and I thought she could go for a field trip. She was five at the time. When The Princess was older she also reflected on his death and wrote the following poem to her Papa Pert, my dad.

I have kept it ever since.

Why?

I am not sad. I do not cry,

I just want to know why you had to die.

For dying is a mystery to me,

I never knew that could be.

Whey did you have to die?

You were always there for me.

Is this supposed to happen?

Is this really true?
When I get old will I die just like you?

I know the answer.

It is yes, but is it really for the best?

The good part of dying I know this is true.

You go up to heaven. When I go up I hope to see you.

My friend says we will not know each other if you die,

I hope not, that would make me cry,

For it you didn't know anyone in heaven, would it be so great?

Would you really want to go so much if you knew you didn't know so much?

I hope not because that would hurt, very much.

So Papa Pert please answer my questions.

What does Heaven look like?

Do you miss me?

I remember when I sat in your chair.

It was funny... you sat on me like I wasn't there.

And I remember you taught me how to eat spaghetti on a fork.

How you twisted it just right.

I remember the sad news.

The news that you died.

I really didn't think that much of it,

I didn't really care, but now I realize

the importance of you being there.

I don't remember the funeral

Only bits and pieces of what I think it was,

There were a lot of old people and I was scared.

I think of it though because I didn't cry.

Remember? I didn't care.

haven't cared for so long, but now I am ready to be strong.

Too bad I can't hug you, too bad you can't hug me.

Well, here's to you my Papa Pert

The one that means so much to me.

by your granddaughter

The Princess

On that field trip eleven years ago I took my niece to

McDonald's to play in the pit with the balls .

You Gotta Love June!

Nothing says June like the first bowl of strawberries from the garden. I love the taste of the ripe, sweet fruit on top of vanilla ice cream. Having both strawberries and rhubarb ready at the same time created a perfect opportunity to make a pie. The double exposure shows my Grandma Woolum's Betty Crocker cookbook open to her favorite recipe overlapped with the baked pie.

I heard JEJ call out today from the raspberry patch that they are almost ripe. You gotta love June!

Sunday Scribblings: Country

The topic for Sunday Scribblings this week is Town and Country. I chose country. You can find the complete collection of scribblings for the week here.

Country is where I live. I have never lived in a big city. When I visit cities I love to try different restaurants, go to Starbucks, browse book stores, and visit interesting sites. I only want to visit cities, then I want to go home.

Country is home. I may have to drive at least sixteen miles to get any services. Meals need to be planned. Grocery lists are ongoing. If we run out of something we improvise until we can get to town. We get by. It took awhile to get used to the planning, but now I like not running to the store as often. Being surrounded by pine trees, wildflowers, and dusty roads is home.

Country is quiet. Right now I can hear crickets chirping, a toad croaking, and a bird singing. I am very rarely awakened by noisy traffic. Our dogs barking at a raccoon is about as loud as it gets some days. After a day of teaching I crave the quiet.

Country is scenic. I do live in a beautiful part of Washington state. I can view lakes, mountains, pine forests, and orchards without driving more than ten minutes. I can observe deer, turkeys, a moose ( I saw one!) , swans, and bald eagles most any day. Sometimes I even see a brown bear. I can visit a babbling brook, an overflowing creek, and a clear mountain river by heading north a few miles.

Country is what I need. The quiet beauty of life in northeastern Washington is what I need at this time in my life. I left a more populated area. I knew I wouldn’t have a drive-thru bank and espresso every day. I knew I would have to do more shopping online and use the public library instead of buying books. All this has worked out. I needed the country to dig in roots and feel safe. I craved the slow pace, my surroundings, and the quiet. With my husband, dogs, cats, and rabbits we have been able to live in harmony away from city life.

Country is where I will stay.

Picture Drops: Flowers and Spring Bouquet #10

I played with pictures today making collages. I love the picture drop option. Here are some blooms.

Now I know what to do when I can' t decide which bouquet picture I like.

I think I may have found a new toy with Picasa.

Sibling Assignment #23: Honoring A Simple Request

On this day in 1996 our father Raymond "Pert" Woolum died after a short struggle with liver cancer. Our sibling assignment this week was to reflect on what we remember during that time. Raymond Pert’s is here and Silver Valley Girl’s is here.

Dad lived out his last weeks of life at home. That was what he wanted. His doctor came to the house. The people from Hospice provided care. My brother took a leave from work and came home. I split my time between school and Kellogg. Silver Valley Girl brought her family up to spend a week also.

We were inexperienced with cancer, Hospice, and care taking. What I remember most is how each of us fell into roles that were needed at that time. Mom worked hard at keeping a routine. She cleaned, cooked, greeted friends, gardened, and calmly worked side by side with the Hospice staff. My brother, sister, and I tried to fall in roles that we thought would help. Raymond Pert relieved Mom and sat with Dad at night. Silver Valley Girl brought her children home to their Papa Pert which gave all of us joy and a needed distraction. I floundered between entertaining children, keeping track of my dogs, sitting with Dad, running errands,organizing food, and grieving. Raymond Pert arriving at the Prichard Tavern with Dad.

Dad had a large circle of friends in Kellogg. Many of them had been friends since childhood. On May 13th Dad had a simple request. He wanted to take a drive up the Coeur d’ Alene River for the last time. He wanted to meet some friends at the Prichard Tavern and have a beer, a burger, and conversation. That was a request we could honor.

Each of us kicked into our roles again. We called friends, organized the trip, loaded up a caravan, and headed up the river. It was a cold, rainy day but that didn’t put a damper on our spirits. During the drive on that May day I tried to see Dad’s favorite river with new eyes and put myself in Dad’s shoes, thinking how it might be knowing it may be the last time to see a natural beauty that he had loved and appreciated for more than sixty years.

Lasting memories were made that day. The Princess learned to play pool in a tavern at age five. Dad and his friends sat around a table and reminisced, laughed, enjoyed a beer, and good food. (Dad is in the red suspenders. Brother Raymond Pert is to the right overseeing "the crony corner".) Having a day out of the house was good for Mom also. She relaxed, visited, and enjoyed herself. Silver Valley Girl and her husband videotaped, and laughed at their children running around in a tavern. I took pictures and a walk with two of my nieces.
The Princess and Zu2 outside taking a walk with me. Zu2 loved to say "cheese."

We all naturally fell into our roles during that month in 1996. Often times we were confused about what we were to do next. Considering our lack of experience I think we all did the best we could do at the time.
Digging through pictures today was bittersweet. There have been so many times we wish Dad was here to fill in the gaps on Kellogg trivia he knew so well, straighten us out on some goofy thing we did, or look at us with misty eyes and say, “ I know I don’t always tell you this, but I am proud of you.” I love and miss you Dad.