Link: http://firefliesandbonfires.com

Sweet Alex is the progenitor of the morning project.

He begins our day with worship before the alter of our computer.  Much mutual smoozing goes on before he settles his capacious belly on my mouse-hand and arm and we go about exploring what has changed overnight. My friends know to expect many stories of Sweet Alex and also Claudette Colbert the regal Siamese who provides the ginger for our lives.

Mark van Doren's poem reminds me that mornings with no place to go are gifts  of retirement.  The poet Marian Campbell writes also of the experience I share with so many of my friends, that being waking early and just lying in bed enjoying morning peace.

My hope is this narrative may find use to others it may touch along the road.

In shameless self-promotion,  I encourage visitors and friends to follow the link above to learn of the larger endeavor to collect in one online venue a volume of my paper, mental and electronic scriibbling.

Some catch up time and respite from the obligations of the political.

Reading the opening post has remided me of a media story published in May that I want to again make note of; that wonderful Athens Banner article on the history of  The Waving Girl.

My response was: "Beautiful and lovingly written story.  Reminds me of my childhood most of which was lived on US Route 66 in Oklahoma. My brother and I would wave the cars and trucks by and note the different states on the tags. Later during WW II we watched and waved to to the troops as they convoyed to war. I have wondered how long folks held the memory of two scrawny little kids in the middle of the country waving them on.

People count. We just never know how much."

So after the mixed blessings of the Creative Writng class and dipping my toe back into politics I seem to be back to the sublime.

Speaking of Creative writing.  Alma Bowen's novel The Cement Duck is taking off!  It is such a good read I am not surprised and of course I am delighted.

A mystery story it is based on real events that occurred in North Georgia some years ago.  The  surprising and lasting influence on the lives of those involved are recounted through the eyes of Serena,  working wife and mother.

Read about it in the Times here.  Purchase it here.

Last night's blessed rain continues a light drizzle this morning. I recall thunder during the night bringing Claudette into her "safe place" between my knees and thighs.

The new grass is outgrowing even the weeds but I fear the new soil will be too saturated to permit Frank to mow it once more.  And who knows when he can come back to do it.  Like all of us his aging seems to sap more energy by the day.

Though a weekend the morning is silent. I recall how much I treasured that when I first moved to the lake. It is not as exotic but reminds me of my brother's account of a solitary driven then hike up a Chilean mountain. "perfectly silent"

I long for the chatter of others but treasure the silence.  So humans are made.

Finally getting to the papers.

Maureen is a must today.   Can You Eat In Bed?

Especially for me, as I try to become a credible cook in these last  years of my life, how many being dependent on how well I learn.

Link: http://firefliesandbonfires.com/dust_bowl_memoir.html

Watched The Grapes of Wrath this past weekend and have been struggling a bit with the hot acid that comes with personal memories of that time. (See link above for what I have written in the past.)

Of course the compelling message in the story is not of the abuse of the poor but of the unyielding spirit of life that is in all of us, and of course "the kindness of strangers."  There were and are now those who are observing and acting in so many ways to counter the effects of man's too frequent inhumanity.

At the time the book was written I was a member of  that alien race, the poor, that many of the time proposed were poor only because of inferior genes.  (Herber Hoover was forced to apologize to the Eugenics Society for implying that all a child needed to grow into a succesful adult was an adequate diet.)

Ten short years later I was awash in offers of full scholarships from numerous high end universities, the kind strangers who saw value and promise.

Yet the sour hot still fills my throat when I recall the early times. I dread it but I am grateful for it too.  It is the cornerstone of empathy that sustains my connections to the diverse lives with whom I share this planet..