Friday, June 6, 2025

A Friday Thing in June, Greetings & Blessings


Once


I became very small.
And
I entered a jungle.
There I found,
Water and shade.
Life was there.
A good place to be,
When very small.

💚




Thursday, June 5, 2025

The Rest of the Story, More or Less

 


            A couple of days went by. All quiet. I received no further alerts from El Gato. The garden pots were beginning to recover. The sun shone above it all!
            The third night arrived.
            We all went to our virtuous sleep like good children and dropped right off into dreamland. At first, being in dreamland and all, I thought what I seemed to be hearing was part of some odd dream.
            There was a thump on the side of the house right under the bedroom window. A big soft thump! I sat up! No one else seemed to notice. Was I dreaming? Not sure. No cat came to my aid.
            Someone was singing, more or less. The voice was deep, muffled, indistinct. There were words but from the bed I couldn’t make them out. So, I got up and went over to the window. I didn’t move the curtain just then. I listened.
            My cat finally showed up. He moved the curtain over to get a good look. He gave me a glance that seemed to say, “Oh! Would you look at that!”
            I began to discern words. It was a lyric I knew well. Oh dear! He wasn’t carrying the tune, but I heard in kind of a drone, “Believe me if all those endearing young charms….and etc.”
What had happened in those five or, so minutes of my caterwauling was that I had taught him the song! I had to be impressed.
            He had it all down. I stood there and listened to the whole thing. He stood up from where he crouched, slapped the side of the house again and wandered off towards the street in front. As I watched there was a flash of blue light and then all was quiet again. I wondered about police lights, but didn’t hear anything to indicate that.
            Figuring that the show was over, I went to bed and slept, with Mr. Cat sleeping up behind my pillow.
            In the morning, on the back porch, there was a doll or something, made of twisted and knotted twigs. It stood on its own feet. I brought it in and put it on top of my dad’s old piano. I knew who had made that thing, but not why.
            The next morning I was afraid to look out there, but a woman can’t hide from her own back porch can she? So, look I did.
            What greeted my eyes was a dampish looking bundle of ferns enclosing a longish something. There was a lot of water on the porch which looked like footprints. Inside the ferns was a nice fresh salmon. Not too big, but not too small either. I wondered how he did that. I guess these hairy dudes fish. I was beginning to think that he was overpaying for some bok choi leaves.
            I served the salmon that night without a word of explanation. It went smoothly. No word of explanation was asked of me. A fresh fish is a fine thing.
            I began to formulate a plan. Something had to be done. This couldn’t go on.
            Therefore, after the house was asleep and it was way past midnight, I slipped out onto the back porch and took a seat on the bench and waited. I was utterly silent and still, I was trying to become the night and all that stalky stuff. There may have been some sleeping involved.
            I woke suddenly about two hours later. Something was moving over the gravel.
            Once again his size astounded me. The porch groaned a little under his steps. He hadn’t sensed me yet.
            “Hi!” I said, as cheerfully as I could.
            “Whaaa?” he said, casting around to see where I was lurking in the dark. He made a lot of noise just breathing. Those are some big lungs, and a big nose too!
            “Look, what’s your name, anyhow?” I said. “I’m Ann. Do you guys use names?”
            “Naame?” He stared at me. I could see that street light reflected in his big deep brown eyes. This time there were no tears, probably because I wasn’t singing.
            I did the thing where you point to your own chest and say your name, then I pointed to his chest, way up over my head. I went through this routine a couple of times.
            “Oh!” he said. “Swott,” he said. In a way, it seemed perfect.
            “Hey, Swott,” I began, “I’m out here to tell you we’re more than even. You don’t owe me a thing. Get that?” I wasn’t sure he got it. I kept thinking.
            “Hmmf?” said Swott, but he looked more relaxed now.
            “No more presents! We’re fine. No problemo, dude!” I insisted. I hoped some of this was sinking in.
            “No more,” he repeated after me. He was good at picking stuff up. I was really impressed again.
            “You can come have some leaves when you’re in town. It’s OK. You just kinda surprised me and my cat the other night, you know?” I said, waving my hands at the pots and their contents. “I’m sorry I scared you away by singing at you,” I added.
            Swott was actually smiling, and I was starting to feel pretty good about our interaction again.
            “So, have we got a deal? No more presents! You can eat leaves if you want, it’s OK, OK? You got that?” I asked him earnestly, sitting there in the predawn on my bench. There were a few moments of silence. I was sleepy, I yawned. It all felt dreamlike.
            “I gotcha, Annie,” he said, and the big stinker winked at me!
            “Oh!” I said, suddenly wide awake.
            “Swott!” he giggled, then he sort of shimmered down the porch steps and out to the alley, heading for the intersection up there. Then he turned to the east and the sunrise which was just barely beginning.
            I wondered what his name really was!

💚



Wednesday, June 4, 2025

As True As I Can Make It!

 


            One of the important things about harboring small felines is that you must always attend to what they are trying to tell you! They don’t say much, usually, though some are very wordy, but most cats speak silently when they have a message to impart.
            With that in mind, always, one night I noticed that my guy cat kept going to the glass door on the back porch and staring out into the darkness. Then he would come in to my desk where I was working and look into my eyes. Then he would go back out to the glass doors again. I finally got the message.
            I wasn’t hearing anything myself, but Mr. Cat sure did. He may as well have said, “hey, come and look out here!”
            So I got up and went out onto the back porch. I turned off the eternal beacon over the old piano, so I could see outside. Now, it so happens that I have several large pots in which some leafy vegetables are growing. They were finally getting to a useful size. I figured on cooking some of the bok choi the following day.
            There is one of those sodium lights in the alley close to the entrance to the street out there, so there is some light. I can usually see the steps down to the back yard and my pots on the deck of the porch.
            But this time I couldn’t see the steps. There was something in the way and it was very big! What the heck. I put my hands up around my face and on the glass, so I could see out better. Whatever was out there was moving! It had arms! And it was picking my bok choi and eating it raw out of hand, just like I do, in fact.
            So, some fat guy was sitting on my porch eating my greens with never a word of permission. “This will not stand!” I said to my cat who stood at my feet. The cat almost nodded at me in agreement. I unlocked the door and stepped out onto the porch.
            “Hey!” I said.
            Mmmh?’ said the fat guy. He kept chowing down on the greens and crunching away.
            Who wears a full body fur coat in the middle of the night while robbing their neighbor of her greens? I ask you!
            Not only was he a fat guy in a fur suit, he was a damn tall fat guy in a fur suit! His feet were on the bottom step of ten steps.
            “Are you going to turn around and talk to me, sir?” I demanded.
            “Mngrrr!” he said and kept eating. Now he was into the radishes, dirt and all. This guy was a total trip! I had my hand on my phone in my pocket, considering a quick call to 911, but I was more curious and pissed than scared of this big hairy dude! Just saying that in my head to myself tipped the dumper and I got the message!
            Big, Hairy, Dude!
            Yeah. You’re right. I was hosting a man of the forests and fields, a BF!, a Squatch, a giant, a wildman. I was still mad, but I had to recalibrate. How do I get this big lunk to shove off?
            I knew my cat was inside watching how I would deal with this situation, and I couldn’t let him down! He had done his part, now I must do mine.
            I got an idea.
            I sat down on the bench behind him and began to sing. The ditty I picked was “Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.” It’s a real stunner if you do it just right. I did. I sang my heart out. I added accents. I hit horrible high notes. I kept it up for a good five minutes. I was getting kind of tired of it myself, when he turned in his seat and gave me a stunned look.
            The stunned look was spread across a big old flat face made of light gray skin with pouches and wrinkles. His nose was broad and huge, but humanly shaped. He had a big wide mouth, not a slit, but with lips which were curled at this point. He had dark eyes, but I could see street light reflected in the tears in his eyes. He had a beard under his chin and huge woolly sideburns. His hair was probably dark brown but looked black since it was night.
            He stood up on the bottom step, all eight feet and 500 give or take lbs of him. He put his hands over his ears, gave me one more look of disbelief and stalked out over the gravel and out to the pavement of the alley.
            As he drifted on to the north up the alley, I hollered, “I know lots and lots of songs. You come back here and raid my pots, and I’ll sing like a brontosaurus!”
            I was quite pleased with our interaction.
            I slipped inside to confer with my cat. I nodded at him, and he just about winked at me!
            Though, I must say, my garden pots are a little worse for the wear!
😸





Tuesday, June 3, 2025

You Knew This Was Coming

 



            It was Monday morning. A perfectly fine and peaceful sort of a time. No problems, except to get some coffee and get settled in posting my usual scattershot of interesting stuff found online. And that’s not really a problem at all.
            However, Willie arrived right on schedule and this time he was all out of bubblegum and wanted to “talk!” He didn’t enclose my wrist in his usual embrace. He stood on the desk extension giving me significant looks until I broke down.
            “Oh, fine, Willie! Get it off your brisket! What is it this time,” I cried.
            “We need to make some addendums to that Wednesday Cat Day thing, Lady,” he answered.
            “Pray tell, Mr. Envoy!” I whispered into the darkened room. (It was still dark!)
            “I’ve looked into that days of the week thing you guys have. It’s all haywire. All of the rest of the cats agree. Even Charley, and agreement, in general, is not her bag!” said Willie all in one breath.
            “So, what’s wrong with em,” I asked, regretting it already. “Charley is a little gnarly, I will admit,” I said, additionally.
            “The names are all wrong!” he insisted. “You can do better!”
            “What’s wrong with Sunday, Willie,” I said.
            “Sardine would be better.” I rolled my eyes at him.
            “How about Preyday?” he suggested.
            “Too close, Buddy,” I said, patiently.
            “The mind boggles, Willie,” I said. “We’d have to change every calendar on earth. That won’t happen you know!”
            “Then there’s Monday. No good! We all want it called Mrrrtday! We could swing with that,” he said.
            “What’s wrong with Friday,” I said. I was trying to throw him off by going out of order. He didn’t care. Cat’s don’t care about the order of the days of the week. They barely know there is a week.
            “Fsssstday would be a lot better,” said Willie. “Even you pinkies get a little hissy by Friday.”
            “Saturday?” I said.
            “Suzyday!” He looked benevolent and triumphant.
            “What does Suzy think about that?” I said.
            “She’s fine! I don’t know! We didn’t ask her,” said Willie. “She was asleep.”
            “Look, Willie. I agreed that Wednesday could be official cat day. But we didn’t have to change the word Wednesday to some goofy cat’s designation! I can’t help but think changing the names of the week’s days could elicit resistance! What’s all this about anyhow? Really?”
            “I kind of like Wordycat for Wednesday,” he murmured.
            “I want to know what got this going, Willie,” I said.
            “You really want to know?” he said. I nodded at him. The light was coming up. He looked a little sleepy. I began to feel like I might have the upper hand in this discussion.
            “Really, really, we all voted that we wanted Tuesday to be Tootsday. That’s all! We thought it would encourage her to be brave! She’s such a good witness, watching out of her window faithfully day by day, but she worries too much!
            “I was just trying to soften you up with all those other demands,” he said, earnestly.
            “Ah, Willie, you big softy,” I said. “In fact, all of you are a bunch of squishes,” I giggled.
            “Willie, neither I nor you cats can change the names of the days of the week. It’s beyond our powers. But here, among our friends, which includes all you tiny predators, we can sure call Tuesday Tootsday if you all think it would encourage her!” I said.
            “Thanks, Lady. That’s about it,” he yawned.
            “Let’s do in then. To us, Tuesday is now Tootsday!”
            So, the great negotiator got down off of my desk and went into the bedroom to sleep in the bed there. And you know what?
            Willie snores!
            Happy Tootsday everyone!

😹

Monday, June 2, 2025

Peace Thing

 


 

            There was a night. It was heavy, gleaming. The stars hung low in the sky. The forest was hushed, waiting. Myriad hearts beat in land and air and water.
            The mother was awake, drum in hand. She sang a night song. A song of rest and healing. Her soft rhythms were persistent, even beckoning. She had been singing for some time and was deep into her song. Her eyes were closed, and her voice had become mythic.
            Those she served were sleeping. The father, the young ones, the beloved lions, all slept on. Even the mighty bird knew nothing.
            She sighed, opened her eyes and looked around. Her mind was an open question. She was restless, feeling something terribly amiss. There was danger on the land. But where was it? Not here. Somewhere else. Maybe the old earth was in some kind of peril? She had never felt such heaviness.
            Ramona ceased her song. She laid the raven drum aside, she waited. She listened. She became acutely aware of the stars peeking through the canopy of the tree tops over her head. She needed to see them more clearly. There was something there, like a calling. “Yes, the stars,” she thought.
            “Walk,” the stars told her.
            “I will walk,” she said.
            Ramona cradled the raven drum in her left arm again and she began to walk. She almost didn’t feel the ground under her feet. Her feet found their own path. First a drumbeat, then a step, then a drumbeat. One after the other. Step, boom, step, boom, step, on and on, until she passed out of the hidden world of her home. Her feet brought her out into the starlit meadow, near to the world of mankind.
            There was the Gifting Stump. It seemed like a good enough stopping place. Ramona sat on the grass, waiting. She laid the raven drum on the ground before her crossed legs.
            “Sing,” said the stars.
            “I’ll sing,” said she, the mother, she who serves and who is served.
            She sang, and to strengthen her song, she beat her drum. It was a new song to Ramona. It was given to her as she sang. Word by word, it was given. It was the song of the open question. Love sang through the mother, word by word.
            The stars grew close. Their magnitude changed. Ramona’s eyes reflected their brightness as she gazed into the heavens above her. She saw that some of these mighty stars were moving, and she felt no fear, only the waiting.
            She sang, “I am listening.”
            The raven drum spoke its heartbeat song.
            Boom, soft, boom, soft, beating like a heart. It filled the meadow, representing the earth in whole.
            Ramona watched as one of the bright stars grew closer. Its size was hard for her to judge but it seemed to fill much of the sky. Nearer and nearer it came down. The other stars bowed to its appearing, stilled.
            She heard brilliant voices together singing praises of the Maker of heaven and earth.
            “Listen,” said the stars.
            “I’m listening,” said the mother.
            At last the brightest star came before her and filled the meadow with its brilliance. Its form was like a sun, but attenuated, so that she could bear its presence.
            “Peace, Mother, your heart has been heard,” said the voice.
            “I am no one, nothing, why?” said Ramona.
            “A willing vessel of Love will be heard,” said the voice.
            “I felt a weariness over the world,” said Ramona. “I couldn’t sleep.”
            “Fear not, Mother. Love is over all and prevails over all,” continued the voice. “You must hold that peace in your heart. Fear not!”
            “Give me that peace to hold,” said Ramona.
            “It is given, believe it, Mother,” said the voice.
            “I believe,” said Ramona. The light was reflected in her tears, for her heart was very soft.
            “Rejoice,” the light said.
            “I shall rejoice,” said Ramona.
            “Remember,” said the voice.
            Then the light was gone from her presence. She found herself alone in the meadow and she was feeling very drowsy. Dawn wasn’t far away.
            She didn’t want to finish the night out there in the meadow, so she picked up her drum and walked back into the hidden world of the Home Clearing. When she got there she sat for a while by the coals of her fire.
            Since morning was coming she decided to build up the fire even though it was early. She was very sleepy. She sat there yawning and remembering all that had just happened to her.
            Ralph must have noticed that she wasn't in bed, so he came out looking for her.
            “Were you up all night, Mona,” he said.
            “Yes, I guess I was,” she said. “I was singing and time slipped away from me, Baby.”
            “Why don’t you go to bed, Mona. I’ll take care of everything, so you can sleep,” said Ralph. He was already thinking of getting some fish to feed the kids and cats.
            “I will, Ralph. I’ll tell you about the singing later,” said Ramona.
            “It’s a deal,” said Ralph. “Go to bed, Mona!”
            So, she did!
🤍


Sunday, June 1, 2025

Ophelia's Drum

 


            While he walked back home, Ralph examined the drum. It was a beautiful thing, painted with mysterious Native designs depicting stylized ravens. He had the beater in his right hand, and the drum in the circle of his left arm. It only seemed natural to start to play a little pattern on the red, black and white birds painted on its top. He had never handled such a thing before.
            “This thing has potential, Maeve,” said Ralph. “It makes my feet feel different. They want to do fancy steps!"
            “It’s making my feathers fluff up a little bit,” said Maeve. But she was giggling.
            When he got near Ramona's fire, he called to her. “Hey, look Mona, I have the very drum you were hearing all day!”
            “How did that happen,” said Ramona.
            “After I convinced her that she didn’t need to drum herself numb, the girl gave it to me!” said Ralph. “She had a funny name. Never heard that one before.”
            “How?” said Ramona.
            “I made her open her eyes! That’s about it! And I shook her hand,” said Ralph. “She thought that if I had kids, the kids might like to have a drum.”
            “It is a pretty thing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Ramona, running her hand over the painted surface of the drum. She rapped her fingertips on it softly, listening for the sound it made.
            “Maybe Twigg would like it,” suggested his mother.
            “Maybe so,” said his father. And Twigg did like it. For a couple of days he beat out little rhythms on it, singing some songs of his own devising at the same time. Then, on the third day he didn’t pick it up again. He had gone to visit the bees in his little sapling house, just to see how they were getting on, and maybe be offered a piece of honeycomb.
            Cherry found it abandoned in the cave near Twigg’s new bed. She loved how it looked but didn’t show much interest in playing it. She did play with it though. She turned it upside down, placed it beside her little bed, and put her little bits of this and that inside it. And there it stayed until Ralph noticed. It made his a little sad to think of Ophelia’s drum being used in such a careless manner. It was a pretty thing after all!
            So, Ralph spoke to Ramona about the drum. He said, “Hey, Mona, why don’t we give the drum to Uncle Bob. I bet he would like it. It might help him think! Maybe he could do some drumming with his songs! What do you think?”
            “I think he might,” said Ramona. She didn’t sound all that happy about the idea, but she could see the sense of it. “Why don’t you take it up to him. Say ‘hi’ to Suzy for me too!”
            So, Ralph took all of Cherry’s little keepsakes out of the inside of the drum, and he knocked the dust off of it. He had to look around the cave for the beater, but finally he located it on the puma bros sleeping ledge. It looked a bit chewed, like maybe Berry and Bob had been playing with it.
            Having gotten both pieces together, he walked up past his log and out into the open looking for Uncle Bob at his Stump House. It was a misty day. The horizon sort of blended into the sky, all a soft dovish grey. It looked like it could rain after a while.
            Bob and Suzy were both sitting by their little fire, letting the flames dissipate the mist in the air. But they had a fine veil of dew covering their backs, not that it bothered them.
            As he walked up carrying the drum, Bob saw him and he said, “Whatcha got there, Ralphie?”
            “Well, Bob, old buddy, it’s a drum. A girl who opened her eyes gave it to me, because she didn’t need it anymore!” said Ralph. “It was funny, she thought she was seeing somebody with her eyes closed. I had to shake hands with her to prove that I was real!”
            “I know the type,” said Suzy. “One sees them attempting to commune with the Universe here and there..” She laughed and shook her head. “Poor kids, really do have their eyes closed.”
            Ralph plopped down on the other side of the fire and placed the drum on the ground in front of his legs. He showed them how the beater made it sound, by beating out a plain little rhythm. “See, the design is a raven, done in Native Human style!”
            “It’s so pretty, Ralphie. I’m almost afraid of it. What if I break it?” Bob looked worried.
            “It’s not too pretty, Bob. You could sing your songs and drum with them!”
            “OK, Ralphie. I’ll see how it works next time I go up on the stump to think up a song,” said Bob.
            Two days went by. Down in the Home Clearing a little bit of soft drumming was heard from time to time. Nothing too definite, one way or the other. Two morning passed and two nights.
            Early, early, early on the third morning, everybody was asleep except Ramona. As she worked to get her fire up and awake, she looked up in the direction of the Stump House because someone was coming down the path. It was Uncle Bob. He carried Ophelia’s drum in his left arm.
            When he got close, Ramona said, “Is everything alright? Is Suzy well? You’re very early Bob! This is a first, as far as I know!”
            “Hi, Ramona. Yeah, I know. I never wake up this early. But I had to do something,” said Bob. He looked pretty serious, for such a sleepy type of guy.
            “Do you want me to wake Ralph up?” Ramona stood up to go do that.
            “No. No, Ramona. What I have to do is for you. You see, I knew this drum wasn’t for me. Suzy agrees. It’s not good for inventing songs. I think it goes with very old songs, that are so well known that they are like a heartbeat. Do you understand what I’m saying?” said Bob.
            “Not for sure, Bob,” she said, smiling a little, making him say it.
            “Ramona, the drum is for you! I know it. Suzy knows it. The forest knows it! It’s for you, Ramona,” said Bob. He grinned confidently at her.
            “It is very beautiful, dear friend. Yes. I will take it!” said Ramona.
            “Good, I think I’ll go up and go back to bed. I feel much better,” said Uncle Bob. Then he walked back up the way he had come.
            When Ralph woke and came out of the cave a while later, he found his Ramona sitting on one of those convenient sections of log with her eyes closed. But she wasn’t talking to imaginary people, she was singing one of her old Firekeeper songs, taught to her by her mother. Firekeepers had been singing these songs for unknown generations. It was a morning song, to greet the dawn of another good day. And she was beating out a little series of drum beats almost like a beating heart, on Ophelia’s beautiful raven drum.
🌸

Saturday, May 31, 2025

In Honor of You Know Who Open Thread


Northwest Coast Indians Musical Instruments


 

Raven Rattle
        So it turns out that in addition to beautiful drums, the native artists of west coast indigenous tribes made beautiful rattles and whistles.
Whistle



A Couple of Modern Drums

James Sawyer (Gam Nan K'ihl Nuens) - Haida painter and artist - Haida Raven and Eagle drums

EVERMORE!

🖤



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