Sunday Morning Abultions

sunshine pulled back the covers,
shoved me out the door,
and around the lake.

Carolina wrens chatted
Daffodils up and at em'
Yesterday's sleet hanging
by a glistening thread.

Gray-haired lady walking Scotties
whispered as I passed,
"oh, the sun!"

The universe said yes.

Prism

For a recent family gathering I created a quiz about our childhood household, including identification of hymns  from isolated phrases. They were puzzled by four words "in this glad hour" but when I sang the four accompanying notes, immediately from our group of nine came the harmonious tenor, bass, soprano, alto voices singing the entire hymn, "Come Thou Almighty King" - from memory, finding the words and melody like stepping over stones in a clear running brook, picking our way through the years.

 Beautiful.

Check the Box

Lately I have been immersing myself in British Masterpiece Theatre WWII series like Foyle's War and Island at War. I am mesmerized.

While too young to have absorbed any personal involvement I find it incomprehensible how this one man's racial venom could have been allowed to morph into cataclysmic world-wide tragedy.

I think today we have checks and balances.

But how deep is the moat?

Ham Off the Hook

My childhood attic was a place of mystery. Dark shadows under the eaves potentially hid mice. I dreaded hearing that quick scurry. But it also held trunks of treasures - Mother's wedding dress, books of jig-saw puzzles, Christmas decorations, pennants from trips, a rocker with a broken cane seat, rolls of old wallpaper, an old heavy tin camping set where all the utensils fit together in a snug lidded pot, and many other unexplored cartons.

But hanging from an east rafter was always a ham from the fall butchering, covered with fat and salt. From time to time, some adult person would go up and cut off a piece for our dinner. As I recall, Mother cooked it for hours with green beans and served it with mashed potates, a sweet/sour tomato cucumber salad and a sweet, creamy rice pudding that she simmered in her double boiler.

Heaven.

The anemic slice of ham slathered in plastic bearing the banner "Boars Head's Best" that I bought at Harris-Teeter yesterday should blush with shame.