Monday, May 18, 2009

At the cottage

We've been working during all our "spare time," leaving little time
for fun, on the cottage--and the progress is painfully slow.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Two hundred Smackerooos vanished

We had 4 of these glasses, which cost $200 apiece and no I didn't buy
them. Now we have 3. No, I didn't break it. And I won't tattle.
But, it seems like a bit of a waste. Not that other money hasn't gone
that way, too.

Fun House Mirror

OK, it's just a column at the doctor's office, but there I am.

Monday, May 11, 2009

The last of four water color sketches made last night

I gave this to ML for Mothers day, along with two other water color
sketches, part of four quick sketches I made during dessert and coffee
last night. You can see the other three here.

Friday, May 08, 2009

"Sun-flower"

A Fractal Works fractal in 2-D and 3-D. The 3-D one looks a bit like
a flower or fabric ruffles.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Friends

I am having trouble posting poems so that they format correctly. This was an experiment that failed. I tried to fix it and that failed too. Sorry. If interested, see it properly formatted here.


Friends


OK, watch this; see if I don't win. I detest work

but I need a milkshake. Ready? Here goes:


I saunter in the kitchen door.


“I love you, little Sweetness and Light,” my mother says.


“Whatever,” I answer, and keep on walking.


Hear the grump in my voice? She deserves it.


First, I’m not little. I’m a teenager, and I tower


over her. OK, only by an inch or two,


but she’s no dwarf.



Anyway, I’m not little, I’m not sweet,

and I generate no light, except

perhaps toward any witches who see auras.

Mom might; she’s that weird.


I stroll toward the stairs a few steps, then turn back


and give her a hug.



"OK, what do you want?” She asks.



“Friendship,” I say.


She guesses right, of course.


I hug her mostly only when I want something.


The rest of the time, she vanishes into the background

or disappears off my radar entirely.

She knows it, too.

I do want something. I want a LOT. I want money.


I want to stay up all night and sleep all day.


I want to eat candy, drink soda, play video games


and watch TV. Hang out with my friends.


I want no school, homework, baths, clean clothes.



I want to refuse to practice the piano, clean my room

clean the bird cage and bury the compost.

Fat chance; but if I play my cards right . . .


I hug her again, stroke her hair. “Friend,” I say.

“Milkshake,” I say. “Real friends

make their friends milkshakes.

You’re my friend, right Mom?”



“Oh,” she says, “you want to make me a milkshake,


how sweet. You charm me with your generosity.”


“Awwwwww . . .” I release a big sigh


and roll my best sad puppy eyes at her,

but already, she hauls out the milk

ice-cream and sugar.



“Chocolate,” I yell, as I dash upstairs.


Don’t tell Mom, but I often create a perfect milkshake.


I just hate to wash the blender.


Now I can leap into Runescape and see if Simon


or George killed any monsters yet.


And she can wash the blender.

Mary Stebbins Taitt

090504-1157-2e, 090503-2149-1c, 090503-1911-1st of this version (earlier draft/version was a short prose poem)

Sunday, May 03, 2009