" Gloomy Friday "

Such a day, such a gloomy day. They say, those people with their doppler radars and other such toys, that we are to expect more rain. Thunderstorms woke me from my peaceful sleep last night. My room is upstairs, usually the sound of the rain on the roof, the thunder and snuggling under my great-grandmothers chenille bedspread makes for a peaceful nights sleep for me. Not so last night. I do believe the storm was right over my house.

There were a few minutes of sun this morning which made me slightly hopeful. Thoughts of planting some more of my Canna bulbs today crossed my mind momentarily, then I listened to what those people said and once again my hopes were quickly snubbed out. These flowers are not Cannas. They are flowers growing in my yard that I haven't the slightest idea of what they are. It really doesn't matter because they are beautiful. Yesterday I was able to get 16 bulbs in and around my yard but still have many more to go. I suppose I could go out in the rain and the mud and give it a go. On second thought, NO.

I failed to mention in my last blog, that the desk that my doily is on, someone threw out. Yes they threw it out right next to their garbage. I think there was only one little scratch on it. You know what they say " One mans junk is another mans treasure ", Woman's in this case! I read this poem last night. It came out of a book called " When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple ".


"Love At Fifty" By Marcia Woodruff

We come together shy as virgins
with neither beauty nor innocence
to cover our nakedness, only
these bodies which have served us well
to offer each other.

At twenty we would have dressed each other
in fantasy, draping over the damp flesh,
or turned one another into mirrors
so we could make love to ourselves.

But there is no mistaking us now.
Our eyes are sadder and wiser
as I finger the scar on your shoulder
where the pin went in,
and you touch the silver marks on my belly,
loose from childbearing.

"We are real," you say,and so we are,
standing here in our simple flesh
whereon our complicated histories are written,
our bodies turning into gifts
at the touch of our hands.


I thought that was lovely, didn't you? While Pixie makes herself comfortable in my bed it is getting darker and once again I hear thunder in the distance quickly approaching. This makes it hard to feel cheerful today. So I think I will just go and cuddle with my little dogs. Maybe we can cheer each other up.