May Daze Remembered

When I was a youngster, my mom was really in to
any reason to celebrate. She had a historical bent, so
she wanted me to do what she did on May Day.
She took me out to her flower garden and helped me
choose a brilliant multi-colored bouquet. She advised
me how to arrange it in a paper cone and sent me on
my way to the Plumbs, neighbors that she was currently
in like with.
Mrs. Plumb/Helen answered my knock with a broad
smile and welcomed me in. I handed her the flowers
and she invited me to stay for tea and biscuits.
What she really served were cookies, but she liked
to call them biscuits because they came from a tin
made in Britain.
Mrs. Plumb always talked about meanings and history
and she was fascinating. I could see why she and my
mother were friends.
Soon enough, Mr. Plumb/Herb rustled in the mud room
and entered the kitchen, smiling.
"Oh, you have a visitor!" he said, almost like he forgot
it was me. So, I said, "It's just me. I am here to wish
you both Happy May Day!"
"And Happy May Day to you, too, little lady."
My tomboy skin shivered at the notion that I was a
lady. However, I did come bearing flowers, so it may
have looked that way.
When it was time to go, Mrs. Plumb took me out to
her flower garden and helped me choose a bouquet
for my mother. She also helped slip them into a cone
and we said our good-byes and I headed home.
All I can think about as I recall this is I wish I had some
neighbors like the Plumbs.

Happy Bouquet  Day, Neighbor.

Raintreepoet

Time, the most precious commodity...

It's been a long journey, but I am almost ready to close this chapter and open the next.
Thirty-seven more days until I re-group and then hopefully, you'll hear more from me.
I have been writing all these years in the nooks and crannies of time I could fit in.
 Now I'll find out what it is like to wake up in the morning and have the freedom of
dedicating my day to submitting reams of creativity and see how the world feels about
it. And of course, writing more.

For the last twenty odd years, I substitute taught to have time to write. I learned to do
 without insurance and benefits and lived on maybe half of a shoe string to do what I love.
 Unfortunately, there was still not enough time to seriously market my material,
so I kept writing, looking forward to the day I could.

That day is just around the corner and I couldn't be more excited. Of course there
are some loose ends to knot and sever; like dealing with 40+ years of stuff I've
accumulated and getting my condo ready for market. Such a huge undertaking,
I won't be on my writing schedule for awhile.

Upon making that sale, I shall be looking for something more modest in New Mexico,
where the weather is dryer and more to my liking. To do this, I plan to acquire a small
travel trailer and take my time. And yes, I'll write about that adventure along the way.

My journey was not particularly straight, but it was filled with adventure and characters
that I can write about for years to come. I think, first, I'll just breathe in the summer and
enjoy our best season in the northwest, before I set my sails and leave this shore.

Still, the anticipation is so exhilarating, I cannot find adequate words except to say I
feel the greatest joy I've felt in a good long time

School Daze

I feel like I am living in a dystopian world. I am supervising
 teenagers at a local high school and they have an assignment
 in Google Classroom, so all I have to do is take roll and
 stand back and wait for the magic to happen.

However, this generation of students aren't very magical.

 They have smart phones that give them the illusion of

 having all the answers right in their little hands.

Students  these days are incredibly naive and clueless.

Earlier today we had a presentation: Run, Hide, Fight.
The point was to try to imbue these smart- phone- alecks with
survival skills. Isn't it innate that when a human feels threatened
 they do those things automatically? Who dumbed these
 youngsters down? Public school? Or perhaps the entire culture.
When the nightly news hawks the next $1000. dollar
 Apple phone and the schools arm their students with their
 own Chrome Books, have we gone too far?

Some capitalists (aka 1 percenters) are getting rich by sucking
 those below them dry. The ad industry propagandizes not keeping up
 with the Jones's so much as taking over the world.
 Video games and other Internet time stealers, make this
 new crop of teens believe they can get/have whatever they
want. And therein lies the problem of entitlement and lack
of appreciation for anything given or done for them.
They have been taught that they can have the best of everything.
Shame on the adults who didn't bother to give them some clue.     

Teachers agonize over the future of our country because
the number of responsible young people has shrunk significantly.
 Who's going to run things when these folks are supposed to
take over? Baby Boomers are living longer, but how the heck
 long can they live?
Some of us try to warn the brighter ones, but the number of
conscious ones is shrinking. Will this be looked back on
 as a Dark Age in our history?
 It is disheartening to me how many times young people wail
when  they are asked to to read.
Reading passes information acquired by one generation on to
next so they won't have to reinvent the wheel and more important
 things. Some examples of what could be lost: Essential services
like medicine and law could founder within the next couple decades
 if there are only a few people who are ready, willing and able to
 carry that torch. Police and Fire fighters. And you can forget about
 Shakespeare!
 Does  anybody else see a crisis brewing when kids nowadays need
 to be taught how to survive a school shooting?
.This brings me to Darwin's Natural Selection. When I listened
 to a colleague explain the power point regarding their survival
I sensed an overall boredom. Survival skills  should be inherent.
It's no joke how many people die in car crashes while trying to text.
 People are even falling down holes intended for maintenance workers.
If a man-hole cover is off and someone on their phone is walking
 in that general direction, is it okay to holler a warning? Remind me again,
 Why did we get rid of one room schools?   Raintreepoet, pondering.

Deadbolt Rhapsody

A Guy I knew had his mind made upand wasn't changing it any time soon

He had a big brain and a higher education

He was well-read, but perhaps not broadly read

He figured things out, easily and moved on

 not one to ponder the mysteries of the Universe

To his way of thinking, everything was self-evident

He would acquire facts, form an argument,

adopt it and snap!-His mind would shut

However, he took it one step further than a closed mind-

He clicked the deadbolt  on it.

Have you ever met anybody like that?

Raintreepoet. pondering.

Lost in the desert...or space

Hey! Where is everybody?

Earth to Raintree, come in!

Have you ever had that wandering and wondering feeling
that you may not be exactly where your body is?
I've had that feeling for awhile. As you can see I haven't
been posting anything for some time. The truth is I wasn't
sure I had anything of merit to say and I don't like to waste
space, so I was silent.
The really sad truth is that the political climate in this country
 has clammed me up.
People are on edge and I am not sure that what I have to say
about it would be welcome. I mean cops are shooting people.
People are shooting cops. I am not a cop, but I am a person
and I am loathe to get involved in the wrong circumstance.
So, I've been reading a lot, watching Netflix and minding
my own dang business.
I do have opinionated opinions still, however, little harm is
done telling them to my cats Oliver and Winston. They mostly
look right through me anyway.
Women are fighting for respect again. Men are denying it.
What's new? Battle of the sexes is at least as old as Adam
and Eve. He blamed her for taking a bite of that fruit and
frankly, it's been a hell ride ever since.
Bottom line is: we all have differences and similarities and
the worst of us are human and the best of us are cat...or dog.
Go smoke something fun and have a truly great day.

raintreepoet is back!

Review: The Whistling Season by Ivan Doig

Doig has such an irresistible way of drawing the reader in.

  In this novel, The Whistling Season he began with Paul Milliron,

a Montana state employee who’s assignment was to close

one room schools. His reflection goes back to the one room

school of his youth in Marias Coulee.

 The story is mostly told by Paul’s eleven year old self. Paul had

two brothers, Damon and Toby, the family baby and his

widowed father, Oliver.

By page two a newspaper advertisement was introduced

with the title: Can’t Cook But Doesn’t Bite.  Paul’s father

showed him the ad and there was some debate over not

whether to look into it, because the household had struggled

with four bachelors and disorder, but that Oliver also

needed someone to cook.

By the end of the first chapter, Paul was once again the

Montana state employee tasked with deciding the fate of

56 county rural schools aka one room school houses.

Chapter two plunges us into the saga of the Milliron family,

Friends and neighbors and their way of life. Doig seamlessly

time travels between the early 1900s and 1957, when his

character Paul is tasked with the duty of pushing progress

in Montana’s educational system.

In close to half a century, Paul Milliron witnessed monumental

change; He was philosophical about what was lost and what children

gained from a one room school education.

This story goes way beyond its own borders and could be a

metaphor for humanity’s wisdom when stupidity is usually,

initially an easier path.

As Doig added characters and complications and they affected

the Milliron family, we can see how they could just as well

be us.

Frankly, at the end, I was impressed with the choices of two young boys

and I believe you, the reader, will be, too! The ending underscores

the power of love and Doig gives us all hope!

I heartily recommend The Whistling Season.

Raintreepoet, reporting.

Review: LUST FOR LIFE

A novel of Vincent Van Gogh
By Irving Stone.
Illustrated with 150 reproductions of Vincent Van Gogh's
paintings, arranged by J.B. Newman.
Copyright 1934 by Irving Stone.
Copyright 1937 by The Heritage Club.
Printed in the United States of America.

To begin with the book is bound in a reproduction of a
Van Gogh painting that depicts a rich farmland--so very
Vincent.
Vincent Van Gogh led a hard working, driven life. He dirtied
his hands with miners and farmers and drew and painted them
as he self-educated himself in his art.
Vincent was supported by his younger brother, Theo who was
an art dealer and who believed fiercely in his brother Vincent.
Theo supported Vincent for several years so that Vincent could
concentrate solely on his art.
Vincent was a man of great conscience and felt guilty taking
money from Theo on a wish and a promise. Despite giving
Theo all his work to sell, Vincent never felt worthy.
As Irving depicted and history reflects, Vincent dressed like a
bum, was unkempt and had frequent bouts of starvation to the
point of fever and illness. Still he was so driven, he produced
a painting every day.
After Vincent failed to become a minister like his father, Theo
 talked him into moving to Paris to live with him. There Vincent
met Gauguin, Seurat, Cezanne, Lautrec and many other
 "Impressionist" artists.
With  a new artistic vision, Vincent moved to Arles where there was
so much sunshine, yellow entered his art. (Little did he know that
"Sunflowers" would one day sell for $88 million dollars at auction.)
Vincent's final destination was Auvers, where he welcomed Gauguin,
so they could paint together. Arguments ensued and Gauguin left.
Vincent, desconsolate eventually went mad. He died a prolonged death
from a self-inflicted gun shot wound. Theo held him in his arms and
promised to create a gallery of Vincent's art.
Unfortunately, Theo died six months after Vincent. Thanks to Theo's
widow, the brothers were buried side by side in Auvers.
 Sunflowers grace both graves.
This Irving Stone book was labeled a novel because Stone had to
fill in some blanks to make the story. However, his main source
was 700 letters that Vincent wrote to Theo during these crucial
years. It could have well been Vincent's memoir. Great read and
even greater illustrations.
I highly recommend it.

raintreepoet, reporting.