Little Girl Reads Some Poetry

An excellent way to pass a quiet Friday afternoon, with Mama and Grandma Char (and Gina the Giraffe).

Fevering and Teething

Baby's home with slight fever and swollen legs from her four month injections yesterday - damn Western medicine and its healing ways - and teething, to top it off. So we are reading a few poems by James Stevenson. Mama likes these:

Coming or Going

The screen door screeches.

The screen door slams.

Coming or going,

Going or coming,

The sounds are the same.

But what a difference

It makes to me --

Your going away,

Your coming home.

Dawn

When the moment comes

When you can tell

The sky is blue, not black,

You'll see torn bits of it

Scattered through the trees,

Fallen like confetti,

As if to say

Night is not forever--

In fact, within one hour,

A grand parade is coming

With white clouds marching.

-------------

Wishing you will feel better this morning, Darling, as Mama goes off to work and you slip off to dreamland at Christine's. I love you.

Lights of Life 2011

Remember my work with hospice and Concord's Lights of Life ceremony from last year? Well, it's that time again. And damned if I don't have new names to memorialize. [Looking forward to celebrating the year when I just donate money and not a new name for the list.] Anyway, Lights of Life is a wonderful celebration of those whom we have loved and lost, who have gone before us and continue to shine in our hearts. Electric candle lights are placed in town businesses and restaurants to actively remember each soul, and they are a visual blessing to the rest of us still traveling this earth.

This year, we will memorialize:

Dr. Arthur "Pete" Snyder - Scott's father, a wonderful, generous man and highly skilled surgeon who healed and touched the lives of so many in his 78 years. We will celebrate the Christmas holiday with his wife of 55 years, Scott's mom Fran.

Dorothy Alma "Ann" Holman - My maternal grandmother, and the sweetest, silliest, and most fun grandma I've known, mother to my darling mother. We were blessed by her memorial service in Wisconsin and the ensuing family reunion last month.

Judith Schaeffer - Scott and my previous boss and dear friend from Vermont. She was an incredible beacon in our book publishing industry, with so much knowledge and a pure love of the craft. She was a longtime and faithful best friend to Jessee and surrogate mother to Jennifer (and Kira), some of our other Vermont "family" members. She died suddenly and will be sorely missed.

And of course,
my beloved father, Larry Cox, who continues to live heartily and joyfully, if not sarcastically, in my heart. I feel your presence all the time, Dad; and though I am pissed you are not here to play with and utterly adore Miss Lucy, not to mention take her for special pancake breakfasts and fishing outings and camping trips, I know you are watching over us. I don't know much about the likelihood of a heaven, Dad, but I do know the absolute truth of your enduring spirit. I love you very much.

Please celebrate with us. Feel free to use the Comments button below to add your special loved ones' names. When I see the candles lit downtown, I will remember yours as well.

~Ally

Pre-licked? Get the vaccine people!

http://news.yahoo.com/insane-mail-order-chicken-pox-lollipops-craze-053000448.html

We will not be buying Lucy any chicken pox lollipops. Don't be stupid, people.

~Dr. Mom

Lucinda: illuminated

photo by Scott Snyder

Lucinda: illuminated
by Allison Snyder

You are asleep on my chest,
your tiny body laced onto mine.
You are a mysterious traveler from a foreign land.
A halo of fluff covers your head;
in your delicate, lavender eyelids,
I can see the past, the future.
When your eyes open, light shoots through me.

Your heavenly bits are wearing thin, my darling,
now four months in this world.
You stir when a shiver of life runs through you.
You smell more of Dreft than of the ether.
Soon, your otherworldly memories and magic will disappear.
By the time you can speak, you will no longer be able to tell me
where you've been, where you were going.

"I love you!" I whisper urgently:
it's all I can think to say,
yet it encompasses everything.
"You're mine," and immediately
I know you never were,
but what I mean is: You're home now,
and I claim you.

Rockport

Postcard from Rockport
by April Lindner

Cold as a slap, this indigo sea,
where we clamber on blonde-fringed rocks,
where someone's tarted up the fishing shacks
with red paint and artful nets.

The sun floats like ice in a highball.
Condos train their plate-glass gazes
on the horizon, amnesiac
to past conspiracies of cloud,

storms that shook homes and swallowed boats.
Just north, a granite wall's etched with the lost—
decades of their half-remembered names.

Imagine waking always to this spread—
each day the ocean swelling
to loll at your feet, exotic pet.

The galleries glow, ripe with impasto,
sunsets we could be bite into:
raspberries, marzipan, seafoam like cream.

Their artists shoot for the numinous,
overlook the jagged and impermanent:

barnacles overtaking the dock,
clustered mussels, tangled kelp
and the steady lament
of pebbles tugged senseless from shore.

---------
I am remembering many amazing moments spent at Halibut Point State Park, walking through the brush maze, peering over the crystalline quarry ledge, viewing the stunning ocean with its crashing waves and majestic rock outcroppings. I love this poem.
~Ally

Lucy, Sweet Lucy

(certainly helps to have a world-class photographer as a husband, and a miraculous beauty as a muse...) all photos by Scott Snyder