Barns

So what is it about barns that I love? Well for one thing; I love their history. I love the thought that they house animals, crops and grains which feed the people who make their living from the farms they cultivate and the animals they raise. I love the idea that they are different shapes and sizes, and also different colors, but I love the red painted barns the best. There is something so earth solid about barns; something about barns that say that is all you need to survive...a good sturdy barn. I love the fact that barns housed run-away slaves in their day, perhaps on their way to freedom, and perhaps were the places where one could take shelter from the cold, rain and stormy weather. I have had the opportunity to see many barns from the inside out here on the prairie in central Illinois, and the intricate, solid beams and criss-crossed planks are amazing to see. It is no wonder that barns last so long, as was certainly the intention when men built them. I love the idea of an old fashioned barn raising. What could be more heart warming than a community of farmers coming together to help their neighbor build his barn. Yes, I love barns, and all the history and folk lore that goes with them. I am not a four legged animal, but I think I could be happy living in a barn.

There is something so "green", earthy and satisfying about "putting up" your own tomatoes. I only have to read my February 3ed entry to know how much we love these jars of fresh tomatoes (i.e. sauce) in the middle of winter. There is absolutely nothing like the flavor of fresh grown tomatoes any time of year, but, ah to have it in winter...that is heaven. I learned to do this from Mike's mom who took care of everything on their farm including canning every kind of vegetable and fruit imaginable. Today we are moving back to the basics of eating what farmers grow all around us. We are lucky to live just a stone's throw (or about two miles) from a fresh farmer's market in the country, and we also have a very active farmer's market here in Normal, Illinois. Eating "fresh" has spoiled us. We can now tell the difference. This is one aspect of the "going green" movement that we love. I now have my process of "canning" tomatoes down to a science. It takes a few important kitchen tools, and some very exact steps. First I core the top part of the tomato (just a small cutting out of the tip); second, I drop the tomatoes into boiling hot water for about two minutes, take them out and peel the skin which comes off easily after this short boiling. I shed the skin while holding the tomato under running cold water as it is very hot. I then put these tomatoes into a large container (I use our large roasting pan). I chop up onions and peppers to go with the tomatoes, smash up the tomatoes and then stir in the onions and peppers. Salt a little. All of this goes into a large pot on stove to heat to almost boiling. Then I boil the canning jars with their lids; take them out one at a time and pour in the tomato sauce. I seal them tight. If you have sealed them correctly, you will hear a popping noise after a short amount of time to indicate, the seal is o.k. Now, I know this seems like a lot of work, but I did today's batch this morning, all before 10:00 a.m. But, I once told a friend of mine about this "putting up" of tomatoes and she said she also "put up" tomatoes. She said that she goes to the grocery store, picks out several cans of tomatoes, brings them home, takes them out of the bag, and then "puts them up" into her kitchen cupboard. Both ways are good; one just tastes better.

I am so often thinking about the yin and yang of life; the ups and downs; the joys and the sorrows; the good and the bad, and always come back to the idea that there is a pattern to all that exists in our universe. There are so many wise words around this concept; that when a door closes, a window opens; that one must travel through the darkness to get to the light etc. and it seems to be true, but darn it, I don't always like it. Oh that life could be easier without so many heartaches. Doesn't it just make you so mad at times! And I get a little tired of hearing about all the life lessons I am learning as I struggle along with difficult situations. I want to scream some days that I get it; no more life lessons, and for heavens sake, I am old enough now to have learned most of them. Give me a break. But, I have found, even though life does give us "breaks" now and then, they don't last. Right now, I am in the "valley" with several painful situations which seem to be overwhelming and all consuming. What helps me is to remember this idea of the yin and yang of life, and that someday, perhaps maybe not soon, that window will open and the sun will shine.

I am very excited to tell all of my readers about a Web Site created by several wonderful women writers in Cincinnati, Ohio, including my sister Maureen Conlan, that can be found at http://www.writers-resource-cafe-com/ If you love to write, as I do, this is the place not only to enjoy writing ideas from the many prompts they recommend, but also to find a plethora of ideas about writing in all kinds of media: poems, essays, short stories and novels. They have tips on how to get published; how to enjoy writing more; how to develop characters etc. and just about everything that goes into writing today. Along with all of this wonderful information are examples of writing from these four experts. My sister is also an artist, and you can find some of her beautiful art at the top of some of the writing pieces. You can also submit some of your own writing and create your own Blog page on this site. This is good stuff, for sure, and should be enjoyed and shared by all writers, serious or otherwise, today. A short poem of mine that was picked up on this site with the prompt of "lillies delivered to your door without a signiture" was this:

Lillies at my door
Who are they for?
No name
What a shame
I'm allergic to flowers
They make me sneeze
So, what to do?
In lieu of taking them in
Give them to my neighbor
In twenty-two B
And say they're from me
Oh yeah! I like that idea.

I have some additional entries on this site as well, several other poems and one short story called The Homecoming if you are interested in reading them.

Hank and Henrietta

Today, as I drink my first cup of coffee, out my screen porch, sits our dove, Henrietta in a nest of her own making, feeding her new baby. I was surprised by this. After all, it is August and I thought all new baby birds arrived int he Spring. Apparently not. This is an amazing sight to watch and follow each morning as Henrietta or her mate, Hank, flies off to find food, and then returns to the nest to nourish their offspring. Hank and Henrietta have been with us for fifteen years, arriving the same year we moved into our new house, and returning each year, usually some time in February. Years ago I wrote a poem to celebrate our doves and will share it here.

Hank and Henrietta

One dove sits quietly, patiently

In the Evergreen tree, waiting

Stretching her neck to see her mate

Come swooping down to meet her

They have come back every year, these doves

To our back yard meadow

Since they first set up house in our tree

Feathering and nesting young doves

And then, nudging them from their nest

To fly from here, and find their own place to be.

And though I don't always attend to

nature's curious signs

I cannot help myself this morning

When I see these two love birds

Back again on February 23ed.

They are the same two we now call Hank and Henrietta

Coming back every year

From the very beginning, from the very start

Showing off their love, loyalty and family

And giving me an "aha" moment I can clearly see

That natures models life, and teaches harmony

Paradox of Man

My friend Chris who passed away was a deep thinker, perhaps too deep, but he had an insaciable curiosity about human nature and what motivated man to choose one path over another; what drove "him" to certain things, and what he perceived as the paridoxical nature of man. He clearly saw "the struggle" in choosing those things that led us to our authentic self, and those things that led us away from it. He wondered why it was so hard for man to live a disciplined and committed life, choosing that which was good for him. He pondered things like food, materialism, drugs, alcohol and sex, all potential temtations for misuse and distraction, and the things that can pull man away from real self actualization. Chris was a writer and an artist and a perfectionist. He drove himself passionatly to create beauty and honesty in the world thruough these two artistic venues. But he sometimes got caught up in the other side of his personality which he believed could be distructive. At times, he felt that there was a magnet type pull to this side of human nature that could not be denied; that it was out of man's control to resist.
This is by no means a new observation or a new question, but it is one that continues to plague mankind as it did my friend. Chris was always searching to understand this dicotimy, and though he could not find the answers he was seeking, he did experience the struggle.
Now, for Chris, the struggle is over but for us it continues. In the words of Michael Arlen, "there is one taste in all of us that is unsatisfied. I don't know what that taste is, but I know it is there. Life's best gift, hasn't someone said, is the ability to dream of a better world."
I welcome comment and dialogue about this observation.

A Dear Friend Gone

I have not been blogging lately. I have been grieving the loss of a very close and dear friend who passed away at the very young age of 31. Chris was like a son to my husband and me, and he will be sorely missed by both of us. Chris was such a bright, intelligent, energy-filled star in our lives with his passion for reading (only smart books), writing and art. When I was sick, he brought me flowers. He brought me special books he knew I would like to read. He took me to Chicago to see the Shakespeare Play, Troilus and Cressida that he and I were reading aloud together. He came on Sundays with his New York Times for us to read and talk about, especially the book section. I still cannot fathom that he is gone. I wrote a poem.
CHRIS
A friend of mine has passed away
And the loss is more for me to say
Than for him to lament
What now he does not know
How my heart sits low
With the loss of his smile and grace
Oh how he made me laugh
His presence was too loud
To now be gone
Gone now, gone for good
Lying dormant in the cemetery wood
Sometimes I hear his voice yet
Whispering in my soul
That sound that made him whole
And special just to me
He says he is not really gone
But my deepest sense
Knows our time together is no more
Yes my friend is gone....
No need now for seasonal clothes
Annoying exercise, and eating healthy foods
All that was spent when he went away
And now I hear him say
Take everything, my treasures, all my things
That made me Chris, your friend
And pitch the rest
I have no need for these
******************************************
And as I journey on
In all the days left to me
It will never be the same
I shall never see again
Those things we say together
In quite a similar way
Or enjoy as heartily
LIFE
Without him here
To share with me.
******************************************
I will miss you, dear friend.