Transient

Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
Were it worth the pleasure,
We never could learn love's song,
We are parted too long.

Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!
Roses and Rue ~~Oscar Wilde

There is something about Spring that always makes me feel up-lifted. Not just for the joy in the blossoming new growth nor the awakening of color around me. The spirit of this season seems so fragile. There is something transient in every newly awakening bud. Something that is so ephemeral that I want to take a moment and capture it, knowing that these tender beginnings are only temporary, as life springs forth from the daunting, hard-packed visage.

It is misleading in some ways, this proof all around that the world is changing, and I cannot help but wonder how much it is changing indeed. This time is so fleeting and I feel the need to hang on to it just a little longer, to try and make the cool mornings stay cool, and the evenings chill stay chill, I know that is not possible. Soon the sun will settle upon us all and begin to usher in the heat, the need to stay indoors, the need to roll up the car windows and blast the air-conditioning.

But for now, windows are rolled down and I love listening to the cacophony of so many different types of music blaring at each red light. Before we all head indoors to escape the heat there is a certain amount of physiognomy that occurs in the Spring as in no other time of the year. The opportunity to look upon one another and appreciate the qualities we can so rarely access from behind rolled up windows and closed doors.

I have planted container gardens and even shared some with my neighbors, those beings I rarely see in the heat of Summer unless we are having a barbecue or out sweltering doing yardwork.

I am going out tonight, a late dinner with friends whom I have missed since I fell ill. We'll drink too many Bahama Mamas and eat a lot of lobster and crabs-- you know how much I crave the foods of my home. The weather is perfect for sitting on the balcony and enjoying the view whilst listening to the sound of laughter and music around me. That is what is Spring is for after all.

Blossoming.

All of the lilac and dogwoods are tenderly opening for me.
The small yet hardy daisies that I adore most of all are bursting forth as am I.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone.

I'll see you soon.

AMANUENSIS

HNT - Recovering

There were nights when it seemed as though the sun would never rise. There were mornings when the sun peering in through the blinds seemed to pierce my eyes with a pain as sharp as stilettos. The headache was unbearable and the pain in my ears seemed, at times, unending.

The nights fever wound itself around me and pulled me deep into dark dreams. Those dreams that meander through places dark and unfamiliar, that make the heart pound as scenarios change unexpectedly and the fog grew over rolling hills. I wandered in mist, somewhere between the sleeping and waking worlds, never distinctly in one or the other, but seemingly trapped somewhere betwixt the two.

I wondered along to the sound of a voice and the roll of the oceans tides, the thunder of waves crashing on the beach. I followed, being led by a voice, far off and faint, yet calling me persistantly, until I finally reached a place where light could penetrate and so began the slow ascent out of darkness.

And so I was found once more. And felt warm hands reaching for me, guiding me into a sweet embrace that held all of the heat and passion needed to sustain me. I went into that embrace and sought my comfort there.

Warm. Protected. Sheltered from the dark.

This week has taken its toll, but I am reviving again.
Dark circles still evidence the battle, scars that are fading as I strengthen. Soon I will be whole again. And hale.

I am feeling stronger with every whispered caress.

HHNT everyone.
And good health to you.

OSBASSO

Amorphous

I count my innumerable deaths
as birds dance along
the invisible thread
of her thoughts.
Her mind steers away from mine,
leaving a glowing wake
of unspoken words and unfelt emotions
in the space between our beings.
I may never find the bottom
of this wind, which seeps
through shrouds of dead leaves
as if trying to wake them up.
Blades of grass reflect her steps,
but not mine, a sure sign
that I was not meant to follow her.
She nods below clouds on fire
to the pulsing husk of the skies,
each eye a galaxy of little suns.
And no silence is the same
anymore.
Poems for Angels ~~Piero Scaruffi


Tonight I sat outside on the steps alone.
The heat of the day has left its mark here. The plantlings I just put in were wilting, their blossoms withdrawing in desperation to escape the suns cruelty. Their withdrawal as loud as any silence I have heard. That silence that screams for notice. I set about watering them, ending their misery, for this moment at least.

By tomorrow morning they will be outstretched and beautiful once more.
Amazing what the smallest amount of attention does in the face of such neglect.

Tonight I will retire, still spent from overcoming a bitter bout of illness, and dream the dreams that have been haunting my nights of late. Some part memory, some part illusion. And I will hear that voice that has been my healing; strong, vibrant, amused by my need and violent in the face of dejection. I will wrap myself inside what has for so long been my haven. The voice of my other self. And I will rest there peacefully. Rejuvenating, growing strong. Because we have battled and our battles have finally come to an end. We have come to a place of shared understanding.

Finally.

I can rest easy.

Please Let Me Go

Welcome to Musical Monday brought to you by WDKYLONDON.
Rather than adding something from the long list of already published artists I have decided today to introduce you to one of our own blogging musicians. I had a blast introducing you to Tree so much that I decided to introduce you to another friend of mine. I hope you enjoy his singing and writing as much as I do.

Bud Buckley


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He sits alone on the stage, a wooden stool and his guitar are the only props visible in the spotlight.

His voice is a little ragged, a little worse for the nights long session, and yet as his voice rises above the din around us I feel his power. I feel that magnetism that draws a woman to a man. Something in the expression on his face; lost in the words he has written, lost. He is back in that place where his mind had gone in creating the words and I watch in fascination as those long fingers find their marks, deft and slender. Teasing the cords, drawing his passion out of his instrument. Playing it like the strings of my heart.

I am mesmerized, and then I am lost too.
Lost in the words, lost in the emotion, his beautiful climax.


I love the words to this song.
I think they say so much.
I hope you find something special in them too.
They are amazing.

Happy Easter Menu

Here is what you will find gracing the table on Easter Sunday in woodnotwood.

EASTER SUNDAY BRUNCH BUFFET

Center Piece
Basket Full of Egg Shaped Sugar Iced Cookies decorated with cut flowers.

Rolled Omelet
2 C. milk
8 eggs
3/4 C. all-purpose flour
seasonings to taste
1 1/2 C. filling of choice: (fried bulk sausage, finely chopped ham, chopped bacon, peppers, tomatoes, etc.) (optional)
1/2 C. grated mild cheddar cheese

Preheat oven to 400°F. Line large cookie sheet with foil. Grease well.

Beat ingredients and pour into cookie sheet. Bake about 15 minutes, or until edges are slightly brown, and eggs are puffed. Remove from oven. Using a knife, loosen egg mixture at narrow end of cookie sheet and roll up like a jelly roll. Slice, and serve with cheese sauce.

Cheese Sauce
1 T. butter
1 T. all-purpose flour
1/2 C. milk
1/2 C. grated mild cheddar cheese

Using a medium microwave safe dish, stir milk into flour until smooth. Add remaining ingredients and heat in microwave on high for 45 seconds. Stir, and heat 45 seconds more.

Serves 8.


Make Ahead Breakfast Eggs
1 dozen eggs
1/2 C. milk
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
1 T. margarine
8 oz. sour cream
12 slices bacon, fried and crumbled
1 C. shredded sharp cheese

Beat eggs, stir in milk, salt and pepper. In skillet, melt margarine and pour in egg mixture. Cook 'til set but still moist; cool and stir in sour cream. Put mixture in buttered 12 x 7 pan. Top with bacon and cheese. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Bake at 300°F. for 15-20 minutes.


Ricotta Pancakes
4 large eggs, separated
2 C. ricotta cheese
2/3 C. sour cream
1 1/3 C. all-purpose flour
1 T. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. baking soda
1 1/2 C. milk
Melted butter
Maple syrup
Fresh fruit, if desired

Whisk yolks, ricotta and sour cream in large bowl to blend. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and baking soda in another large bowl. Add flour mixture to yolk mixture; mix together until blended well. Stir in milk.

Beat egg whites with electric mixer in separate bowl until soft peaks form. Fold beaten egg whites into batter.

Heat griddle on large flat skillet over medium heat. Brush with butter. Working in batches, spoon two tablespoons batter onto hot griddle for each pancake. Cook until golden brown, several minutes per side.

Serve with butter and maple syrup; garnish with fresh fruit, if desired.

Makes about 40 small pancakes.

We are feeding an army!





Then we hit the park for a Brazilian BBQ.
Music, dancing and huge cuts of steak just made to be eaten with your fingers.


Happy Easter all.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday.

Ravening

Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
~~Edna St. Vincent Millay


During the courtship period the Black Widow is as tender, loving, and sensuous as could be expected of a female spider. The male is instinctively aware of his danger, so while she is in a passive mood he often ties her legs with web silk to immobilize her and then proceeds with the business at hand.


I have been bound. My hands tied and feet shackled. Love is a gruesome thing.
My love is pernicious. I am greedy and draining. Damaging and addictive. Ravenous.

And this is how you would have me?
Bound for your protection? Perhaps for my own?

You have asked for submission and I have acquiesced. But for how long, I must know? Your arrogance is astounding. Accusatory and demanding. Loving and voracious.
You want one minute, then no more.

And yet you come back. Unable to conquer the aching need.
And you break.
You bend and promise.
But always, underneath, you are predacious and desperate.

Your fear - of losing the one who would devour you whole.
When loss has made you insatiable.

Chelsea Hotel

Welcome to Musical Monday brought to you by WDKYLONDON.

Rather than adding something from the long list of already published artists I have decided today to introduce you to one of our own blogging musicians. Someone you might not get hear otherwise. And she is so talented. At writing and at playing.
I hope you enjoy her music as much as I do.

This is her version of Chelsea Hotel 2 written by Leonard Cohen.
This recording was made on her laptop. I love the raw quality of it. The epitome of the connection between singer and song.

Please welcome

TREE


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In the Chelsea Hotel we laughed and we drank.
The wine intoxicating, the smell of cigarettes and perfume filling the air around us. Her eyes smiling at me from over the rim of her wine glass, her hair filtering the sun to red. She is beautiful.

Her voice raspy from no sleep and laughing. I sat and listened as her fingers played the song. Her voice, always melancholy when she sings for me. Deep, husky, expressing all of the emotion that a woman can feel.

The most beautiful voice I have ever heard. Full of pain and longing unfulfilled. The sister of my soul. A girl Crush so divine.

I want to be like her. I want to be her friend.
I love her for all of the ways she is like me. I love her more for the ways she is not.

My soul sister.
Tree.