Adventures in Tree Climbing…

I was thrilled when my niece showed a proclivity for climbing trees. I felt that perhaps it was time for me to give up climbing trees, and be content to leave the height-defying arboreal acrobatics to the young. Then, I read this article about Keith Richards (guitarist for The Rolling Stones) climbing a tree at the age of 62. Okay, he eventually fell out of the tree and got a concussion, but the fact remains that he was climbing. I think I should be on the safe side if I stop climbing at … oh, maybe … 60. That still leaves me 30 good tree-climbing years. Maybe K and I can climb together next time I’m home. Wait a minute, now that I think of it, my great-grandmother fell out of a tree at a nearly great-grandmotherly age. Mom, how old was she?

Adventures in Quick Naps…

I got home yesterday shortly before 1pm, and since my pottery class doesn’t start until 2pm, I changed into my potting clothes, and flaked out on my bed for a quick 5-minute rest (I can’t really fall asleep in 5 minutes, so these rests don’t usually turn into naps). The cat curled up next to me, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with the residue of some kind of Mermaid and Potato dream clearing itself from my brain. I stretched and looked at my watch, thinking I’d better hurry if I was going to make it to pottery on time. Wasn’t I more than a little surprised to realize that 3.5 hours had passed! I’d missed pottery AND 1/2 of Oprah. On the other hand, I’m really glad to have a job where a 3 hour mid-afternoon snooze doesn’t get me fired! I’ll enjoy it while I can.

Adventures in Mischief Perpetrated upon William Blake…

(If you’ve never read William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience, you should take a look at “The Lamb” and “The Tiger” before reading this post. It won’t take long; you can Google ’em.)

I was curled up with my l’il cat this morning, and found myself quoting William Blake. Sadly, my cat is neither a lamb, nor a tiger, so my renditions needed to be altered. This was the result, with prolific apologies to Mr.Blake:

On Good Days ~
(From ‘The Lamb’)

Little kitty, who made thee?
Does thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee purr
Coating all my pants with fur;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender meow,
Sounding better than a cow?
Little kitty, who made thee?
Does thou know who made thee?

On Bad Days ~
(From ‘The Tiger’)

Kitty, kitty, taking flight
In the kitchen at midnight,
What imaginary fly
will you chase ‘til dawn is nigh?

Kitty, kitty, sharp’ning claws
On the furniture at all hours, (If you say this bit with a fake accent, it rhymes)
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? (Just like Blake himself expected these last two lines to rhyme)