Pears

Of all the objects the leader could have chosen to begin the creative activity at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Writers' Retreat that year, he picked pears! Little did he know that I possess a pear-motif collection to die for.
Three different sizes of pear plates rest in a wrought-iron holder on one dining room wall. in the china hutch, a row of six white, saucer-sized rounds tell a story. The first one shows a pear with the French word below. The second shows a pear with one bite out, and a French phrase description. The third has two bites out, the fouteh, three bites gone, until the last one shows a pear pip, naturally with the French word underneath.
My sisters and others have given me pear pitchers, stitchery that says, "Love comes in pears/pairs," cup and saucer sets, salt and peppers, candle pears and still life pictures with pears.
I have collected mugs with pears, gift bags, thank-you notes, blank notes, napkins and napkin rings, greeting cards--all with pears on them.
Outside my inherited home stands on ancient pear tree, which, last fall, produced enough fruit to fill a seven-foot chest freezer.
I could write for days about pears without ever cutting into one.

After taxes were finished, the yard beckoned

Dazed by the strenuousness (mental) of doing my own taxes, I walked around for three days inside the house doing odd jobs--packing winter clothes, filling boxes with things ARC could use in their thrift store; taking plants outside-- you know the drill. Mom's old, old shorty curtain sets from the dining room and sunroom went in the box, unworn-during-the-current-season clothes, dishes, odd silverware, an extra glass platter, knick knacks from a deceased aunt given by her son and his wife. Stuff like that.
Then the acre yard began growing like... crazy (that's all I can do on a Saturday night). I charged the Black & Decker weedeater each night so I could trim selected areas around bushes, beds, trees and large white rocks that I begged from the church leaders when they dug for a new septic system. (I gave the church a donation to a specialty fund that needed contributions.)
So here are my excuses for not "visiting" my blog more often. I'll try to do better. Wait. Better for whom? Anyway, I started this blogging thing, so I'll try to keep keeping on. That also includes the yard and rearranging the living room for the summer. Later, pl

Taxes done: in the nick of time

Now that Easter activities are over AND taxes figured and sent, I can get back into the world of society. Speaking of society, the Lucidity Poetry Retreat in Eureka Springs was --as usual--an enjoyable experience. I always look forward to the workshop group, which seems to "grow" together as we discuss each other's poems. I have good pictures of nearly everyone at the banquet. I'll see if I can share them with the ones for whom I have email addresses. Have already made arrangements to return to Dairy Hollow (writers' colony) next April. Luckily, I'll get to go between Easter and Lucidity and it will be during mid April rather than mid March as it was this year. Is the snow gone for the year? Killer tornadoes roared through Mena AR and Murfressboro TN. Hope all of you bloggers and blogfans are safe and well. pl

Alas! Only 4 more days at the foot of the mountain

Where DOES the time go? They say it flies when you're having fun, so I've REALLY been having fun! Would you believe it snowed this morning? The 10-day weather report for Eureka Springs said "rain to snow." It left out another possibility: sleet. Sleet began falling at 9, turning to snow at 10. Nice-sized flakes blowing first this way, then that way. I took pictures to prove it. By 2, there was not one whit of evidence that I had seen what I said I saw.
Yes, it four days, WCDH-3 will be a pleasant memory. Even the thoughts of artichoke in garlic butter, black bean soup and chocolate tofu mousse will bring a chuckle. Cindy's cornbread, apple crisp, pear cobbler, brownies and oatmeal cookies were to die for. And one night, we each had an entire (small) chicken.
BLT asked how to sign up. Google Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow and ask for an application. It's that easy. Oh. And have two references who'll vouch for your seriousness in the writing craft. See you when I get home.

Every writer should be so lucky

And you can be, for a 2 or 4 or 8 week stay away from home. And, well, $45 per day. But what price solitude, both inside and out, the inspiration of spring and flowers and budding trees? And, like today,(Saturday) a gentle rain. At Dairy Hollow --below the Crescent Hotel--you can eat in the main house during the weekends or bring food to your room. For those in residence during the third Thursday, you are lucky enough to get to read during Poetluck, the meeting of local writers who gather to (potluck) eat, visit and participate (or not) in a read around that is not only poetry. In years past, I read poetry, but this year I read a chapter from my (hopefully) novel-to-be. With, I'm happy to say, outbreaks of laughter during (especially the cookie sheet and muffin tin shields and the kitchen fork swords) and compliments afterwards. You'll be hearing more about Dairy Hollow--I have 10 more glorious days at the foot of a mountain. Lucky me.

On my way to the mountains

In 18 hours, I'll be snuggily ensconced in the Spring Garden room at Dairy Hollow's Writers' Colony, Eureka Springs, AR. It will be my home for fourteen days. My goal is to finish this forever-in-progress novel I've been at for ten or so years. Since I failed to finish it during 2008,I'll try again.
It will be spring by the time my residency is over, so here are some anticipatory poems.
"pear-motif house flag/ furls in the gentle March breeze/ green shoots in dead leaves".
"scraggly plant/ rescued by mother-in-law's/ green thumb and new dirt"
"the Big Dipper/ spills into the smaller one/ last night at the lake"
"Easter thunderstorm/ does yellow rainwater mean/ the pollen's gone?"
The luck o' the Irish to each of you.

Never too old to learn to do new stuff

We usually hear of men and their "boy toys": 4-wheelers, sailboats, younger women, and on and on. I'm here to tell you that older women also can have "toys." Besides subscribing to DirectTV and getting a dish installed on the roof of this 75-year-old house, I had to --I say I had to--get a laptop.
I guess I killed my locally-built computer. I needed more RAM, the tech said, so I betook myself to Office Depot (not a good idea any longer, at least in Benton AR) to buy more RAM. And this was without knowing anything except that mine only had 260-something whatever in it. And, she continued, with the new DSL, what I had was not enough to make the high speed hookup noticeable.
So I get to Office Depot needing a gig of RAM. I came home with TWO sticks which I didn't order (I told you they were in a tizzy that day). I knew how to get into the tower, for I had replaced a modem when a storm took out the original one. The tech emailed me specific instructions. I located the existing stick, and followed the directions on the new package. As the clerk surmised, it didn't fit, so I took the original one out, carefully laid it in a plastic bag, sealed it and took all the RAM sticks back to Office Depot, positively the last time you'll ever see me there.
Sure enough, the two they sold me didn't fit. I returned one, and exchanged the open one for another flash drive to back up the one I already have. Zack ordered me a stick of RAM identical to mine. To be mailed in two days.
When I returned home, and replaced the RAM from whence it came, was I proud. The machine kicked back on. But the monitor stayed dark, and eventually, the motor of the computer went off. The hub light was on; the printer worked, but nothing else.
I called around to those computer gurus. Two of them said, try installing the RAM again. I did. Still nothing. Well, I betook myself to WalMart--whom I had earlier boycotted, and bought myself an HP Pavilion notebook on which I'm typing this post. I wonder if it will make it to its destination.