(No, those obviously aren't bubbles, but a cluster of lights which caught my eye at one of my favorite walking places, Lincoln Park)
Where shall I start?
Aye, that is the question. Should I start at the beginning ... or at the end? Maybe I should start ... as I sometimes do ... in the middle and work in both directions.
Anyway, there I was, sitting on a bench, partly in the sun, partly in the shade, working on a small watercolor of the marvelous scene across the pond.
A young lady, with a stroller containing two or three kids in it (I was busy with something else ... remember? ... and I didn’t get an accurate count) ... well, she stopped directly in my line of vision.
“Are you familiar with the park?” she asked.
I hesitated ... could be some kind of a trick question ... but then answered, cautiously, “Mmmm ... yes.”
Wasn’t a trick question at all. She wanted directions to a small stream which she remembered as running through the park.
I gave her the best directions I knew how ... even repeated them ... then, as she indicated she understood, and started pushing the stroller again, I said ... simply on impulse, you understand ... “Now if you get lost, just come back here and I’ll give you new directions.”
At that point she gave me one of those looks, popped a wheelie and was gone.
-S&G-
A FEW DAYS AGO I had an appointment to have my eyes examined. At my age that’s not easy ... so I stayed up all night the night before studying for the eye test ... you know, that chart where all the letters and symbols seem to be just out of reach.
Well, my efforts must have paid off, for that part seemed easy this time.
Then came the hard part. Those drops in the eyes. As usual, I did pretty well with the first eye ... plop, plop ... no problem.
The second eye, though? I don’t know what it is about that second eye ... but I just can’t seem to keep it open for those drops ... even with the examiner’s fingers up there applying force.
We did manage to get the drops in, finally, and I was rather proud that I didn’t have to be chased around the room this time.
Then there was the fun part ... the bright lights in the eyes ... while the doctor peers like he’s probing for my innermost thoughts.
Then the fun really began ... as Phyllis led me out into the bright sunlight, where I stared at the world like a frightened bunny ... rabbit, that is ... and couldn’t see a thing ... well, I could make out large buildings, but I wasn’t sure what they were.
Then the ordeal. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with Phyllis’ driving ... and I really, really mean that. In fact, she is likely a better driver than I am.
It’s just that I’m ... well, not a good passenger ... no matter who is driving. I seem to get claustrophobic as a passenger ... the dash seems too close to me ... I feel even more hemmed in, if I’m riding in the back seat ... and having the door on my right, instead of my left ... well, that seems all wrong, too.
I’m sure The Little Red Car could sense my discomfort ... but, of course, had no way of knowing that I couldn’t see a thing at that point ... and Little Red did seem to feel perfectly at home with Phyllis at the wheel.
We got home safely, thank you very much, and now ... even as we speak ... I’m beginning to see things more clearly, especially that “Squiggles” deadline which looms ever larger.
Where has the week GONE so fast?
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM: This little poem is laced with memories. It began, as many of my poems have, when I was observing people.
This time I was riding the bus. Sitting near the front, on one of those side-facing bench seats, was a young mother who was chewing gum and entertaining her infant daughter by blowing bubbles.
Watching them, I was reminded of an incident long ago ... I may have been three, or younger, certainly in my pre-school years ... of being seated outdoors in a tub of warm water ... summertime ... bright sunshine.
I still have a distinct memory of a bubble my mother made from that sudsy water, how the bubble glistened in the sunlight. How fragile it was. How magical.
The poem:
BUBBLE
My mother's
hand descended
into sudsy water,
a delicate circle
of forefinger, thumb
slowly emerging,
soft lips breathing
life into a bubble
I still see, quivering,
shimmering, a miracle
unmatched in all
of my three years,
and all of these
searching years
since then.
(originally published in PKA's Advocate)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog, here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
Where shall I start?
Aye, that is the question. Should I start at the beginning ... or at the end? Maybe I should start ... as I sometimes do ... in the middle and work in both directions.
Anyway, there I was, sitting on a bench, partly in the sun, partly in the shade, working on a small watercolor of the marvelous scene across the pond.
A young lady, with a stroller containing two or three kids in it (I was busy with something else ... remember? ... and I didn’t get an accurate count) ... well, she stopped directly in my line of vision.
“Are you familiar with the park?” she asked.
I hesitated ... could be some kind of a trick question ... but then answered, cautiously, “Mmmm ... yes.”
Wasn’t a trick question at all. She wanted directions to a small stream which she remembered as running through the park.
I gave her the best directions I knew how ... even repeated them ... then, as she indicated she understood, and started pushing the stroller again, I said ... simply on impulse, you understand ... “Now if you get lost, just come back here and I’ll give you new directions.”
At that point she gave me one of those looks, popped a wheelie and was gone.
-S&G-
A FEW DAYS AGO I had an appointment to have my eyes examined. At my age that’s not easy ... so I stayed up all night the night before studying for the eye test ... you know, that chart where all the letters and symbols seem to be just out of reach.
Well, my efforts must have paid off, for that part seemed easy this time.
Then came the hard part. Those drops in the eyes. As usual, I did pretty well with the first eye ... plop, plop ... no problem.
The second eye, though? I don’t know what it is about that second eye ... but I just can’t seem to keep it open for those drops ... even with the examiner’s fingers up there applying force.
We did manage to get the drops in, finally, and I was rather proud that I didn’t have to be chased around the room this time.
Then there was the fun part ... the bright lights in the eyes ... while the doctor peers like he’s probing for my innermost thoughts.
Then the fun really began ... as Phyllis led me out into the bright sunlight, where I stared at the world like a frightened bunny ... rabbit, that is ... and couldn’t see a thing ... well, I could make out large buildings, but I wasn’t sure what they were.
Then the ordeal. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with Phyllis’ driving ... and I really, really mean that. In fact, she is likely a better driver than I am.
It’s just that I’m ... well, not a good passenger ... no matter who is driving. I seem to get claustrophobic as a passenger ... the dash seems too close to me ... I feel even more hemmed in, if I’m riding in the back seat ... and having the door on my right, instead of my left ... well, that seems all wrong, too.
I’m sure The Little Red Car could sense my discomfort ... but, of course, had no way of knowing that I couldn’t see a thing at that point ... and Little Red did seem to feel perfectly at home with Phyllis at the wheel.
We got home safely, thank you very much, and now ... even as we speak ... I’m beginning to see things more clearly, especially that “Squiggles” deadline which looms ever larger.
Where has the week GONE so fast?
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM: This little poem is laced with memories. It began, as many of my poems have, when I was observing people.
This time I was riding the bus. Sitting near the front, on one of those side-facing bench seats, was a young mother who was chewing gum and entertaining her infant daughter by blowing bubbles.
Watching them, I was reminded of an incident long ago ... I may have been three, or younger, certainly in my pre-school years ... of being seated outdoors in a tub of warm water ... summertime ... bright sunshine.
I still have a distinct memory of a bubble my mother made from that sudsy water, how the bubble glistened in the sunlight. How fragile it was. How magical.
The poem:
BUBBLE
My mother's
hand descended
into sudsy water,
a delicate circle
of forefinger, thumb
slowly emerging,
soft lips breathing
life into a bubble
I still see, quivering,
shimmering, a miracle
unmatched in all
of my three years,
and all of these
searching years
since then.
(originally published in PKA's Advocate)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog, here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment