L'aura del Campo

Sun and Storms

Winter 10 'Ala (March 11)

2006-03-11
noon, 68 degrees. 61 in Jeannette, PA. Also 77 in T Town (Tulsa) and 44 in San Francisco.

Sunny and beautiful here. Maybe even a tad too bright!

Found my grandfather, Clarence Deuel. Finally They had it transcribed as Denel. Went by first name, state, county, bingo! So if anyone else is going through the census, be aware of this. In 1910, his name may be spelled Deihl, but that remains to be confirmed.

Not a bad day where his bones are planted in PA. Cousin in San Fran is dealing with miserable weather, though. Friends in Tulsa are wondering how hot it will get, I'm sure, and whether it will bring storms.

GETTING TO KNOW ME

114. Fight or flight? Lord give me wings ... I run with the wind.

115. Left or right brained? Both. Balanced-brain. Which means I need both to learn. I'm not so much audio or visual as audio-visual. I literally hear my poems in my head.

116. Am I like my parents? Yep, got all my faults from them . As for my genious ... if you find that rat running around, call the rat-terminator.

Seriously? Of course, in some ways. But my creative side is found in my grandparents who worked with glass, cloth, gardens, language. Probably not at all like the Hookers, who were dairy farmers. Unless my plodding obsession to write EVERY day counts ...

117. Plaid, stripes, floral or polka dots? I tend to wear solid colors; although, I do like paisley.

118. Pen or pencil? I always wrote with pencil as a child. Always erasing my mistakes. Thank God for spell check! As a left-hander, either smudges, believe me! I really liked my Osmeroid pen and the brown ink I had once. Now I use pens. Preferably different colors. I am fond of green or brown ink. I alternate in my journal, which by-the-way is up to page 901.

119. Tactile? To an extent. I love my hands covered with dirt. I love silk and wool and fine paper, the embossed surface of brocade. I don't care for satin and a smooth blackboard gives me the creeps. Really bothers me. My father was the tactile one. Worked on wires, worked in grease, knew how to sew. My mother's mother was a tailor. My mother's father a glass cutter.

120. Cerebral? That's my mother. I'm intellectual but far too passionate, more like my father's brother or mother's mother. Both of whom where passionate but not intellectual.

121. Language skills? Not my folks! But my father's father spoke German and Mvskoske (Creek).
122. Gardening. I started at 9. Influenced by my mother's father (who also designed glass as I design gardens), my mother's mother. Both had various garden plots.

I will be starting one of Moberg's books about the Swedish emmigration. Finished 'The Rose Rent' (Cadfael).

Had coffee at Aimée's this morning. A bit tired. I woke up at 2:30 and 5:30 and didn't sleep well. Odd dreams. Some days, I'm just worn out.

Did remember to put film in my cameras and to put them in my bag. Spring can come and go quickly and I intend to get pictures.

Thinking about Forever and all her friends and family in Zimbabwe:

O SON OF SPIRIT! The best beloved of all things in My sight is Justice; turn not away therefrom if thou desirest Me, and neglect it not that I may confide in thee. By its aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be. Verily justice is My gift to thee and the sign of My loving-kindness. Set it then before thine eyes.

~ Bahá'u'lláh, Arabic Hidden Words #2

SENSED

A flock of daffodils; a wasp; thyme crushed between my fingers; one pale phlox; the tap of key board; a sneeze.

Stormy gave these prompts: gentle, blossoming, breeze, clouds, fresh, green, showers, beginning. Each to be used in one poem. So, I used them twice. I sketched this yesterday:

Before the storm

In the beginning there was the blossoming breeze,
taut sky rent into slivers of clouds
that gathered at farthest horizons,
dark, roiling at our arrogance,
urgent to set us free.

In the beginning there was the gentle green, fragrant
showers on rose-red flowers, fresh hope lying
tumescent upon the fruitful land.
We did not know the meaning of
living in vain.

For, in the beginning we knew not the end of things:
how breezes became the winds of change, fresh
showers the storms of regret, blossoming
green rent into slivers, gentle
clouds the deluge that
drowned us all.

Free now

and all in vain.

[162.793]

2006-03-11
late afternoon, 69 degrees. 12 in Linköping Sweden, tonight.

I feel for AL. All of Sweden is cold and snowy. Even my Swedish cousins who live in Snow Country in Western New York are getting a break today. Not Sweden.

This is basketball season here. The Big 12 championship is tomorrow and if Kansas beats Nebraska (they're leading) they get to play Texas for bragging rights.

Then March Madness begins. At least this team doesn't have an attitude. They may even win a game or two. The town will party tonight and tomorrow regardless.