Makeovers

photo by Barbara Toboni. Along the coast near Jenner

In with the new! New ideas, new projects, and for me, makeovers of the old. Just like clearing out a closet, the files in my computer could use some re-organization. I will either throw out words I can no longer make sense of or reuse them in a new way.

Old poems may have new meanings for me now. Or, more importantly, the oldies can be recycled like this poem from a bit of prose I posted in May of 2015.  

Spring Snapshots

The sun’s embrace

triggers shoulders
to unwind

Spotless windows

gleam
of hard work

Hummingbird plays

in the spray
of sprinklers

Dazzling view

orange lilies
pink frilled azaleas

Tabby scratches
in pebbled dust
of vegetable garden  

A whiff of clean

sheets fresh
from the clothesline

Juicy mangoes

creamy avocados
Dreams of sun-soaked islands  

First drive to coast

first sight of sea
and its magnificence

Are you dreaming of spring? I am.

My Father the Fly

Dad and me

You know how sometimes the holidays can make you feel blue because not everyone is still around? I've thought of a remedy. This year I have started a new tradition. Through the magic of my imagination I have decided to share this season with a creature, a reincarnated member of my family. 

For my first guest, I have conjured up my father as a fly. He died in 1982. Say I'm crazy, but it's true. My father is here as I write this, and he is a fly. I've noticed him before so it makes sense. On his birthday in October a few years ago I wondered how he would celebrate in heaven.  He enjoyed photography, tinkering with cars and boat motors, and he loved sailing. I imagined he'd be doing one of those things.

Later that day, as I worked on my computer, I felt a tickle on my arm. I noticed a fly had landed there. I shooed it away, but it was back seconds later flitting back and forth between me and the computer screen. As we played swat-the-fly, I had the odd sensation that I had seen this fly before. Since I had been thinking so much about him, I had hoped for a sign that Dad was still around in some form or another. Wouldn't it be great if our deceased relatives could connect with us?

Dad had been a teasing sort. He liked to get under my skin on occasion. It's no wonder I recognized him as a fly. 

Fast forward a few years. I'm having lunch last week. A fly appears. Odd that it's December and a fly is on the prowl.

"Dad, is that you?" I ask.

The fly ignores me. He continues to feast on my lunch crumbs. You didn't think he would talk, right?

As I write this, I know he's around me somewhere, and I'm going to include him in all my holiday plans. He can help me decorate the house, wrap gifts and bake cookies. He can lie in wait for me to work on the computer so he can pester me as he sees fit.

"It's so good you're here, Dad." I'll say this when he appears. "Want to help me find sprinkles for these cookies?"

Hope you have a great holiday season and are able to share it with all your friends and relatives--real or imagined.

 

Spring Snapshots

Photo by Barbara Toboni

The sun’s embrace triggering one’s shoulders to unwind

Windows so clean I can’t tell if I am standing inside or outside

Hummingbird playing in the spray of my sprinklers

Dazzling orange lilies and pink frilled azaleas blooming on my back porch

Tabby cat scratching her back in the pebbled dust of the vegetable garden  

A fragrant fusion of rose, lavender, and jasmine while out for a stroll 

The remembered scent of Grandma’s towels washed in Sweetheart Soap
and hung out on a line to dry

Snacking on a ripe, creamy, avocado

Tasting a ripe mango and dreaming of a sunny locale far away

First drive of the season out to the coast along with the first sighting

of the sea and its magnificence


HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Cherish Sleep

August 24th: Able Computers

After the earthquake slammed Napa on August 24^th, I had trouble getting a good night’s sleep. I didn’t trust the quiet of my room or my bed’s ability to stay put. Even the steady breathing of my husband beside me didn’t convince me to close my eyes for long as if my nervous system stood guard. And according to all the articles I read in our local paper, I wasn’t alone. Some say we are all suffering from PTSD.

Now that I am beginning to sleep better, my newly energized self is finding that there have been lots of little mistakes going on behind my back, or should I say behind my mind. For instance, at my job (Able Computers, our home-based business) I had forgotten to mark off a big stack of invoices that had been paid. Recently, I found an overdue bill in a dusty pile outside! It’s no surprise. We cleaned up too fast, shoved stuff in corners, or in containers, and hauled it all outside until we could re-organize.

One columnist for the paper described her condition as feeling discombobulated— I love that word. Me too! As my world went out of whack my organizational skills went bye-bye. A simple trip to the grocery store was an ordeal. Not only did I forget to consult my list, I skipped whole isles. No frozen food: peas, waffles, or ice cream!    

I should explain that the day after the quake our relatives from out of town rallied around us. They spent hours here muddling through the mess. At one point my husband, Dave, told everyone just take it all out of the office and we’ll put things back in, one item at a time.

My brother-in-law kept muttering, “You’ve got too much stuff.”

It’s true we have too much stuff—had too much stuff. Back in the house, glass, glass, glass. So many things are made of glass: figurines, sugar bowls, liquor bottles, china—almost all my pretty tea cups. My sister-in-law, a retired school teacher kept me focused, “If we can just get your main living space in order, you’ll feel better.”

By the time they left I did feel better. Thank you, family!

Able Computers opened for business on Monday as usual. Maybe that was our problem. We didn’t give ourselves time to process what happened. Now, a few weeks down the road Dave describes the event as not unlike a bad accident, and we are grieving the things that we lost. We should give ourselves time to do that, not shake it off too quickly and announce that all is well.

It wasn’t. It was terrifying. No wonder I lost sleep, but now that I am sleeping better I shall always remember to cherish it. 

 
For comment, share a bit of your experience with an earthquake or any other disaster.

Inspiration: It's All Around Us

Inspiration is all around us. It comes to me through my senses, seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, and smelling, it is what moves me to pick up a pen. Inspiration sends goose-bumps up my arms or chills down my spine. It is a fleeting thing and I have to take notice before it is gone.

For example: After my mother had been dead many years, I came across her perfume in a department store. The familiar scent brought back vivid memories. “My mother was in that bottle…” I later wrote in a poem.

Another poem was inspired by an image. “Three beach girls spin by on bikes… legs straight as stems…blond ponytails, a fan of sunflowers…descend the gravel road…” This poem led me to recall my own youth, and many joyful days spent with friends at the beach.  

Inspiration can also be an aha moment. My autistic son, Chase, ran track in high school. One day while watching him run a race I was inspired to write the story, “Track Star.” Chase was a proud member of the varsity track team. He told anyone that would listen that he was a track star. My aha moment comes at the end of the story. “…Chase walks to the bleachers and sits down. I hear him tell one of the kids, ‘I run varsity. I’m a track star.’ The kid smiles at Chase. I smile because he kept running right to the end. This time he finished almost last, but there would be more races. The kids who come in last learn the hardest lessons—how to run against the odds.”

Inspiration can come in conversation. A friend and I had attended a poetry event at our local library. Speakers stood at a podium set in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. The audience had a view of the vineyard beyond the glass. A little bunny hopped about while we listened to each poet read. Later I told my friend that I had enjoyed the program both the poets and the bunny. “The Poet and the bunny, what a wonderful title for a children’s story,” my friend said. I agreed and used the title later for a picture book project.    

Nature is a great source of inspiration. I often take walks down a nearby vineyard lane. To feel the warming sun, to hear birds call, or see a field turned bright with yellow mustard. That is all I need for inspiration. It’s waiting just outside my door.

What inspires you?