Hazy Summer Day

Sitting here with you,
looking out over the harbor,
we watch in silence....
The haze hangs low, just above the water.
It distorts distance, muffles noises.
Boats churn by us, children are playing on a sandbar
not far away.
The sun illuminates the haze, oh where are my
sunglasses? Brilliant! it hurts my blue eyes.
You are peering through the binoculars,
content to watch whalers, and clam diggers and
the little yellow finch that landed right in front of us!
I can see the dunes, shadows in the morning fog,
is the water warm enough to go swimming?
You make me smile, with your pant legs rolled up,
barefooted and wiggling your toes at me,
"Come on! Let's get our feet wet!"
The marsh is mucky and slick,
and it makes sucking noises as it squishes
between our toes....
but the cool ocean water washes them clean.
If I could make this moment last forever,
you and I
and the little yellow finch,
would play here today and always.

A Stop On the Way To Work

Twilight falls,
bringing a silence
that seeps deep into
the core of my being.
Preparing for what lies ahead,
breathing in the night air,
gently letting go of the sun's final rays,
the moon waits for darker skies.

You Can't Eat Ice Cream When You're Mad!

I've discovered that it is almost impossible to eat ice cream while you are mad. Well, you can't stay mad when you eat ice cream. Something about that gentle coolness, the creamy texture, maybe a chocolate chip or two, that just deflates that anger in moments! We become children again, on a hot summer day, perhaps with a cone of our favorite flavor. Lapping up the drizzle as it melts before it hits our hand. Savoring the delicious taste, sometimes with just a hint of a different flavor from the previous scoop....
Ice cream was a big treat for us when I was growing up. It was an after dinner/before bedtime treat at home. Once or twice a month in the summer, we would all pile into the back of my grandfathers pick-up truck and take the ride to Four Seas Ice Cream shop. (No, we never fell out, nor got hurt by riding back there. Of course he didn't drive much over 25mph) Back in those days, my favorite was Butter Crunch, my mothers was Peppermint, my grandmothers was Pistacchio. My brother always got something different, and you never knew if he was going to like it or not. We would have ice cream licking contests and contests to see who could make their cone the smallest without destroying it. It was a time for stories, laughter, and a time for connecting with family. For a few years, my mother made ice cream in an old churn style maker, it was the sweetest vanilla ice cream I've ever eaten. Now I'm partial to Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia. Whenever the stresses of the day weigh too heavily or perhaps I'm a bit bent out of shape over some minor upset; you can be sure to find me with my bowl and spoon, peering into the depths of my freezer, in search of a scoop of medicine for the soul!

On the Bridge At Midnight

Thought I'd share the lyrics to some of the songs my father and grandfather passed on to my brother, myself and various cousins in the family. I never was able to find out where On the Bridge At Midnight song came from. The other two I have heard in different form/versions. Do you have any that your family passed on to you?

On the bridge at midnight,
I heard a rooster shout
"Cock-a-doodle-do-de-do
Me guts is coming out."


Oh my name is St.Johnson,
I come from Wisconsin,
I work in a lumber yard there.
All the people I meet,
on the street,
ask me what is my name....

and I say..

Oh my name is St.Johnson,
I come from Wisconsin,
I work in a lumber yard there.
All the people I meet,
on the street,
ask me what is my name...

and I say...
(this was repeated over and over again until all us kids would groan, roll on the floor and beg my grandfather to stop.)


Sam, Sam the monkey man,
washed his face in the frying pan,
dried it off with a donkeys tail,
scratched his tummy with his
big toenail.

My grandfather also taught us to whistle with our hands. We cupped our hands together and blew threw a small hole between the two thumbs. (It sounded like the whistling in the old Clint Eastwood westerns). It took me many months to be able to do it, but when I did I was so proud! My father taught us how to blow on a blade of grass (we've all done that, right?). We used to drive my mother crazy with all the squeaking and hrrummphing and squealing we did. I'm sure she told my father how much she appreciated his teachings.

One of Those Nights

One of those nights,
just feel like walking.
Feel like something special is flowing
from the moon to the sea
to the light through me.
Nothing new on my mind,
yet an inexpressible force,
makes me accept,
makes me wonder more.
Today is Tuesday!
What does that mean to me?
Nothing at all.
Seeing my limitations,
imagining knowing everything!
Is it enough to feel it?
Will it lose it's magic if I tell someone?
Can we ever know what is in
someone else's mind?
Write a song,
building in intensity,
traveling beyond light,
beyond sound,
beyond electricity....
In all this beautiful confusion,
I have
you.