cronechronicler

You don't know where you are going. You don't know how to get there. And you arrive just the same. Ghanaian saying

My Writing Room

The smaller of the two bedrooms in my apartment became my writing room when I moved here eight years ago. This is where my blog began with the help of a willing grandson. The large window is a portal to my imagination. I love the tall oak tree among whose spreading branches I watch squirrels and birds build nests and care for their young. The moon and changing colors of the sky shape the budding poet inside me. Within my room are things that remind me of my journey.

Green plants live near my window to catch the light. All are off-spring shoots from friends and family. Tending them nourishes the outdoor gardener in me. On the window ledge are things that shine on sunny days – a royal blue glass coffee mug, souvenir from a Colorado trip; a bluish purple paperweight that was my son’s; an old brass cowbell with lots of family history.

The walls have a geographical bent – picture of a Texas cowboy riding on a lonesome road, wedding present to my Dad a Texan, too. A wooden wall clock in the shape of Ohio, gift to me from my congregation in a small Ohio town. Three framed certificates mark my progress to become their minister.

Everything else is furniture that has traveled with me for a while. The student desk and chair were used by my three sons. The much-scarred cherry end table, a gift from my mother in the 60’s, has been in every home I’ve known. The futon came with me from Chicago when I moved back to Cleveland to be with my family here. My glass computer table and new laptop are beside a table where my printer sits. They are the newest things except for what I write, which await my muse.

With many thanks to Pleasant Street who gave me the idea to write this piece.

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Capillary Action

Small glass cubed-shaped vase
Home for plant roots growing in water
Philodendron thriving nicely
In its bed of smooth pebbles

Today things however did not go well
While watering my plant
I missed the mark badly
Pouring a puddle upon my end table

Recalling science lessons from long ago
I grabbed a paper towel and created a straw
To suck up the liquid
O joy it did! problem solved

 

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The Senior Transportation Connection

I quit driving myself – abandoned my car
Found I’ve been transported to a new world
Peopled by those who still have destinations
And when needing a ride call the S.T.C.

We help each other putting on seatbelts
Check on how each one’s day is unfolding
And sometimes something magical happens
When we tell our stories

Not long ago on one of my trips
A second passenger boarded the van
A smallish woman in a neat knitted cap
With whom I clicked while helping buckle her in

I saw a riot of colorful flowers
Grass, vines and green trees graced her yard
She told about her plants outside and inside
I soon sensed we were kindred souls

And so began our discussion of plants
Like some women have about their grandchildren
She mentioned her birthday coming up in December
I asked her the date and she said “the ninth”

I felt a tingle of recognition
Felt my joy bubbling up
So I replied “Just what I expected.
That date is my birthday, too!”

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Haiku: Jade Plant Journey

Five foot high jade plant
Grows old in my barber’s shop
Fertile ancestor

Customers like me
Modern Johnny Appleseeds
Take cuttings to root

Mine grew strong and tall
Reaching for the bright sunlight
Then it took a bow

Quite ungainly now
It required a scissor’s trim
Made jade feel at home

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Plant – Mates

Some people live
With family or roommates
And/or their beloved pets
Some live alone
With or without pets
I live with house plants

The seven that accompanied
My move to Cleveland
Now number nineteen
A few died of old age
Some multiplied themselves
Forming new generations

Plants are good company
Let me know of their needs
For water and sunlight
Then respond to my nurture
I love their quietness
Their elegant beauty

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