Not a yarn: that my Grandma Boos taught me how to crochet. Yarn: the many, many skeins of my mom’s, now mine,
becoming coasters and afghans to brighten others’ days, tangible love handed down three generations.
My mom’s acrylic yarn is what I’m using to crochet small afghans for Project Linus, which distributes new handmade blankets to children in need (for example, in hospitals). I’m fortunate that there are Project Linus drop-off boxes in the JOANN fabric stores in my area. For the coasters, I’m using up her 100% cotton yarn, which can take the heat of a hot mug. There’s enough yarn for at least 200 coasters–it brightens my days, too, to be able to give them away. Peace to your ♥!
Now to the last of the prompts for murisopsis’s poetry scavenger hunt. Thank you, dear Muri, for your behind-the-scenes work. Having 13-plus prompts at my fingertips is like being treated to a buffet, and I spent a wonderful week feasting. (Write in haste; post at leisure!) Below is an Anna (in English “Rest in Peace”) followed by a Dr. Stella (in English, “Hope Conquers All”). Peace to your ♥!
Requiescat in Pace
I have not cried, and what that signifies is squat. The priest who judged my faith matured when tears came once was equally amiss. I navigate the deeps of faith and loss and love without a map.
Spes Vincit Omnia
He came; he saw; he conquered. Good For Caesar. Were he touring Today, he might go back to bed And bow his head and pray His gods his soul to keep. I would Despair, but hope, enduring In spite of gloom, subdues my dread. Vast hope, not just a ray.
Murisopsis’s poetry scavenger hunt prompt #12: Write a Jay’s Way or a poem using a bird metaphor. I’m keenly aware that discontent with one’s washing machine is small in the scheme of things, although I really miss my old front-loader (today’s larger models won’t fit in the space we have), and the lint I reference is a lot, and it just makes me want to go waaaahhhh.
a trough of despond small sorrows I can’t see beyond
I’m missing how things were–before covid, before my parents died, before a lot of other changes that have taken place in my/our world. Peace to our ♥s!
Remembrance of Things Past
Pathetic, to miss a washing machine: top loader, front loader, both get the clothes clean, but the lint on the screen is more now, and I don’t care how there are loads of abodes where women handwash and air-dry day in, day out. By gosh, I’m tired of adjusting! There’s been too much change, mixed feelings to rearrange. I’m homesick.
Tenth prompt for the poetry scavenger hunt hosted by A Different Perspective. Write a Golda or incorporate words related to gold into a poem (I took a subtle approach). Peace to your ♥!
Pasta, chicken, a green salad and a bowl of chips. Enough.
One more bowl of chips and still tempted to title this “Steph’s Stuff.”
This Might Be a Myth
The arthropod limped along,
A victim of arthritis.
The rhino sneezed in multiples,
Afflicted with rhinitis.
The mite was tiny, and as such,
Got just a touch of mitis.
According to the textbooks,
The effects of it are dual:
The mite turns a deep yellow
And starts acting like a fool.
But it’s rarely diagnosed
Since mites are miniscule.