L'aura del Campo

Mormor, Bike races

SPRING: 17 Jamál (14 May)

          Mormormormor mi          

Weather where I am: 58º.

Weather where my mother is: 65º.

Weather in Jakarta, Indonesia at midnight: 77º.

Mormor mi

Yes. Yes I called my mother . However, I do not promise to eat green beans today.

One can only be 100% sure of one's mother. This is biological fact (unless you were an implant). My mother's mother was Therressa, born April 25, 1892. She was a warm hug, a taylor, a cook. She had at least 10 pregnancies, 8 live children, 7 who survived childhood; 3 still live. My mother Reta Marjorie is one.

Grandma loved flowers. Her favorite was the carnation, a fact I didn't know until she died at age 93. I always associated nasturtiums with her and the wildflowers along the red sidewalk (snow-on-the-mountain, cosmos, batchelor buttons), the pot of portulaca, the blue morning glories.

She greyed early in life, but by the time I came along it was already turning white. I last saw her when she was 82, fiery white hair, soft wrinkles, almost always cheerful. She had just given up her three wheeled bicycle. She read her bible, kept her gardens and gardenias alive and had little time for old-folks. My aunt and mother are much the same.

A poem (that needs reviews) I wrote thinking of her: "Teke"  [E].

Her mother was Mary Magdalene Mentzel, and her mother Frances Fink. Further back than that I cannot presently go. I have no stories of Francis Fink. Yet I know that much is passed along the maternal line.

As some say ... unto the seventh generation ...

IMAGES

White bleeding heart, red fern, buds along the redbud limbs that haven't bloomed, may never bloom.

A mass of mushrooms, a mass of bicycles. No breakaway from the peloton. Mike, in purple, wins. Stragglers from the mass, the crash, now follow.

Anger, the arms flay, the movements of Tai Chi. Maria offers apple pie. I growl.

Today the National Bicycle Races were on the streets of the town. The Division 2 men's race was quite early. Like before 8 a.m. It's 'one hour and then 3 laps'. There was a breakaway of 5 that were able to put a full minute between them and the peloton. A racer from Princeton kept trying to catch them but couldn't.

In the Division 1 men's race, no one could break away. On the last half of the last lap, one guy managed to break and put enough distance between him and the rest to win easily. He's from Kansas State University and grew up in McClouth, about 20 minutes north of here, so that makes the win even sweeter. Wish I would've caught his name ...

A link re 'peloton': http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peloton

Sketched yesterday evening while I was trying to calm down (and no succeeding):

Let them lie


We move the bodies
before the frost sets in,
before the rigor mortis makes the move redundant,
before the sparrows pluck the hair. So

for now they lie there:
drunk, unconcious to this world, asleep,
perchance they dream.

We'll move the bodies
when the time is right,
the way is clear, their bed is made and we can drag
their sorry asses there.

It's how we show we care:
concious, sober, hearts of gold,
warmth against the frost of death,
impending cold. [163.114]

A special thank-you to zwisis who gifted me a Merit Badge for Creativity. (Somehow linked to that poem I wrote for her yesterday ) Please review it when you get a chance: "In Lagada, la vita"  [ASR].

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