Archive for February, 2008

the croon of the bassoon

bassoon all the time
my spouse plays bassoon
not just does he, but loves he
sublime overtones
Baby’s lullaby
low strains wafting in to her
from the living room
could he teach the kids?
bassoonists are uncommon
future scholorships
start 'em young

(That’s Isp five years ago)

Haiku Friday

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I’ve been hearing complaints that I don’t blog often enough anymore. Ninety-four percent of those complaints are coming from my own mouth to any available whine-listener. But for you two gripers who are not me (you know who you are) I just want to say, I love you too. I still go though my days with intermittent aha! moments whenever I see potential blog fodder. I’m just trying to work on that “responsible list” that I get so behind on, so sometimes the fun has to wait. However, I aim to increase the frequency of the fodder becoming feed (RSS anyone?) so hold on to your buckets. In fact, now that I’ve made a quasi-commitment to posting with regularity, I see some very good material dealing with my lack of consistency coming in a couple weeks. And now for a random photo.


Isp won.

I am always highly entertained by the search engine terms people use to stumble here. Yesterday someone landed here after searching “moldy broccoli.” I thought that was a coincidence, because although I haven’t blogged about moldy broccoli yet, it is something I usually keep in the frig, so someday I probably will. I wonder why one person searched “whack my spouse,” and I wonder if the person who searched “picture of my fanny” ever found a therapist. Some search terms are so original I have to try them out myself, like “soapy mouth fun” and “animals sculpture out of food.” I want to put an understanding arm around the people who search “baby cataract” and apologize to those looking for “how to become a foot model” that they will find no help here. My favorite search ever was: “this is the reason enough to smile.” I sure hope so!

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grandma's hearing aid

…and then is reluctant to give them back. Whether worn as a game or a fashion statement, we cannot tell, but it certainly takes a very kind and patient Grandmother to entertain these whims.

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Baby walks

Eleven months is really not very long.

ten daysclose

Just enough time to blink, really, to exhale. A moment, a pause, a flicker. It is barely time to even notice.

But eleven months is enough time to walk. Yes, walk! And it’s enough time to unload every dish towel from the drawer, to learn to say “Daddy” and “bird” and “quack quack” (but not “Mamma”) and to track down and eat tiny crumbs of day-old cheerio or lint from the kitchen floor.


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