July 4th 2020

Independence Bell-July 4, 1776

poet unknown

There was a Tumult in the city
In the quaint old Quaker town,
And the streets were rife with people
Pacing restless up and down-
People gathering at corners,
Where they whispered each to each,
And the sweat stood on their temples
With the earnestness of speech.

As the bleak Atlantic currents
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore,
So they beat against the State House,
So they surged against the door;
And the mingling of their voices
Made the harmony profound,
Till the quiet street of Chestnut
Was all turbulent with sound.

"Will they do it?"  "Dare they do it?"
"Who is speaking?"  "What's the news?"
"What of Adams?"  "What of Sherman?"
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!"
"Make some way there!"  "Let me nearer!"
"I am stifling!"  "Stifle then!"
When a nation's life's at hazard,
We've no time to think of men!"

So they surged against the State House,
While all solemnly inside,
Sat the Continental Congress,
Truth and reason for their guide,
O'er a simple scroll debating,
Which, though simple it might be,
Yet should shake the cliffs of England
With the thunders of the free.

Far aloft in that high steeple
Sat the bellman, old and gray,
He was weary of the tyrant
And his iron-sceptered sway;
So he sat with one hand ready
On the clapper of the bell,
When his eye could catch the signal,
The long expected news to tell.

See! See! the dense crowd quivers
through all its lengthy line,
As the boy beside the portal
Hastens forth to give the sign!
With his little hands uplifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark! with deep, clear intonation,
Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
Whilst the boy cries joyously;
"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! Grandpapa,
Ring! oh, ring for Liberty!"
Quickly, at the given signal
The old bellman lifts his hand,
Forth he sends the good news, making
Iron music through the land.

How they shouted! What rejoicing!
How the old bell shook the air,
Till the clang of freedom ruffled,
The calmly gliding Delaware!
How the bonfires and the torches
Lighted up the night's repose,
And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix,
Our glorious liberty arose!

That old State House bell is silent,
Hushed is now its clamorous tongue;
But the spirit it awakened
Still is living - ever young;
And when we greet the smiling sunlight
On the fourth of each July,
We will ne'er forget the bellman
Who, betwixt the earth and sky
Rung out, loudly, "Independence";
Which, please God, shall never die!

My journey

My life's journey started in the state of Ol' Kentuck.
That's where I was born.

The first road I traveled on, turned north to Iowa
and its fields of growing corn.

Next came the Golden Gate, with warning sounds
of fog horns in the Bay of Californ.

A few years went by before I bid a fond farewell
to valleys and the coastline with Sequoias in-between,
as Angeles in So Cal waved good bye to me.

Now, I'm here in H-town; I've been here for a spell,
and I can tell you that,
hot, hot days and hurricanes turn Texas into Hell!

I haven't seen a Stetson or a big horned steer,
but the derricks keep on pumpin',
the astronauts keep training,
and fire ants keep making little hills.

It was easy to become addicted to the Habanero taste,
so I don't know just how long I'll be here.
I've become accustomed to the place.

Moon Rise

Moon Rise

I looked out the window to
see the setting sun.
I watched the sky turn
gray and darken until
the day was done.
Street lights began to
sparkle, one by one.
After the light of day
turned dark, the hours
of night begun.Then
Night's greatest treasure
began to rise to higher
heavens in the skies.


Marion Bigelow Jan 2020





Memories

Memories

I have a sea of memories
stored
within my mind. Like bubbles
floating in the air,
the years of my whole life have been
recorded there.

The sweet love of family that
softens
sadness when a loved
one loses life.
The ups and downs of living, the
struggle and the strife.

The happenings of
kindnesses
all along the way;
the joy of making friends that
also came along
and stayed.

My memories are a
universe
I visit now and then
recalling people that I've known
and the places where
I've been.

Sometimes in conversations
about
current social trends,
you will hear me say,
"I remember when-"


Marion Bigelow November 2019

Names of Things

Names of Things


When drops of moisture in a cloud
grow big and round and fall
to ground, it's called rain.

When a trunk with bark and
leafy limbs shade the sun in
summer's heat, it's called a tree.

When blades of grass grow
green and tall then cut down
to grow again, it's called a lawn.

When red petals on a thorny
bush casts an odor pleasing
to the nose, it's called a rose.

When mountain streams create
a river running wild and free
then stops and pools, it's called a Sea.

Marion
August 2018

It's Time

It's Time


The time has come the people said
For us to change some things,

Like electing a president
Who won't act like a king,

Who will tell the truth, and
Treat lying like a sin,

Who has respect for everyone
Regardless of their skin,

Who can praise equality
And the rule of law, while

Planning for the common good
And create security for all.

Marion
September 2018

The Far Horizon

[Editor's Post]

Our segment this time is from our own book reviewer: D. Vour, Gourmand and Food Critic at “The Home“.

There's always something going on at The Home and in this entry "books and food" are the topic of the day.

“In The Devil's Garden” Review and Commentary by D. Vour Part 1 of 4
[Editor's note: This story was written by DVour]
Friday, March 17, 2017

Re-read our previous spotlighted item here:

Elbert
[Editor's note: This story was written by MrsB]
Friday, June 17, 2005

The Far Horizon

[Editor's Post]

Our family has so many great stories to share!!

The month it is a fantastic memory of MrsB's brother: Elbert which she finishes with a "noble shining" poem fit for any king.

Elbert
[Editor's note: This story was written by MrsB]
Friday, June 17, 2005

If you missed our last entry, no worries! You can re-read and enjoy the article again here:

Flying Saucers by Loretta
[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]
Friday, October 15, 2010

a poem

A Foggy Morning


A cloud came down
and touched the earth,
surrounding all with a
misty shroud- a
foggy shield of vapors
hugged the ground.
Warming rays of
sun came piercing thru
to let the fleeting haze
reveal, a thousand
sparkling gems of
glistening dew.

Marion
March 2018



Charming Billy

Can she bake a cherry pie, charming Billy?
She can bake a cherry pie, quick as a cat can wink an eye
She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother.

How old is she charming Billy?
Three times six and four times seven
Twenty eight and eleven
She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother.

I thought of this old folk tune the other day when I browsed Chef John's recipe files. As I tried to remember some of the verses I began to recall other tunes my brothers and sisters and I sang as children.

Johnson boys eat peas and honey,
They have done it all their life,
It makes the peas taste mighty funny,
But it keeps them on the knife.

And of course there was 'Bile them cabbage down' and Barnacle Bill, the sailor who would black your eyes and eat your pies. On occasion we could coax Dad into singing

Darling Nelly Gray, they have taken her away
And I'll never see my darling anymore.
They have taken her to Georgia,
Just to work her life away,
And I'll never see my darling anymore.

One of my favorite memories is grandma W singing Jessie James for us.

“It was a dirty coward, that shot Mr Howard,
and laid poor Jessie in his grave”

On warm summer nights after all the small children were asleep in bed, we older ones would join grandma as she sat in a rocking chair on the porch, and we on the steps keeping her company. After we found out that she knew the words to Jessie James, we begged her to sing it for us. It took a bit of coaxing, but when she consented to sing for us, she sang all the verses.



Dulcimer Player

My Window View

Outside one of my windows, a bush shields the glass with leaves. There are sprinkles of daylight or night light showing between the leaves during the hot months but in the cold months, the bush is a scrambled web of bare branches.

On summer days, when the temperature is 100 degrees or higher, the shaded green adds a psychological coolness to that of the air conditioning and brings a touch of nature into view.

Bouncing leaves amid the
Still, shade darkened green,
A momentary perch in a
Bird's game, hide and seek.

How deft the player
To remain unseen,
And a dancing twig
Showing where its been.

Green Leaves

The Snail Mail Birmingham Blues

Foreword

Snail mail is nearly gone, replaced by instant messaging, texting, Skyping, on-line orders, automatic bill pay, e-mail, voice mail and overnight delivery. The wonderful anticipation of the post delivery is an experience new generations will hardly be aware of. Today, you order something on-line; it arrives the next day. You want to ask your friends to go out, you send a Twitter or Facebook invite; replies are nearly instantaneous.

There was a time when we knew the mail delivery person. They came to our door bringing news from far away, dreaded bills and sometimes a bit of neighborhood info along with the weekly store ads that were so important for managing tight budgets and limited assets. They came rain or shine, wind or sleet. They knew our names and we knew theirs. They watched as neighborhood children grew up and went off to follow their own paths. They kept an eye on the seniors that lived on their circuit as they made their way door to door. We cheered them when they retired and greeted the new postal delivery person with respect and honor.

A time gone by....

[Editor's note: The Foreword was written by KimB.]

A small homage to the lost days when waiting for the post was an important part of the day.

The Snail Mail Birmingham Blues

I got the blues, the Birmingham blues
waitin' on a letter with the latest news.
I got the blues
Waitin' on a letter from you

Down in the Valley,
Where wild flowers grow,
You can hang your head over
and hear the wind blow,

My forty foot castle reaches the sky,
And I wait and wait for mail to come by,
But I got the blues,
Just awaitin' for a letter from you.

My red, red roses faded from view,
The blue, blue violets faded too
But Angles know that I say true,
The Angles know that I love you,

I got the blues the Birmingham blues,
Waitin' for a letter from you.

I'm not askin' for the Holy Grail,
Only a letter, sent by mail
I got the blues, the Birmingham blues
Waitin' on a letter from you.

Marion Bigelow February 2014

Twins

Twins

Babies are precious and
beyond price
When they come paired
It's twice as nice.

Twins that are born
A girl and a boy
Bring double the pleasure
And double the joy.


Marion Bigelow August 2012

Tea Parties

Tea Parties

When Taffy was a little girl
She often came for Tea
She and I would sit a while and talk
as we munched on sugar cookies
And drank tea from pretty cups

Taffy's all grown up now
And never comes to call
She's too busy now for parties
So there's nary one at all

Perhaps she would come again
If she had time to spend
She and I could sit awhile and talk
And once again eat cookies
And drink from pretty cups

Marion Bigelow June 2012

Highways and Byways

Highways and Byways

Highways and byways
Old and new
Some less traveled
Some with a view

From old familiar places
Up hill and down
To wide open spaces
And around town

Thru hot sandy deserts
Or cold mountain snow
Some are fast
And some are slow

From border to border
And between coastal shores
Lie many old favorites
To visit once more

No matter how varied
From beginning to end
Highway signs show where you are
And where you have been.


Marion Bigelow December 2011

Golden Leaves

Golden Leaves

A cluster of golden leaves
among the green
Hangs like a star amid
the leafy sheen
Kissed by winter,
yet to come,
Signals Autumn's
Farewell song
Of brilliant colors,
bright and strong,
To greet the Winter's
Chilly snow
That blankets all,
While cold winds blow,
'til Spring time's warm
And sunny light
Sprouts again, the green
Of Summer's life.

Marion Bigelow Nov 5, 2011

The Road To Tucson - Part 2 of 2 by KimB

First time travelers in the desert learned really fast that you don't travel by day. After about 10 AM the heat becomes really noticeable and shortly there-after you'd wished you had stopped at that seedy little motor court you sneered at as you passed it by. And with no other hamlets within hours and hours, you learned and burned your way to the next wide-spot-in-the-road and headed to whatever accommodations you could get, no questions asked, and hoped for at least a swamp-cooler to temper the desert's wrath.

Evenings were for travel, and at sundown the roads would fill up with savvy travelers heading farther and farther into the the desert. The temperature of the desert would plummet as the sun faded away and driving would be enjoyable. You couldn't see much but at least you could be comfortable while heading to your destination.

Our car had a radio but out of the main cities there was no reception. The shot-gun-seat rider would often turn the knobs vainly looking for something to listen too, but generally, only static was found. We found our own entertainments, watching license plates, counting box cars in passing freight trains, animal-vegetable-mineral guessing games and other amusements.

But most often we sang songs for the long hours of driving the highway. We knew lots of them and we each took turns suggesting a song and then we would sing it – all three of us. We would sing the same song multiple times as we practiced to get it “just right” or “what was that phrase again?” or “remind me, how does that go?”. The longer the song the better – all 9,000 verses of Barbara Allen was a favorite. If we muffed a verse we started over “from the top” to get things in the proper order. Later on, my personal repertory of songs was large enough to entertain drivers for 3 days without repeating a one - unless requested of course.

My brother often wrote his own songs and we all enthusiastically helped sing them as we traveled the highway. Sometimes we had a collaboration: Mom, me and my brother would work out a song together; topics, phrases, melodies would be reviewed and best lines chosen and we would sing the resulting song for hours but many of these faded away with the sunrise. A few lasted and became staples along with the English muffins. We sang them each time we traveled the road and laughed about our adventures as we headed towards the horizon and Grandma's Cafe.

Grandma's Cafe
[to the tune of Botany Bay]

It's not leaving Los Angeles we care about,
Or driving the highway all day,
It's the blooming monotony that wears us out,
And the prospects of Grandma's Cafe.

[Editor's note: This story was written by KimB and is part 2 of a 2 part series.]

Bamboo Leaves

Bamboo Leaves

Black lace against a moonlit sky
Reversing patterns when the sun is high
This lovely leaf of fragile lines,
Named a friend of plum and pine,
Is strong in spirit light in touch.
An art of nature and painter's brush
Renowned in legends, myth and rhyme
Admired now as in ancient times.

Marion Bigelow November 9, 2011

The Blanket

MrsB with Knitted
Log Cabin Blanket

I finally finished knitting the queen size blanket my daughter wanted. There were trials and tribulations along the way but I'm proud to say I can now be listed among those who have knitted a log cabin blanket.

Knitting the 16 squares that made up the star design was a mile stone and I was pleased with the achievement, but when I finished sewing them together, I was shocked to discover that the star design was off kilter!

I checked and rechecked the pattern. Each square was knitted properly with the correct number and color of logs so why in the world wasn't the star layout correct? My knitted squares looked like the photo in the book. It was a major quandary to say the least.

After sewing the 16 squares together, the blanket was nearly finished, needing only a narrow border to be queen size, so the only thing to do was finish knitting it. Regardless of the design, the blanket would be as warm as it would have been if the star had been correct.

As I knitted the border I discovered in my rush to finish the blanket that I had knitted one corner a fraction too long and again, I realized the error was beyond repair, so I gathered the stitches creating a tiny ruffled corner.

I also came up with the idea of knitting little patches to sew on top of the 4 intersections of the center squares making the star design more prominent. It helped. Besides, the colors were pretty.

I wrote a poem to go with the blanket and I think she likes both.

Click here for the Star Light poem

MrsB's Knitted Log Cabin Blanket

Star Light

Star Light

Twinkling in the starry night
Granting wishes with your light
Sleeping by day, Shining by night
So all can glory at the sight.

Beaming joy to those below
Who gaze the splendor of the show
Silent colors of music glow
And magic spells en-rapt the soul

Marion Bigelow September 15, 2011