Thursday, May 30, 2013


 In a recent post, I said something to the effect that an autobiography by me would be dull enough to cause coma.  It just may be possible that a talented writer of fiction (the "man behind the curtain" of most "autobiographies") might be able to make something interesting of my life story, but I don't believe I could.  I have, since then, run across this statement:
"The (autobiography) shouldn't be so much about the facts and details of my life but my attitude towards those facts and details," (Film director William Friedkin quoted in a magazine interview).
Since I have been very free about sharing my attitudes in these posts, at least the positive ones, maybe this is an autobiography.  Then again maybe I am just showing my grandkids the person I wish they would think I am.

Anyway, then a funny thing happened.  While I was thinking about my autobiography and how there really isn't much to say, the last line from Robert Frost's "Birches" came to mind.  Something about reflecting on my life and thinking some variation of, "One could do worse than be a...." So the next thing I did was track down the poem (on the internet of course) and read the whole thing for the first time since college.  I was captured by the poem in a way that I never was before!  I've always thought of myself as pretty much tone deaf when it comes to poetry;  The emotion escapes me, the metaphor eludes me, and I am left with little beyond rhythm and rhyme.  Then suddenly I was the boy in the birch woods and I was the man reflecting on his life and wading at least ankle deep in eternal truths.  I don't think I will be tackling "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" or "Paradise Lost" any time soon, but I may go back and take another look at some other short poems.

This post has been moldering in the draft file for some time now, so I guess I should look for some way to finish it up.  So here's the thing;  reflecting back on life can and probably should generate some feelings of  "I should have done more."  But at the same time, "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."  In "Poems, Prayers and Promises" John Denver sings, "I guess I'd have to say, it's been a good life all in all."
I have to agree with him.


Wednesday, May 1, 2013


A year ago (actually thirteen months) I wrote about Spring bursting on us early and enthusiastically in the post that I titled "Green is the color."

 This year has been different, with spring dragging its feet and poking its nose out and pulling back like Punxsutawney Phil on a sunny day.  Finally, it feels like it is really here and the spring flowers are offering proof.

 What looks like a light blanket of snow in the neighboring pasture is really these little white flowers.  I don't even know their name, but I look forward each year to their appearance.

 Even these guys, who I will spend all summer trying to eradicate, bring a smile.

Violets are old friends.  I remember bringing these to my mother when I was very small.

Tulips aren't wildflowers, but they and the daffodils do come back each spring to announce winter's passing.