Old Maple Tree

A sad day it was when our Eddie's old Maple Tree came down. This was the tree that was in the way of his "perfect" hedge, when he lived with his family, next door to us. He loved the tree, though, and stopped his hedge for the tree and picked up on the other side.

The tree would remember all the people that went in and out of that house while Eddie and his small family lived there, and would remember the families that came after he left. him. The tree remembers

The day my neighbor ssid -- that tree is dangerous. See those branches -- right over my house, and yours, right over our cars sitting there in the driveway. It's got to come down. Yes, I said, it is dangerous -- would wreck your car, and if lightning struck and it hit the house, someone could be killed. Yes, it should come down. I was sad when I said that.

Sitting on our porch, we often watched a squirrels scampering up and around another interesting tree growing up there. and leaning very close.

One day, a squirrel ran across the driveway carrying a baby squirrel in her mouth. We watched as she moved across the lawn, toward the lower lawn and river and then across the small marsh, built up into a small island, There were many tree down there but a large willow tree right by our dock was her choice, but we lost sight of her then. But before long, there she was again, crossing our driveway, then the patio, with another baby in her mouth. This went on, with many trips -- at least four, possibly five. Oh, that poor mother, we said. And we knew she had been evacuated from her home in that tree.

We tried, many times, to recognize that mother squirrel among the many that came and went but felt we had lost her. Now, when I see the squirrels running across our patio and up and around that tree, I think some of them are her babies, and feel happy.

where are the birds

In 1988 I began to notice the birds were diminishing around my place in Medway. I wrote this poem about it:

Where are the Birds?

What has happened to the sparrows? Oh yes, there are still a few around. I could say at this time of year, spring, that they have all gone into the woods, where it is peaceful and there is plenty of pickings with buds and berries, BUT where were they when the ice covered the tree buds and the goodies, such as they were, on the ground? You would think the sparrows would flock to this yaard where Tommy puts out all kinds of seed, and makes sure the supply is replenished daily. But no, the sparrows, I'm afraid, are thinning out! But we do have other birds around.

First I shall mention our guests uninvited -- the pigeons who leaves our patio blighted; the doves who walk on my car, like the cat, and leave prints on my windshield that I never get at. And now with the big ones, there's always the crow -- but lately he's gone and why, I don't know. And speaking of blackbirds, there are some and then some: We like to see grackles, but then starlings come; and the catbird, the bluebird --? (I'm drifting away) the cowbird (a brown head), I saw
Nuthatches; finches, both purple and gold; that bluejay! We watch her, so wicked and bold; the cardinal is one to be seen and be heard, and we all love the siskin, a sparrow-like bird. But my favorite of all, on the tree or the ground -- the cute, little chickadee, always around. Did I mention the redwings who come when they can; woodpeckers (redheaded, downy, hairy) in Jan (??). Now, springtime, a few have flown up and away, there's a robin -- whose lonesome -- what more can I say?

more photos

Margaret, Thelma, Ernie, Lily:


Margaret:


Jack, Richard, Miriam, my mother, Tommy, Celia, Lily, Eddie, Mary:


Marian and Jimmy:


Tommy, Mary, Margaret, Lily, Thelma:

Wedding Reception

There I was, walking up Haven Street, pass the Smalls where Jimmy Small -out there in the yard, always said a big hello, and Mother Small waved from the porch window. We -- oh, I must have been accompanied by the rest of the "kids," my brothers Richard and Ernie, but I was not aware of them -- crossed the tracks of the New England and Hartford RR, up to the big white house where Margaret, Nellie, Jimmy and --

I'm so mixed up! Was there a Fred Allen? Or was this Fred Tingley, who married Margaret (not this Margaret, but Margaret Small!) Oh, this is getting to be as bad as tracking down the Joneses for my family tree!

Anyway, Jimmie Allen always gave us a big smile with his hello, and then we heard "there goes the little Jones girl, and there's the little boys -- all of them!" (no, they knew it wasn't 'all of them.' They never used the term, "kids," the name we had become used to, at home.

And so we walked, past the other big house on the left, where noone seemed to be at home, and we crossed the main road, Village Street. No cars. We joined the people already gathered at the house "with the open porch." That was our cue so we'd get to the right place. Lots of busy people were there already, moving about the lawn, and lots of music, and noise.

We were collected and grouped together for a momentous shot, but then pushed back a little so that the bride and groom, my brother and his bride Ruth, could have their pictures taken, in a group with Tommy, best man, bridesmaid Avis, Ruth's sister, her father and mother Hardy, Tommy's, and our, mother and father Jones. And then, we were collected for a group shot.

I remember me - with the fat, heavy curls over my shoulders, a huge red ribbon on the top of my head -- don't remember what I wore, except for the black patent leather shoes, strap across the instep .

There was a lot of confusion after that, people moving around, laughing, eating, much confusion and I believe a great deal went on after we -- the kids --crossed Village and walked down Haven Street, with good things to eat in our mouths and hands, past the Allens, past the Smalls, and up our driveway, home.

Chance

When Tommy's dog died, Lily and I were glad. He moved across the floors of the house, dragging his two paralyzed hind legs. It was pitiful to watch. He was a dog that Tommy had bought after our family dog, Buddy, had died of old age. Neither Lily nor I cared much for this new one. I forget his name, but then, I don't think he was too fond of us, either. Anyway, it was a blessing for us when he did die. But Tommy missed him. One day, Tommy decided to go to the kennels and pick out a new dog. He took a little neighbor girl with him. Jeannette was always with Tommy anyway -- he taught her how to paddle a canoe, how to identify trees, by the bark, the leaves; he made her aware of birds by their songs, the names of flowers, shrubs. He taught her how to climb trees by rope and to repel, and they would look at books together outside, or in the "bungalow" on rainy days, feeding biscuits to the dog.

At the kennel, Tommy and Jeanette looked for a new dog. Jeanette fell in love with a big black dog, while Tommy was busy looking for a small dog. And they pondered, and pondered, and pondered. Jeanette said, "this is my dog," Tommy said, "I don't think Lily would.. but if you took him--" and Jeanette said, "I don't think my mother would.. but if you took him--" And they both smiled, said together, "Let's take a chance."

And there they go -- the three of them, in the canoe, Tommy, Jeanette and Chance. I never saw such a happy threesome! Jeanette cared for Chance, fed him, took him home with her. He got to know the old dog, Nicky, made friends with Jeanette's mother. Lily and I got to know Chance. And everybody was happy.

Tommy in the Garden

Tommy, look now -- see him drag
The hose to water his flowers near
the window, where my mother, aged
sees danger
Calls: "racoon out there in a rage
Get someone to handle whatever grade
of rabid animal. -- they/ve got the gear
Tommy, drag it over --squirt it grand
He'll wreck his garden now, oh dear!
There's the truck, their coming -- dang!
Why is he bringing that Great Dane?
Don't go out there --My mother's anger
wasn't like her. Lily's the dean
around here and she's grand
But Tommy! The flowers! How can he earn
a living this way? The phone -- it rang
"There's no Edgar here"
And looking out over the water -seer,
my mother asks "goose or gander?"

Finding G

In High School, I chummed with 3 friends and had very little to do with any others. I think this was an effort on my part to reject the friends of my older sister, perhaps to stir her up somewhat. My 3 friends were M (Polish), F (Jewish) and C (Armenian). These girls were about a year younger than I was, having caught up to me in the 6th grade. In that grade, the second time around, I lost a half a roomfull of classmates to Junior High, physically located in the High School building, including my friend N. N lived in the last house on Charles Street with her older brother B, her father and grandmother. They had a barn with a loft full of hay, cows, and a bull. My brother Ernie and I used to go there and jump down into the hay, play Uncle Wiggley together in the house. I liked B and he like me too. He would take my side in any scraps, and Ernie would side with N, N and I entered the first grade together, but by the time we were in the 6th grade, she grew away from me, and I had a new friend V, whose father owned a garage next to M's house on Lincoln Street.

Both beautiful girls, N and V would come down to my house, but mostly I think to flirt with my brothers. Not only was I jealous, I was diminished. And when one day they stood peering into the window when I was having a violin lesson with my brother Leo, they became my enemies. I quit the lessons abruptly, must to the dismay of Leo,who quit teaching me altogether after that. The girls were out to get boys, anyway, and I was not. I liked boys, especially the ones in my classroom and I know they liked me, the way they smiled and touched me, in passing -- nothing sensuous, just friendly-like. Especially G. I think most of the boys in high school were a bit on the shy side too, except for W who knew it all, E who always smiled knowingly but kept pretty much to himself, and A who was left alone pretty much because he was going to become a priest (and he did). Yes, I liked the boys but tried not to show it. The shy ones I left alone and avoided the others as I could. I could not avoid S who walked my way. He was a bit more aggressive, but even with his boldness, he would back off from me and my 3 friends, and say, "I was only kidding." And J, who also walked our way, keeping up a non-threatening conversation. I liked J, and I had the feeling he liked me too -- and it was around this time I was thinking: I wonder who I'll end up marrying? But I knew I wasn't ready yet. Of course there were glances and feelings that were sloughed off and frustrations abated somehow or other by re-directing our conversations and activities. Even at the high school prom I danced only with my brothers and Mr. C our teacher, never with classmates. But they danced anyway with non-shy girls who pretty much led them on. And those boys who were more brazen selected girls whom they had dated before or were still dating.

I could hardly wait to graduate, but at graduation I found myself thinking who? And in my mind, choosing someone I'd want to marry. G, I thought, he'd be the one. And I know he liked me more than anyone else. And so we graduated. Said our goodbyes. And where did he go? Where was he headed? I never asked. And thought to myself -- if it's to be, it will be and I don't have to move anything.

G was brought up on a farm. He'd of course be a farmer. Would he go to college? What college, I wondered. What would he study. He was extremely smart in school. But they called him "Farmer B" I didn't like that name but it didn't bother him in the least. So, where are you now, G? Did you graduate from college? Are you married? I picture you, in charge of a huge farm enterprise somewhere, with a very intelligent wife, raising a grand houseful of children -- all happy. Of course they'd be grown up now, having given you grandchildren. And if they turn out to be like their old happy grandfather I'm sure you'd be, the world would benefit.

So where are you, grandfather G? Just let me know, so I can find you, and we'll have a long, long conversation about those happy but awful high school days.

my secret

I was in the sixth grade, for the second time around. Just a strange turn of events, which I blame on the shallowness of the teacher. My teacher used to sit at her desk, with a hand mirror. We were supposed to think she was occupied with herself -- her eye makeup, her lipstick, even her brilliant fingernails scraping her beautifully white teeth, and even her slender white fingers manipulating a strap and rearranging the fit of her magnificent breasts in her blouse. --and our eyes were supposedly downward on our assignment and not on her.

Anyway, she was the grownup in that classroom, so we weren't, yet. Although in the sixth grade, this year I felt grownup. I thought some of my classmates acted a bit childish, and I did want to fit in, so I started acting like them in some ways, like defying the teacher, not closing the book when told, dropping a pencil, just to disturb an awfully quiet moment. In my own little way, I was going to be ungrownup, just like the others.

Alas, one day, this beautiful woman, our teacher, had half the class march right into the small "book and supply room, where she quizzed us, name by name: Did you use chalk on the road out there? Do you know who did? What does it say? You do know what it says -- nowwe were quizzed, one by one.

You do know what it says-- now, did you write it? Who did? Of course she got no answer from me. It was the end of the school year, what did I care? We were soon to be students at the High School (Junior High was now housed in the High School building.) We were excited about joining the big kids in high school. Really a big excitement for us. But no, it was not going to happen. When we received our report cards for the year, About twenty students learned they would be repeating the sixth grade another year. I was one of these students.

I left for the long walk home, disappointed, but feeling a little bit guilty too. Why did I feel guilty? And I was angry about feeling guilty -- I didn't do anything. Yes, I was angry at the teacher, just as my friends walking with me were angry. By the time I arrived home, there was no anger, no disappointment,. I was grown up enough then. wasn't I, to accept whatever and go on from there?

I arrived home. The feeling of guilt was there. How was I going to tell them I didn't pass, was not going into the seventh grade? I thought perhaps I would just walk in, nonchalantly, and noone would ask. It didn't really matter, did it? Summertime was here. I was certainly ready to forget my problems. and did.

It was August -- Have I grown up during these summer months? No, Richard died. Who am I now? Without Richard?

And everyone came. Charlie was there, Tommy and Lily came home, The dining room table was cleared of lunch and everyone was everywhere. I don't know where I was -- probably sitting on the steps of Eddie's house next door. What was I thinking?

[I'm not done yet -- stay tuned]

horse and wagon

Truly it's been an honor
for me to learn from you and grown
among so many special ones
who paved the road I traveled, gone
are they, and I awash
with sentimental thoughts, or worse
no thoughts at all. Myself I drag
along the shore
goose or gander throughout the ages
come and go, feathers shorn.
Me? I hear not, see not -- where's the sage
now to rescue me? Blow your horn
I'm not asleep. I am aware

horse and wagon

Walking along the sidewalk, in an older section of S.Carolina, Carol and I are looking at the mansions, many rooms to accommodate large families and servants (probably slaves then?), large and ostensious porches, brick steps and walkways, gardens we stop to study and sniff, to touch the ornate fences and walls. Now, we see a wagon in front of us, filled with tourists, pulled by two large, lazy horses. Oh well, they have to go so slow -- and the day is so beautiful -- why shouldn't they be lazy? And they clap, clap, clap along the road. And Carol asks, are you with me? She notices the blankness on my face and the lackadaisical reponses to her questions, and says, "you must be tired."

No, not tired. I was somewhere in the West, crossing a prairie in a covered wagon, the horses, were not really clap, clap, clapping, but slap, slap, slapping and the wagon was covered. Two people riding in the front of the wagon, several walking alongside, and they were singing --psalms, I think. And then the rains came down. A lot of scrambling and shouting, and the horses were excited, and a wheel suddenly broke, and there was havoc and I gasped!

You're really tired, Carol said. And I'm sure I looked at her blankly and said, "I'm okay."

Write! right

Sunday again. The days go by fast. Are they going by me, or with me?

I fall asleep in my chair early in the evening and wake up to go to bed, still early. The routines are, well, routine -- come and go without concerted effort on my part, and the breakfast, an interesting blend of egg and vegetables, red, green, yellow and the color of fried potato --that too! Toasted Carol-made fruit and nut bread, spread with all-fruit jam, and all this after I take my vitamins, red, green, yellow and white that slide dow with no effort at all on my part -- it's the fruit smoothie that first appears at my place that takes them down.

Breakfast over, I sit awhile with my hot cup of tea in a blue mug -- mm! Except to write, don't lift a hand or I should say, dish. Just relax. Look out over the marsh. A large egret just flew up and disappeared behind the tree in the neighbor's yard.

And now to Mass at The Church of the Divinity. Carol will drive.

a walk on the beach

A walk on Folly Beach this morning, early, before the sun was too strong, before too many people there. Carol, Mike and I. The waves nearly caught me once. I want to close in to see what Carol has discovered out there.-- she walks barefoot so goes further out than I do. I have rubber shoes on, what does it matter that I get my feet wet? Mike has on regular sneakers and is not about to get them soaked. Now, what is she looking at?

The water is warm, she said. I move closer and look down at the round blob in the water. It's about 16 inches across the bottom, which looks like a straw-woven garden hat, the base of a large "gelatin mold" I called it. It was inside that took our attention now and the "mold" was transparent so that we could see there. It took a bit of studying -- and when the tidal wave moved the jellyfish toward me, I ran. Going back, I could see that there was a yellowish substance, lumpy, around the soft inside blob. We are looking for and counting eyes, appendages. We continue our walk.

Carol handed me a rock to look at. Strange looking, seems to have flat shells imbedded in one side.

Soon Carol stopped us to look at what I thought was a turtle shell, seeing the pointy little tail, about 5" long. I found out it was the shell of the largest crab I had ever seen. Carol turned it over so we could see the inside body parts which were moist from the washing of the tidal waves. She lifted the claws. A little girl about l0 came over and listened to Carol describe what we were looking at. Carol flipped the shell over and we looked for eyes, more than two, she said. We found two, then were on our way back.

Looking up, as I walked (not too smart, walking over shells and rocks) I spied in the distance an extremely colorful bird which I studied intently. I moved ahead of Mike and Carol. I continued watching. Not a pelican, and certainly not a hawk... but large, and wings, orange, reddish in the sun, dipping down, up and down again...what can it be? I hear nothing from Mike, nor Carol. They are very quiet behind me. Of course they must know, but I don't ask. We walked closer. There, it has landed. Oh! The man pulled the string to straighten it out, and away again it flew, up, up, down, up.

We crossed over and went up the wooden stairs, heading for our car and home, Mike, Carol and I, still looking at the rock and wondering if they knew all along it was a kite.

clapper rails

What? Can't get with it this morning. With an itchy nose. Did it get sunburned yesterday while I sat on the docki. listening? Mostly listening to grackles, but I imagined the sounds of young clapper rails in the grasses beside the dock where I sat. I turned slowly peered into the long strands of wet grass, flattened by the water and tangled. Why would even a rail want to nest there? No, I suppose she wouldn't . At least after my body objected, the stiffness had to be relieved and I turned myself around and sat as any normal person would, for awhile. Then my legs had to be up, with support, My hat had to be adjusted down to shield my eyes already with dark glasses on them. My eyes, very sensitive to light, especially after staring for long periods.

And I never saw the mother rail, nor any littles ones, nor the nest for that matter. But I did hear her, loud and clear and I know she was right across the water from me --distinct from the grackle's loud cracking voice, she clapped, and clapped, and clapped. I should have clapped when I heard the concert given by the many birds when I was sitting on the porch the other day. Next time.

One day, when Carol and I were on the dock, we did see a rail, long legs lifting to find a good footing on the edge of the water.

It's very quiet now -- no, listen! . It's the little wren (my favorite), back again. Carolina wren.

Bye, you evasive clapper rail. I'll be back, will you?

answers to my quiz

1. asparagus
2. lemon pie
3. fried egg
4. peanut butter
5. raspberry
6. jelly beans
7. beef stew (sorry, I had to throw in fish too)
8. shrimp

What Do They Drink?

The Japanese are
a people humble, shrewd
appear shy, but are not really that,
look at you out of the corner of their eye
would like you to look at them that way
They will bow their head and extend their hand
to greet you, they are gracious and will
invite you to their home for tea.

Their home? Modest, there is no
spread of lawn, or fancy driveways
and walkways -- they have squeezed
a small area without mountain, to
build their modest house. They do not
measure their land in acres.

But their hospitality is unmatched
and their food good and plentiful,
for guests

Rice and fish are their stable foods. They
are great fishermen.

What do they drink in Japan? I asked

They now have foods they mix,
especially for their guests, now
that they have supermarkets
and the women are great cooks.

What do they drink? Someone offers "saki"

Oh yes. The men drink
and the women put up with it. Seldom
do they leave their men. I think
there are few if any divorces in Japan

If someone is faulted, or thinks he has faulted
he will commit suicide to "save face."
A Japanese man will not be humiliated,
and stay around.

But, I asked, what do they drink?

w a s t e b a s k e t

Wondering this morning what it was
thinking to myself, what a waste
these "treasures" over which we stew
and mine, confusing me, the task
still lying there ahead; ideas I saw
up over my head, every bat
flying helter-skelter while I sat
dipping down, dumbfounded in my seat
nameless people dumped in a basket
how they laugh and tease
me in my coldness, in my sweat
all my clothes now soaking wet
I burn, as in the sun to bask
night creatures, they, so why? I ask
do my photos now they eat?

the first time

It's the first time I've seen the marsh turn into an ocean, surf tumbling in the wind. That was last night. This morning, it's all gone. Low tide. No ocean, not even the small "river" running by our dock.

It's the first time I've ever seen anyone actually on the marsh, except in a rowboat or cayak. Today a man walked a good distance across the wet grass -- I followed him with binoculars -- he had red pants on but I couldn't tell if he wore boots. I imagined them on his feet. He carried a bucket and a net was swung over his shoulder. Was he going after oysters? Now, there he stands, places his bucket on the floor of the marsh where he was going to -- fish? He threw his net into the shallow water, as the pelicans, 3 of them swooped down, dipped their beaks into the water, up, away, back down, dip, a quick low, swirling flight over the man's head and up into the sky, circling and back down again. It was fun to watch.

But my eye moved over and saw another man walking the same path through the marsh. He was under a red hat. He soon joined the first man, and together they peered into the water, had a discussion, stood pondering for awhile. Soon the man in the red hat, carrying the bucket offered him, went further along the marsh and further out of my sight. Yes, he completely disappeared, but the pelicans could see him and swooped down where I guessed he was, then. I watched the pelicans up, down, up, down and again and back over to where the first man was "fishing" with his net.

Carol just walked out on the dock and snapped a picture. "Too far away," she said and returned to the house. She brought me in out of the noonday sun. I was loving it out there but she said it was too hot.

I found a spot on the porch and with binoculars, looked out again over the marsh. Then is when it flew overhead, It was the first time I had ever seen the GoodYear blimp fly over the marsh. But no great thrill! Give me pelicans anytime, or herons. And a hawk will leave me breathless anytime, but not a Goodyear blimp.

Now, the red hat is moving further away , judging by the gulls now (pelicans having left, flying to distances out of my sight). The first man is now standing knee deep in the shallow water and peering down into it. Not very active in the water or out. No pelicans, a few gulls. Oh, here they come! One, two, three pelicans back again, swooping down, an occasional quick dip into the water, up and over. Are they finding what the fisherman can't find? He apparently doesn't like the pelicans to come too close and tries to scare them with his net, then flings it across the water. What is he after? Crabs probably, Carol said. I think the man is thinking about quitting -- the pelicans aren't, not yet.

The second man (in the red hat) with the first man's bucket, is now moving back to where the first man is standing, without action now. And the pelicans are leaving. He puts the bucket down and the first man comes out of the water. The two are standing there, discussing what? The catch, probably, or no catch. I watch two immobile individuals, with the red hat, with the red pants, until my eyes tire and I put down the binoculars. What do they expect.? Do they think I'm taking their picture?

After a short rest for my eyes, I pick up the binoculars.

What are they finding to talk about? The tide, whether it's worthwhile to wait until it starts to come in? If they waited for dusk, are they safe here? Personally, I think they had better think about getting out of there. How does it go? Time and Tide wait for no man?

A little wren is sitting there on the porch raill post. I move closer. She sings Ooh! That's a bit loud, isn't it? I sat -- still -- and she continued her shrill song -- that for me?

There they go -- the man in the red pants and the man under the red hat. They're headed, homeward, with net and bucket -- any luck? crabs?

my week

I like SUNDAY. Nobody has to go anywhere. Oh yes, I do have to go to Mass and Mike or Carol have to drive me there (have to! what a harsh, commanding term that is) --they don't think I should get a bicycle). But the rest of the day: Oh, I can do anything I want to. Have I written today? Read? Or maybe I should get on with my photo albums. Today, though, is a day of rest.

MONDAY comes and goes. Now, after breakfast, we hope to start our mornng walk -- should be a nice, cool breeze. If I don't get a sweater, my arms will freeze. Those arms! The only part of me that feels cold with a summer breeze. But that's all right, let's get on our way and listen to the birds along the way, even though I can't look up into the trees, without losing my footing.

When TUESDAY comes along, we have another plan after breakfast. I am not sure what it is so I'll just write until I find out. Easy enough. Just grab my socks, my glasses and my hat and we're off -- oh, oh, the water? Now it's suppertime already and I have to look out at the Marsh. No big birds -- the water is too high now. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow already -- WEDNESDAY. This is the "hump" day I think they call it. After today, we're headed for the wonderful weekend. So what am I going to do today. I will, of course, write, even type my writing -- now, that will use up a good part of the day. It's nice and I think the porch will be a nice place to read. And it is -- but llisten: just like an orchestra practicing for an evening symphony. The oboe strings, now the shuffling of chairs, the drum feathers, symbles, now "C, C, C, C" the instructor calls out, and someone's finger touched D with A flat and it reverberated. And what has happened? Seems, the violinist is upset and the girl at the harp not sure.

THURSDAY came up fast. Breakfast, oh, bacon! Write, let's sit on the porch today and read. First, the walk. Then a shower. Oh, this room. I must clean it up a bit -- what to do with, what? My photos. Will take all the people out of my albums, away from scenery, and put them in a separate album... oh, oh, it's suppertime already. But.

It's already FRIDAY? will definitely sit on the porch today and read. After breakfast. And here I am, settled here with a book, and .. can't get away from the birds. Look, there's that beautiful little wren, singing just to me. I move closer and she doesn't fly away but sings, sings, CHE CHE CHE

SATURDAY is a nice day -- everybody liked to work outside on this day, and fix whatever needs fixing, water the lawn, plant the bush, and away we go -- the day is over before we know it. Oh, no interest in albums, writing, reading -- just look at that marsh -- no, it's more like a large lake. My eyes are getting tired. Oh well.

it seems to me

that doctors, dentists, electricians, plumbers and who have you, tend to believe that their time, and only theirs, is precious. Maybe there should be a different approach:

Say, the doctor's office: Tell the "girl" that you would like to see the doctor at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday, October 8, or if that is not convenient, then at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, October 9th and that he can call back to confirm the date and time.

Or, the dentist: I need to see you very soon -- how about Friday or Saturday of this week? You can't? Well, that's okay, I'll call someone else. Oh, you can! Oh great -- jot the date down, and I'll see you then.

The plumber: My kitchen sink is leaking, I can't live with this -- can you fix it for me? Oh, that's too far away. How about this afternoon, or tomorrow morning? Oh you can't -- no, never mind. I'm sure I can

The painter: My dining room is all ready for a new paint job. All it needs is a painter and the paint. I have samples of paint that you can look at -- when can you come? Oh I wasn't planning to wait that long. Oh, you have people who work for you? Okay, when can they come? You need how much notice? Well, never mind.get someone else.

Or the furniture store: I was in your store yesterday and I told you I would call today. after I took some measurements at home. Oh, it was the blue leather one, right near the large window... oh, yes I have the details you gave me right here. I'll read them to you. Oh, great! Yes, I can pay for it on delivery -- when will that be? I really don't want to wait that long-- Can't you make it by the end of next week? You can't -- well never mind. No I don't want the sofa. Thank you anyway.

what foods are these?

l. This is good for you, I think. It grows in soft stalks and is delicious with cheese. A green and yellow, warm dish -- but lift it whole into the mouth. Don't try to cut it. The knife will have nothing to do with it; a struggle with a knife ensues and the food may end up in your lap.

2.It's not so much the base that tasty, it's more the texture of what it made with, and part of this texture is soft to eat and rather tasteless without the flavor of a certain fruit juice.

3. Soft, and your first gentle touch makes it run, yellow into white; and you know it's there even with your eyes shut, because it's that time of day.

4. It's not usually eaten by itself. It's a bit on the unmanageable side if you're not careful. It's soft, gummy with a nice taste. It is sometimes prepared with nuts and eaten with another food for the sake of convenience.

5. This food travels up into your ears. Some like its taste and some don't. It speaks to you and to some it says "yummy. However, some people just hear "oh, sorry!" It requires another type of food to be eaten with it and, even then, its seeds never leave your mouth.

6. If you like sugar, this food will more than satisfy your sweettooth. You can, and probably will, keep eating and eating -- a variety of color. When you've tried them all, you will look for another food, not quite so sweet, which you are tired of by now.

7. This food, tasty and hot, is very good for you. It's a mixture of several delicious foods from the vegetable and herb gardens, and something very special from the farmlands. Sometimes, especially on a camping trip, this is a delicious food to eat outdoors and you substitute what you picked up on the farm, with something of your own doing -- catch of the day, if you're lucky.

8. If you really want something to "tickle the cockles of your heart," try this food: It's a pleasing color, its skin is delicate and easy to remove so that you can right away get to the white meaty stuff that you love to eat.

9. This food is best fried, and even better, burnt a little at the edges. When it's really crisp and hot, there's nothing like it and its taste lingers as long as you permit it to linger. And you will always look ahead to the next time.