TURKEY PARADE

They sqawk and sqawk
under the tree
circle around
scratch the ground
They flutter their feathers
and lift their head
try to keep cool
in hot summer weather
The gobbler gobbles
and they're on their way
ready to trot
in the Turkey parade

Gifts of Friendship

My Magpie pal and I have been exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts for over 30 years. The first birthday gift Phyllis gave me was a Wilson tennis racket in 1972. I remember being totally surprised and overjoyed at receiving such a wonderful present - I always credited that racquet with helping to improve my game.

Since then there have been many gifts between us; Some the 'perfect' gift, some not so perfect. It didn't matter if it was expensive or inexpensive, big or small - what was always important and meaningful about the gifts was the love and care, the time and effort given in trying to choose just the right something for a cherished friend. Over the years our gift remembrance became part of our friendship tradition.

So I was taken back somewhat when my Magpal recently said she no longer wanted to exchange gifts as it took too much time and was too difficult to pick out things the other would like. It made me sad not because of the gift itself, but what it represented - the end of something we did for one another, something we had shared for such a long time; Something that said , " I took the time, I picked this out especially for you, because you're special to me".

Phyllis' birthday is next month and it's been hard for me to pass by a little trinket, bracelet or pair of earrings I think she would like - after all, the fun of gifts isn't just in the getting, but in the giving, too.

Instead I find myself thinking about

Gifts of the heart;
Life, love, time and laughter
The gift of joy
the gift of tears
the gift of friendship
thru the years

and know these are the gifts I wish forever for my forever friend.

The Chipmunk

Until recently the most I knew about chipmunks came from watching Alvin, Simon and Theodore - three cute and adventurous chipmunks who sing songs and find themselves in precarious situations. Watching their animated antics on screen is funny and good for a laugh. Real life chipmunks are cute, too. The first time I saw one of those tiny sized chipmunks with the wide stripe down its back scurry up the tree outside our window, I thought to myself , "What a loveable little creature".

However, in the last week I've also learned this sweet, innocent looking critter is also clever and cunning, and can be a real tormenter, especially when teasing Sam E. Beagle and Missy dog. For the past several days our woodsey neighbor scampers back and forth along the retaining wall, stopping every few minutes to tantalize Sam and Missy who are laying nearby ; It's almost like the chipmunk is mocking them; Taunting them in animal speak, "Catch me if you can", until they can't take it any longer. Then, like there was a sudden blare of the bugle and someone yelling, 'Charge', they take off like hounds out of the gate on a long awaited fox hunt. I curse the chipmunk and yell at the excited dogs to stop, but they don't listen.

In fact, they pay no mind at all at what's before them, only the scent of the chipmunk. They trample over flowers, breaking pots along the way in an effort to catch their prey. But there's not a chance, the chipmunk has all the moves and is way too fast. He's long gone; Safe and secure in his protected burrow somewhere under our front garden planter. Sam and Missy finally quiet down, and my anger slowly abates.

I get busy picking up broken stems and crushed flowers and notice two dark eyes peering at me from behind a rock - it's the chipmunk quietly watching me clean up the mess he helped create. I want to shoo him away, but am surprised by how brazen he is that he would return to the scene of the crime so soon, and instead I just stare at him staring at me. We seem to play this game of whose going to blink first for several minutes before a sudden noise startles the ever alert chipmunk and he quickly runs off in another direction.

The Humane Society writes on their website: " Chipmunks are enjoyable animals, and there's more to say about the pleasure that comes from having them around than the problems they may cause". Yes, chipmunks bring more pleasure than problems, but please, no more broken pots.

Patty, Books and Hudson's

My anticipation was high last week as I looked forward to my friend, Patty's visit; Now her few days here have come and gone.

Thursday morning we share warm hugs and happy greetings at the airport curb, load her suitcase into the trunk of my cool blue Charger, then drive off to explore a few interesting sites in the Lilac City. We pose for pictures at Spokane Falls and stop at Starbucks for coffee au lait.

I've known Patty since our long ago days in Bell. She and my brother were childhood sweethearts and dated several years before deciding to go their separate ways. From the moment Walt introduced me to Patty we became fast friends, and have remained so all these years. I am God-mother to her son Nick. He once asked his mother, " If Kathy and Gary are my Godparents, does that mean Gavin is my God-brother"? Sounds perfectly logical to me.

Gary, in Spokane on a tractor repair errand, joins us for lunch at Cyrus O' Leary's. Patty suggests I try a drink I've never had before , an Arnold Palmer - half lemonade, half iced tea. It's refreshingly good on this hot summer day. The three of us laugh and talk and pose for more pictures. Soon Gary leaves to pick up the part he needs for the tractor while Patty and I head for Aunties Bookstore in what once was the old Liberty Furniture Company across the way. Placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1994, the Liberty Building is a perfect location for Spokane's prime literary hub.

Patty and I are drawn to books like sailors are to the sea, so our entry to Aunties isn't a quick in the door out the door stop, but a long afternoon stay; A book lovers delight. Together we browse the aisles taking turns to lift an interesting title or cover illustration from the shelf , i.e. "Remembering the Bones" by Francis Itani and "Little Heathens - Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression" by Mildred Armstrong Kalish.

When I was in my early twenties and Patty in her teens we both enjoyed reading historical novels by Frank G. Slaughter, Frank Yerby, and Victoria Holt. Today Patty chooses a non fiction about the history of Impressionist art while I discover two I know I can't leave the store without : " Service Included-Four Star Secrets of An Eavesdropping Waiter" by Phoebe Damrosch and "The Yellow House - Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Provence" by Martin Gayford. "Service Included" is an interesting choice for me as I've never been a waitress or worked in a restaurant, nor do I ever plan to - not because I don't think it worthy employment, but because I seriously doubt I could balance food and drinks on a tray before I stumbled bumbled about, bumping into something and sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor, but the title and cover picture peek my interest. I read two chapters before purchasing, and am drawn in to what Entertainment Weekly writes of the memoir : "Both a sparkling stylist and the sassy heroine of her own narrative, Damrosch balances the sweet and the tart". Sweet and tart. I like that. I will actually read " The Yellow House' first then mail to Patty before she leaves for Paris in November.

Back at Dobbs' Retreat I open a bottle of Full Sail pale ale, Patty pours herself a glass of white wine; Gary is already on the deck ready to grill a rack of baby back ribs for our outside dinner.

A jillion stars twinkle in the night. I'm grateful for Patty in my life and tell her so.

My mother arrives on Friday and there's more hugs and happy greetings; Love is in the air and genuine feelings of friendship and care swarm all around. When in Coeur d Alene the three of us decide to only patronize local retailers and eateries, including Hudson's Hamburgers on Sherman Ave. Patty had sent me an article from the June issue of Gourmet magazine touting the famous northwest hamburger place and wanted to go there. The sunny afternoon is humid and the line to find a spot at the small lunch counter is long, but worth the wait. Hudson's has been serving the same style hamburger since the Great Depression. There are no side dishes at all, the only choice you have to make is : ketchup, hot ketchup or mustard.

While still in line outside the door, I notice an elderly gentleman standing in line, too. When he turns his head I recognize it's Monsignor Tim. I take his hand and quickly say hello then proudly introduce him to my mother and Patty. He kisses my cheek and says, "Kathy, how good it is to see you. Have a wonderful afternoon". Monsignor Tim is a well known priest in north Idaho parishes, his kindness and gentle spirit has touched many. Today, his greeting adds something special to my already special day with Mom and Patty.

July 19,2009

Twenty five years ago today
a baby boy born
beautiful, pleasing, perfect
in every lovely way
The joy of my life
nestled in my arms;
Forever in my heart

Summer Rain

Everyday since mid June I've enjoyed long days outside planting flowers, working on landscape projects and walking in Dobbs' Woods, but today is an inside the house day as everything outside is soggy wet from the steady stream of rain outpouring from the sky since the wee hours of the morn. During the night the rumble tumble boom of thunder and razor sharp lightning flashes penetrating our bedroom window provided quite a sight and sound show. Then the rains came; I know what the songwriter meant when he wrote " Listening the to rhythm of the falling rain". I laid awake listening as long as I could to the rhythm of the rain, and what reminded me of a mid west summer storm experience , but eventually grew too tired and I finally fell asleep.

It is now 3 p.m. and what should be a warm summer day is instead dark and gray with not a hint of sun; The temperature is cool. A short while ago I found myself in the kitchen pressing my face against the window watching the rain come down - like a kid waiting and wanting to go out and play, tired of being in the house all day doing puzzles, coloring and reading books.

Two turkeys, their feathered bodies slick and oily from being too long in the rain, take shelter under a tree; a short distance away a cocoa colored rabbit hippity hops out of his burrow, sniffs the air and quickly hippity hops back in. The lake is covered with a misty haze, like a scene from a medieval fantasy novel. Although, it's not the sunny day I planned on, it is a beautiful day; unique and special in its north Idaho way.

I stare and study the pine trees, some 50 years old. It might be my imagination, but it seems the trees, both young and old are joyful, happy to be drinking in the rain. They look taller, more majestic; Their long piney branches seem a deeper, darker green and I'm grateful for what the rain provides, giving needed relief from dry, hot days to earth and all living things.

SUNFLOWERS and other things

I was going to write about
sunflowers facing the sun
looking so cheery and bright,
of a red wheelbarrow, shiny and new
and a small wooden horse
waiting beneath a tree
for Cowgirl Annie
to tie a ribbon on her tail;
All so different,
but all a delight.
Instead what seems to prevail
is sad stories told
too often of late
of strife and heartache
when family and friends
drift apart;
Monetary stress and growing old
days made fragile
with hurtful words,
lack of joy
no laughter;
When that is what is needed most
to lift the day, lighten the load.
Understanding, encouragement
compassion
and care
Precious gifts to give
if only to share
like the beauty
of the sunflower
in early morn

Beagle Sam

Sam greets me each morning with the same happy wag of his mostly white tail; It moves back and forth like a metronome setting on a piano keeping time for a practicing student. Always faithful, always true, Sam never complains or debates my point of view. I respond with the same glad to see you, too words, "Sam E. Pajammy, do you want a treat"? He watches and waits as I grab a peanut butter flavored bone from the bag of bones I keep in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. It only takes a second or two for Sam to move to his favorite spot on the family room floor to enjoy his biscuit, then a few minutes later he leisurly strides to where I'm sitting and burrows his muzzle into my lap, letting me know he's ready for the 'scratch behind the ears' routine.

Beagles are known to be obstinate, and Sam E. can sometimes be just that, but mostly he's good natured and sweet. My Sam is getting older and isn't as fit and trim as he once was, but he's still handsome to me. And although he cherishes his naps and likes to laze around, he still likes to go where I go and do what I do. The moment I say, "Let's go for a walk", Sam never hesitates but lifts his Snoopy shaped head and stands up and stretches. Then, like a puppy on a new adventure he swiftly scampers down the trail, with me not far behind.

4th of JULY

Independence Day
a nation born ;
Life
liberty
the pursuit of happiness
Not doled out
like potato chips
from an opened bag
but something to
strive for
aim for
work towards;
Freedom
celebrated.
Picnics
backyard barbecues
a day at the beach;
Family fun
flying "Old Glory"
and fireworks

INSIDE OUTSIDE

The outside
appears different
than the inside
The outside reflects
an aging body, greying hair, wrinkled skin;
The inside still feeling young and vibrant,
ready for challenge with goals to pursue.
The outside all light and laughter;
The inside profound deep thought
Unexpressed. Lessons learned. Life lived.
A family loved
cherished friends
faith in a faithful God
Joy in the morning;
Victory at day's end.

HOME

It is 7 a.m. The sun is bright, the air feels cool and clean. The scent of pine and brush is all about me - a summer smell.

I have already filled the feeders with seed; A Grosbeak and Finches are first on the scene. Soon the Starlings arrive then the mighty Blue Jay makes his presence known. A small but speedy hummingbird spots the flower shaped glass bottle hanging from one of the limbs of the tree, and quickly moves from opening to opening until it gets its fill of the sweet sugary, red colored mixture.

As I chant over and over again, "Here turk, turk, turk", I feel like a farm girl as I toss grain from my bucket onto the ground - the resident turkeys hurry, scurry close to where I'm standing; Heads bopping up and down they waste no time before starting to pick and scratch for the coveted kernals.

While watering pots of purple pansies and red geraniums Sam E. Beagle and Missy dog greet me with wagging tails; They nudge my hand letting me know they're ready for their morning biscuit.

My husband joins me on the deck and sips coffee from his Starbucks cup; We admire the beauty of the lake and talk about our plans for the day.

The poet Edgar A. Guest wrote :

" This little world of ours wherein we live
Holds now the richest joys which life can give"

The simple pleasures of home bring such delight and solace to the soul. Routine, common place moments often taken for granted, but upon reflection worth more than the weight of gold.

Morning Chores

Up in the morning
at the crack of dawn
chores to do
work to get done
Fill the feeders
pull the weeds
water flowers
paint the eaves
Dig a hole
to plant a maple (tree)

Charge the tractor
cut the brush
Wait! Morning is over;
Time for lunch.

##############

June

both bloom and gloom
these days of June
early morning rain;
Sunny afternoon

Masked Bandit

Here at Dobbs' Retreat we're used to seeing lots of deer and turkey; last fall a moose visited and once I even saw a cub bear standing at the rim of our property like he owned the place. But yesterday when I looked out my window and saw a racoon looking back at me I was completely captivated by his deep, dark colored eyes peering through his trademark black mask. I was reminded of the mask Don Diego wore after transforming himself into Zorro and wondered if he didn't get the idea for his famous mask from Raccoon, the original 'masked' bandit.

I've read about raccoons, but have never seen one up close and personal. I was surprised at his large size, bigger than my Beagle, Sam and Missy, our Australian Shepherd. His foxlike face is handsome and tapers to a pointed muzzle; his bushy ringed tail is beautiful and I'm sure considered very fashionable in the animal world.

The name raccoon is derived from the Indian word 'Aroughcun', which translates, 'he who scratches with his hands'. Although I didn't see him use his hands to do any scraching, I did observe his cautious nature as he slyly moved from one hiding spot to another, and his climbing agility as he quickly scampered up a tree when Sam and Missy got whiff of his scent.

I recalled hearing that the intelligence and dexterity is such that a raccoon can pick an avocado from a tree, aim and throw it at a barking dog. I watched for a few minutes hoping our travelling raccoon wouldn't start bombarding Missy and Sam with pinecones, then remembered that raccoons have five toes on both their forepaws and hind feet giving them the ability to open all kinds of things including zippers, trash cans and unlocked doorknobs. Yikes ! All of a sudden watching for pelting pinecones became less important while locked doors became a priority. I had a strong sense the wandering raccoon made a better outside visitor than an indoor intruder.

The Artist

I'm neither an artist or art critic, but do know I prefer the works of Monet, Manet and Mary Cassatt over Picasso,Dali and Chagall.

My friend Diana is an artist. From an early age she looked at red, orange, yellow, blue and indigo and saw more than just Crayola crayons in a box, she saw the beauty of a rainbow and wanted to paint the spectrum of light across a blank canvas, or when coming upon spring wildflowers blooming in an open field her thoughts inately turned to tint and shade; composition, the arrangement of lines, color and form.

With each stroke of the brush the artist gives part of herself; sharing her temperment and talent.

In the past few months I have been privileged to see pictures of Diana's art studio and many of her paintings: portraits, landscapes, and still life. A particular favorite is a painting of two women walking arm in arm down an old country road. I imagine they are friends, or perhaps sisters. One is wearing a yellow raincoat, the other a blue jacket. They are huddled together under a red umbrella; the dirt road is puddled from the rain, the sky overhead heavy and dark. An old farm house is on the right; I wonder if one of the women live there, or just passing by.

Diana's most recent water color is another favorite: Two grade school girls playing croquet at a park in Bixby Hills. Diana captured the pastel colored pinafores they were wearing and the bright, sunny afternoon with perfect balance. The green leaves of the tree and hue of the grass are so vibrant. I could almost hear the girls giggle and chatter back and forth as they played their game. Looking at Diana's painting made me think of the Disney movie 'Mary Poppins' when Bert, Mary Poppins and the Banks'children walked into the picture Bert was drawing on the parkway; Diana's painting is inviting like that, I wanted to step right into the picture.

The Swiss artist Paul Klee once said, " Color possess me. I don't have to pursue it. It will possess me always, I know it. That is the meaning of this happy hour: Color and I are one. I am a painter".

Diana Rivers, like Paul Klee, is one with color; She is a painter.

Early Sun and Baby Birds

Night to morning
Dark to light
My eyes open
to a burst of sunshine
filling the room
through an uncovered window
It is 4 a.m.

Baby birds
cheep a little, chirp a lot ;
their chorus grows louder
and louder
as they wait
for mama to bring food.

The chorus over
there is no sound;
Just silence
signaling
baby birds being fed.

Much too late (or early ?)
sleep is gone
Fully awake i move
from bed to bath
ready to begin
a bright new day;
Already tired from
early morning sun
and Baby Bird Serenade

WORDS

The Beegees 1968 song "Words" has always been one of my favorites; I particularly like the lyrics : "It's only words and words are all I have to take your heart away". I was thinking about the use of words today, and how certain words can sometimes mean different things to different people, especially when trying to express feelings or convey a point of view. Sadly, I know there's been times I've hurt a friend or family member because the word I used wasn't interpreted in the way I intended, and vice- versa.

Some words are harsh and critical thrown at another like a hand grenade in the heat of battle, breaking a person's spirit. The better words are more like a soothing balm giving relief to aching muscles ; they encourage and uplift another. What child doesn't grow taller when her parent says to her, " I'm so proud of you", or a friend that says, 'I like you because..", or the husband telling his wife , "I'd marry you all over again". But perhaps the best words are, " I'm sorry", "I forgive you", and "I love you unconditionally, now and forever".

Emily Dickinsen wrote:

"A word is dead when it it is said some say.
I say it just begins to live that day"

Whether our words live for good or bad depends on us and the words we choose to use.

Expectations

Pummelled
Tumbled
Humbled
By words, or lack of
that hold me down
am i so unwise
to persevere; to lift myself
again to rise?

Battered
Scattered
Shattered
By expectations
never met
of dreams
schemes
moonbeams
streaming, gleaming
in the dark of night.

What's in a Name ?

The other day I googled some names of family and friends just to see if they showed up on the inter net. It's amazing how many of us have the same name. I tried both my married and maiden name - there were several listings for Kathleen Dobbs and Kathleen Cooney; the same with the derivative, Kathy and most of them weren't me. The truth is my name almost wasn't Kathleen at all, but Christine. That was my mother's first choice to name me,but when she told her grandfather the name she had picked for his great grand-daughter he frowned and said it wouldn't do as it was too Swedish sounding for our strong Irish/Norwegian roots.

Chris Cooney is nice, but I'm glad my parents settled on Kathleen Rosalie. The Rosalie is after my mother whose middle name is also Rosalie and for St. Rose of Lima,a saint she had a particular devotion to. From the time I was very young mom would tell me I had a faithful friend in St. Rose, and it's true.

By the time I was school age we had moved from Iowa to California; Unbeknown to my mother, the parish church and school I would attend was named St. Rose of Lima. Some might consider that a co-incidence, but not me. I've always thought it was a spiritual hug from St.Rose to my mother.

At home I was mostly called Kathy; Although sometimes my dad shortened it to Kay, and on occasion my mother would lovingly refer to me as Katrinka, or Kate Kadiddlehopper - like on a Saturday morning when we took time out from doing house chores to dance a polka together around the front room, or while sitting on the floor and mom would help me cut out paper dolls. At school, however, the nuns always stuck with the more formal Kathleen. I think it was part of their effort to help me become a more serious student. Unfortunately it didn't work.

When I started playing on the basketball and volleyball team in 7th grade our coach, Liz Miller nicknamed me 'Little One'. I'm sure the first time she pointed to me and said, "Little One, practice that pivot again", was because she couldn't remember my given name. That, and the fact I was smaller than most of my teammates. Anyway, the name stuck and for the next two years that's what Liz always called me.... as did the other girls on the team. I wanted to be taller then so I could be a better spiker at the net, and wasn't too happy I was identified as 'Little One', but eventually I found the name to be endearing and kind of special. Liz was a great influence on my life during that period, I even wanted to follow in her footsteps and become a coach at a Catholic school.

When I started high school it was completely different. It was like i didn't even have a first name, I was simply called 'Cooney'. I don't recall how or why that came about, but think it was due to my dear, darling friend Susan yelling on campus one afternoon, "Hey, Cooney, come over here by us". From then on, it was always, Cooney. Sometimes it used to bother me; I'm not exactly sure why, I guess I just wanted my friends to call me by my first name once in awhile. Ultimately, like the nickname, "Little One" I came to find being called Cooney pretty special.

Phyllis and I met while working together at a community newspaper in the early 1970's. We clicked and somehow knew we'd be forever friends. Her name for me was 'Kid Cooney' and I called her "Ma Smarsh". Names that made us sound more like members of a 1930's gangster ring rather than the Display Advertising sales persons we were. While those tags might seem funny, they're not as silly as the ones we have today for each other: Heckle and Jeckle. Phyllis is Heckle and I'm Jeckle - two clever and compatible Magpie pals. Once when I confronted my son, Gavin about something he was doing I thought immature, he turned to me and in a deadpan voice said, "Mother, you think what I'm doing is immature ? You and Phyllis are middle aged women pretending to be cartoon characters." I realized he made a good point and couldn't help but laugh right out loud.

Once married, my long time high school pals started calling me Kathy or Kath; Just like someone waved a magic wand, no more Cooney. I was, and am Mrs. Gary Dobbs, a name I cherish most dearly.

My husband has always preferred Kathleen. I like that , too. After all these years of marriage we still laugh and giggle when we sing song rhyming our names, "Kathleen and Gary Gene".

To Gavin and Garrett, I'm mother; and grandma Kathy to Zak, Rachel and Emily.

Every name - every part of our name including first,middle, last; Maiden, married or nickname helps tell the story of our life and those who share in it.

50% OFF

I always look forward to the 50% Off sale every Wednesday at St. Vincent de Paul's thrift shop in Coeur d Alene. The sale price isn't just for a few selected items, but for every piece of merchandise in the store. There are some great bargains to be found. I'm never sure what's going to turn up as I browse through clothing racks,housewares,furniture,record albums and books; but I know I'll always find something interesting. Like being on a treasure hunt, this exercise requires focus and perseverance until locating some hidden cache. After mapping out sections of the store to search thru mounds of stuff, I experience the thrill of exhilaration and excitement when my eyes finally light upon that one special thing, whatever it might be.

Yesterday it was a 1930's bedroom chair with a classic print upholstery from that era. When I asked the sales clerk the cost and she responded $20., I knew I found my treasure. But that wasn't all ! A few minutes later I spotted a professionally framed Bunny Hop print by artist Jane Mason Burke for four dollars. The rectangular size and periwinkle blue backdrop would be perfect with the 1930's bedroom chair. Scurrying down one aisle and across another I quickly made my way to the other side of the room, claimed the print and dropped it in my cart.

Two other fun finds were a new Voit made in the USA softball and a turquoise rosary marked Rome 1950. Now I'm all set to pray and play while the Bunny Hop print and chair make a charming addition to our main floor guest room.