National Poetry Month #20: Remembering Orofino and Grandma West

The end of National Poetry Month arrived when I was too busy to post. I will end this month of poems a bit late. This is an original poem I wrote when I was trying to capture gathering around the table at my grandma's sunroom in her house in Orofino. 

The Table in the Sunroom

The rays from the evening sun glowed on the hollyhocks;

the windows of the sunroom framed Grandma’s tall gladiolus .

Dad wiped his reddened face,

the pitcher of ice tea sweating under the stifling heat.

Steam rose from the bowl of garden fresh beans --  

we  climbed to the back of the table

wedged between the Singer sewing machine and the old Kelvinator,

squeezed in the six chairs.

Corn on the cob was always in season.

 The kernels small and golden.

Grandma cut her kernels delicately off the cob,

I begged for the knife so I could do the same.

In a voice that even the neighbors could hear, Mom announced,

“You have good, strong teeth…

just eat it off the cob.”

Next a plate of tomato slices

followed by cooked beets and fried pork chops.

I lifted my legs as bare skin stuck to the chair,

while my brother was kicking my foot,

my baby sister’s damp hair stuck to her head.

From my seat I couldn’t gaze at Grandma’s garden

 or watch the bees buzz around the roses,

but I took in the slow table conversation

as I tried to cut up my tomato:

Canning cherries, and Norm and growing cucumbers,

Konkleville, Canada Hill and cousin John came up.

Is that fire still burning out at Yellow Dog?

What is on special at the Glenwood Market?

Dad took his paper napkin and wiped his face again,

And told Grandma this was the best corn he had ever had.

Her eyes lit up as she rose from the table

And thank goodness headed to the old chest freezer.

Vanilla ice cream from the Orofino Creamery would be

passed around last.

The sun slipped behind the crabapple tree,

The shadows cooled the sunroom.

That cold vanilla ice cream was the best I had ever had.

Christy Woolum

National Poetry Month #19: To All the Mothers I Know

 Mom, Dad, and me doing dishes at Grandma Woolum's

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking

When you thought I wasn't looking

You hung my first painting on the refrigerator

And I wanted to paint another.

When you thought I wasn't looking

You fed a stray cat

And I thought it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking

You baked a birthday cake just for me
And I knew that little things were special things.

When you thought I wasn't looking

You said a prayer

And I believed there was a God
 That I could always talk to.

When you thought I wasn't looking

You kissed me good-night

And I felt loved.

When you thought I wasn't looking

I saw tears come from your eyes

And I learned that sometimes things hurt-

But that it’s alright to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking

You smiled

And it made me want to look that pretty too.

 

When you thought I wasn't looking,

You cared

And I wanted to be everything I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking-

I looked…

And wanted to say thanks

For all those things you did

When you thought I wasn’t looking.

- Mary Rita Schilke Korzan

pictures: sister Carol first birthday, brother Bill 22nd birthday, brother Bill 4th birthday. Lots of great cakes.

National Poetry Month #18: Thank you Judith Viorst for "The Pleasures of Ordinary Life"

Being such an avid fan of poetry I have lots of favorites. I have LOTS of favorites, but this one by Judith Viorst really speaks to me. It reminds me to enjoy the simple pleasures of ordinary life. Those pleasures are often what I photograph like the simple pansy above.  Enjoy a few photos while reading the poem.

a yellow bell found in the wild

the Catholic church on the Kalispel Reservation

The Pleasures of Ordinary Life

I've had my share of necessary losses, Of dreams I know no longer can come true. I'm done now with the whys and the becauses. It's time to make things good, not just make do. It's time to stop complaining and pursue The pleasures of an ordinary life. I used to rail against my compromises. I yearned for the wild music, the swift race. But happiness arrived in new disguises: Sun lighting a child's hair. A friend's embrace. Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place. The pleasures of an ordinary life. I'll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory. It seems the woman I've turned out to be Is not the heroine of some grand story. But I have learned to find the poetry In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see. The pleasures of an ordinary life. Young fantasies of magic and of mystery Are over. But they really can't compete With all we've built together: A long history. Connections that help render us complete. Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet, Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life. Judith Viorst

red wing blackbird in our feeder

evening on the deck

beautiful butter with a viola dressing it up

Beautiful Corner of the World: Road Trips

Yesterday we did a stop for lunch at Frater Lake on Tiger Highway, northeastern  Washington state. 

JEJ and I love to take drives and short road trips. We decided years ago that the best places to enjoy were in our own beautiful corner of the world. It is a cheaper way to travel and it gives us an appreciation of northeastern and north central Washington state, northern Idaho, southern British Columbia, and  western Montana. We have seen incredible scenery, taken hundreds of pictures, and enjoyed the drives, conversation, food, and the companionship of our dogs.

We took a refreshment break after exploring the grotto yesterday. We had saved our bottle of wine from the Tulip Valley Winery for a special occasion.

Earlier this year I got really interested in the International Selkirk Loop. We knew all about it, and had been to many places along the loop, but I thought it would be fun to visit a new place on the Selkirk Loop each month. Trips so far have included Bonner's Ferry, Sandpoint, sourthern British Columbia, Kalispel Lake, and the Pend Oreille River. Here are some photos of our road trips. If you want to learn more about the International Selkirk Loop go here. Above are the tundra swans.

 British Columbia in February and Connie's Resturant in Sandpoint in January.

National Poetry Month #17: To Say Nothing But Thank You

 When I watched my students work hard to make Earth Day a success I say thank you. When I return home tired and sore and see my gardens awakening to spring I also say thank you. When I soak in the tub to remove the Earth Day covering of garbage smells I again say thank you. 

To Say Nothing But Thank You

by JEANNE LOHMANN

JEANNE LOHMANNhas published eight collections of poetry and two books of prose, including Dancing in the Kitchen: A Prose Collection (Fithian Press) and Calls from a Lighted House: Poems(Daniel & Daniel Publishers). At nearly eighty-six, she relishes walks through her Olympia, Washington, neighborhood and remains active in the local poetry community.

All day I try to say nothing but thank you, 
breathe the syllables in and out with every step I 
take through the rooms of my house and outside into 
a profusion of shaggy-headed dandelions in the garden
where the tulips’ black stamens shake in their crimson cups.
 
I am saying thank you, yes, to this burgeoning spring 
and to the cold wind of its changes. Gratitude comes easy
after a hot shower, when my loosened muscles work, 
when eyes and mind begin to clear and even unruly 
hair combs into place.
 
Dialogue with the invisible can go on every minute, 
and with surprising gaiety I am saying thank you as I 
remember who I am, a woman learning to praise 
something as small as dandelion petals floating on the
steaming surface of this bowl of vegetable soup, 
my happy, savoring tongue.

National Poetry Month #16: Woman Who Loves Gardening

Days like today get me in the mood for digging in the dirt. Bulbs are coming up, the weather is warming, we are bathed in green. At a writing workshop a few years ago I was inspired to pen this poem. Picture above is at the Portland Rose Garden, June 2013.

Woman Who Loves Gardening

I have dirty nails

and rarely paint them, living out

my long growing season in the flower garden, trellises

giving view to clematis, climbing Peace

where aromatic flowers

grow in profusion.

I pull the weeds

in the early morning

gritting my teeth

wiping sweat from my brow

and listening

to footsteps of my husband

coming in range to help.

Sun makes my face red;

each sniff with my nose

leaves lily pollen behind.

When I rest it’s the beauty

that causes anxiety to shake loose

from a woman in need

of a quiet place to retreat.

Christy Woolum

June 20,2007