Sunday, November 18, 2007



Maybe I have to change my mind about November. There have been some pretty marvelous days in this year's, like today. Cold though!. The old winter coat is revisited again. Had that thing for near twenty years. Bought it for 35 dollar at Bargain Harold's, way back then. It's warm, washable, and comfortable. It outlasted several other winter coats.

Did a long Simon walk, this morning. I just came home. Walked along the Conostogo Parkway Trail, all the way to the hydro pole tower and back. Sun, blue skies, pure white clouds, pretty birds flitting by, layers of golden leafs to shuffle your feet through. Many of them still cling to their trees.

I was thinking about Larry's latest blog posts. Wars, fears, unbearably stupid politics, gullibility... and it was so strange thinking about all that horror, walking so peacefully along, feeling happy, on a beautiful day in nature. And it is not just a today thing. Things don't change, don't really get better, when you really think about it. I thought about, and went back, to my very first book of poems, I put together in a dummy book, to a poem written in February 1968, when my English was still pretty iffy.

Passing Shadows

I'm free to roam around the fields,
To greet the golden sun,
To touch a flow'r along my path
To see a fast stream run.
To listen to the whisp'ring winds.
To hear a birdy tweet:
I'm free to fill my heart with joy
To shy a poison weed.

I'm happy on a hearty walk,
I feel like nature's child, I skip, I dance, I twirl, I sing,
And let myself run wild.
I like to think that this is it,
The sun, this land, no more.
But elsewhere in this wond'rous world
They fight an ugly war.

To just believe that life is good,
That somewhere 'long the line,
All people get an even chance,
For deep felt joy like mine...!
But there, I know this is not so,
And on me creeps a guild
That I should go without a care
While others live in filth.

I guess that was the Vietnam War?

Thinking about the situations in the world, and even just in Canada, enjoying my morning walk with Simon, I felt the irony again, I felt guilty for feeling so good. And then I wondered, which I do so often,
why I always seem to be in the good part of the world. Well yes, I experienced the Second world War. And it was scary. But for the rest of my life, in Holland as well as in Canada, war always seems to be elsewhere.

Our democracies are far from perfect. Big Brother is really watching us. The creep! But somehow, here in our part of the world, compared to Iraq and Afghanistan, and so, it is more peaceful.

And I wondered if it maybe has to do with the richer Western countries, money wise, (not wise as in wisdom) where people can live better, eat better, that it is relatively more peaceful. Although there is a lot of road rage and so...

I don't know. Again, the best thing I know what to do about it myself, is what I am doing. Stay out of the system as much as I can, do the best I can, and hope for the best.

It's a perfect day today, to me. I am eating the last piece of my halloween pumpkin done up in the oven, along with some carrots and potato's topped with cheese, Simon lazing about outside, talking to passers by, Yona fast asleep in a secret place, and soon my gang coming over and going for supper to Haysville.

This post is really a reaction to Larry's Mental blog postings. Wild thing cannot communicate with Larry on Larry's blog. Somehow she cannot get comments published on it. An old problem persisting from one computer to another.

Wild Thing

Wednesday, November 14, 2007


"Great Artists do get hicups!!!"

-Brittany Dawn Thomas-

Found this one in my documents where the kids save their stuff too.

Wild Thing

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Thing in the Wild

Ah, poor, lonely WT. I'll stop by and say hello, if no one else will.

And also I'll remind everyone that my book launch is tonight in Guelph. I hope some will be willing to stop by... I'm a little worried that the launch will feel a little like a Wild Thing blog post -- myself, all alone, talking to myself!

Last night's launch in Hamilton was fun; a few people showed up who I didn't expect. I'm hoping the same will happen tonight.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

PET PEEVE, or Letter to myself.

On the first of November I intended to bring as one of my pet peeves: "November". It came in bleak, damp, grey, and cold. November is the month that, if I had a choice, would gleefully take out of the year. But somehow, on the first of November, I didn't make it behind the computer, and my intention fell by the wayside, another stone to help pave the way to hell. Then the weather rather improved, and I felt no grumbling inside me, untill today. I just came back from picking up some groceries from accross the street. Big, wet, plops of snow fell on me, the wind blowing nastily, my feet getting soaked in my suede walking shoes. (No, not blue. My name is not Elvis. Brown they are.) So, yes, it still goes, November is assuredly one of my pet peeves.

Guess what? I am going to attempt to bake a pumpkin pie, Never baked a pie before. But I didn't want to throw out that Halloween beauty. I didn't carve it. I found a recipy on the net for making the filling. I have a recipy for the easiest pie crust known. So, I am going to be brave, and try make the indoors more pleasant than the outdoors. Even Simon and Yona are not interested in being outside. They don't scare easily. Just rain or snow, never keeps them in.

I suspect, given the odds, that blogging has gone out of style. So, I am writing this to myself. It's sorta becoming a habit.

wild thing

Sunday, November 04, 2007


At one time, way in the past, it struck me that most poets are El Depresso's. They put their woes on paper, whether it rhymes or not. If you are so inclined to go to poetry reading, it makes sense to bring a hanky along.

I thought about that, this morning, when I leaved through a book wherein I pen poems. I was indulging on a large chocolate bar, milk chocolate and almonds. The book is one, with quotes at the bottom of the page, but mostly room to write your own stuff.

I read the quote: “Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare
hands – and then eat just one of the pieces.”

Judith Viorst wrote that in 1931, 4 years before I was born. She's (was?) an American poet.

All these years later, I have to admit I am lacking that kind of strength. (Do you know that the Super Store has President's Choice, large chocolate bars, 300 gram ones, for $2,99? Plus tax of course.) Oh I am weak!

Anyhow, I read what I wrote on that page. That was in the time that Gary, and even sometimes Leslie, and Van (can't think of the name he had first) came to the poetry get togethers at my place.
We wrote some silly stuff too, experimented a lot. Laughed a lot. (Ate yummy things too). The poem on that before mentioned page expressed my sentiment of mostly El Depresso Poets.

Mostly esteemed poet you
fill your cone with
chocolate woe
much less it seems with
happiness vanilla
when it comes to swirly-swirl
that literarily doesn't thrill ye

How many happy poets do you know???
Wild thing

Saturday, November 03, 2007


I think it is rather neat to have this blogger option. An ongoing conversation with other writers of the group. Some serious subjects. Much kidding around. A good laugh. Make each other think. Do some research to questions. Basically write a little each or every other day besides meeting deadlines, and do what must. It can be as short or long as you wish. It doesn't even have to make sense. When you can't think of a new subject to post, just enter the conversation. But successful blogging rests on more than just one or maybe sometimes two or three fellow writers. When we get next to no reactions, no feedback, it stops being interesting or fun. So..... where is everybody?

Wild Thing