One Foggy Morning . . .

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
— Carl Sandburg.

Sometimes we need the fog to remind ourselves that all of life is not black and white.
— Jonathan Lockwood Huie

There it is, fog, atmospheric moisture still uncertain in destination, not quite weather and not altogether mood, yet partaking of both.
— Hal Borland

I love the fog. There’s just something about that feeling of being cut off from everything. A long time ago I used to commute to a college north of here. The small highway I took was very hilly, and in the fall quite often there was fog in the morning. The valleys would be shrouded in it, and then I’d drive up a hill above it and it was like I was on top of the world.

Our weather was really up and down last week, and Thursday it was foggy. I thought about going out and taking pictures, but figured by the time I got down to the waterfront the fog would have burned off. So I worked away in my office, glancing up at the window every once in awhile, and the fog was still there. Not only was it not burning off, it looked like it was getting denser.

So I caved. I grabbed my camera and drove down to the waterfront to take pictures. It wasn't quite as dense as it had been a couple of hours prior, but it was still atmospheric.

This is the point that separates the yacht basin from the west beach:

And this is a view of the west beach from the point:

Looking to the east of the point, you can see a few waterfowl bobbing on the water, and if you look hard, you can see the lighthouse.

Looking more to the southeast, you can see a few waterfowl, and that blur just above them is the breakwater for the yacht basin.

I was determined to get a good picture of the swans, so I walked to the end of the point, and, because the water was low, I went down onto the shore. The ground was really squishy here – a combination of seaweed, dirt, and debris. But I got my shot.

By this time the fog was starting to dissipate. It was still kind of grey, but not shrouded like before. So I headed back to the boardwalk and started taking pictures along the somewhat scrubby shore.

These little flowers were a random bright spot in the scrub:

There were several other interesting plants as well. Patches of this grew closer to the boardwalk:

While clumps of this grew on the sandy/rocky shore:

And when I got close to the end of the boardwalk, the fog was pretty much gone.

Next time, I won’t hesitate going out to adventure in the fog. Maybe to the east beach.

Trimeric Verse Form

This form was invented by Dr. Charles A. Stone (which seems to be a pseudonym), a retired professor, a poet, and an entrepreneur. Dr. Stone has published poetry in many journals and anthologies and published three nonfiction books. Check out his books HERE.

The Trimeric (tri-(meh)-rik) is a short poem of just thirteen lines. It has four stanzas, consisting of a quatrain (four lines), and three tercets (three lines).

While there is no rhyme or syllable count, and the lines can be however long or short you want to make them, the tercets each start with a refrain. Line 2 of the first verse becomes the first line of the second verse; line 3 of the first verse becomes the first line of the third verse, and line 4 of the first verse becomes the first line of the fourth verse.

Without a syllable count I can’t really do a schematic, but the endings of the first verse would be a-b-c-d. and the following verses would begin b * *, c * *, d * *

It takes a little more thought than the forms I’ve been offering lately, but I found it to be just as much fun. This is a great form for anyone who doesn’t like a strict rhyme and rhythm format.


Life is fueled by dreaming things
Ask the trees, they’ll tell you the truth
The stars dance to their own tune
While the world continues to spin

Ask the trees, they’ll tell you the truth
They’ve been here from the beginning
And their knowledge is vast

The stars dance to their own tune
Cosmic music only they can hear
Eternal in its beauty

While the world continues to spin
The rest of the universe grows old
Entropy always wins

Fun With the Stitchery Guild

Slow stitching means setting aside time to find myself somewhere in the thread and spread myself out on a piece of fabric.
— Kelly Martinez

There should be an extra day of the week called sew day.
— Makerist

Sewing is a universal language where identity and creativity connect all communities.
— Jennifer Nobile

No matter how it looks from the outside, everything that is made by hand requires a lifetime of effort.
— Kit Dunsmore

Tuesday morning found me at Northumberland Heights Wellness Spa with my stitchery guild. We were there for a one day retreat. We were given a large sunny room with a view to work in, and all the coffee, tea, and water we liked.

The room is actually twice the size as the picture shows, we only used about half of it. But it overlooked a large greenspace that had a firepit and fountain with seating around them.

We had a great time and even managed to get some stitching in. At noon we broke for lunch in the dining room, and then a few of us went for a walk on the grounds. There was a lot of green space, which I’m sure was used for activities during the warmer weather.

And at the far side of the greenspace we discovered a trail that led to a beautiful clearing with a patio and pergola that overlooked a large pond.

The trail continued on around the pond and into the woods. It took us about an hour to complete the trail, but it was with it. It was a well-kept trail and the woods were full of a variety of trees.

We got some more stitching in when we got back, and then at 4 o’clock we packed up our stitching and headed back to the dining room for high tea.

All in all, we had a fabulous day and I’m pretty sure there’s already plans being made for us to go back gain. This final picture was taken as we were leaving, looking down from the hills towards Lake Ontario.

The Lune

The Lune, also known as the American Haiku, was created by New York based poet Robert Kelly in the 1960s. Like the Haiku, it has only three lines, but instead of five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables, totalling seventeen syllables, we have five syllables in the first line, three in the second, and five in the third, for a total of thirteen syllables.

The name comes from the crescent moon shape of the finished poem. Unlike the Haiku, there are no restrictions (other than the strict syllable count), you can write your Lune on whatever subject you wish.

There is a variation of the Lune known as the Collom Lune, created by poet Jack Collom. This is also three lines, but instead of syllables we’re counting words: three in the first line, five in the second, and once again three in the third line, for a total of eleven words.

I'll warn you, this is another form that's kind of addictive once you get started.


poor squeaking mousie
now a toy
for excited cats

I know he escaped
from the cats
which I think is worse

now he’s loose inside
and don’t know
where he’s hiding now

exterminator
will be called
when it is morning


Collom Lune

I like fall
except when it drives mice
inside my house.


Sunflowers still stand
straight in the crystal vase
taste of summer

Happy International Cat Day

Cats and humans have been partners for over ten thousand years. And what you realize when you've lived with a cat for a long time is that we may think we own them, but that's not the way it is. They simply allow us the pleasure of their company.
— Genki Kawamura

I’ve found that the way a person feels about cats—and the way they feel about him or her in return—is usually an excellent gauge by which to measure a person's character.
— P.C. Cast

Cats never listen. They’re dependable that way; when Rome burned, the emperor’s cats still expected to be fed on time.
— Seanan McGuire

If I had known last week that today was International Cat Day, I would have saved my post for the kittens for today. But I didn’t, so I had to find some other way to celebrate. And then I thought, why not do a tribute to kitties past?

As you might suspect, I’ve had many cats in my life, dating back to when I was a kid. And yes, I remember them all. But to make this post a little more manageable, I’m only going to talk about the kitties we’ve had while living here.

We bought this house the first October we were married, and in December I went to the Humane Society and came home with a little calico kitten we named Sheba. I do have a few pictures of her, but unfortunately they are all film pictures, and I have since given my box of photographs to the daughter so they’re all at her house now.

Anyway, she was a sweet girl, and because we did not intend to let her outside, we never thought of getting her spayed. Fast forward to the following spring when I heard a noise at the back door and found a little black kitten on the patio. It followed me around to the front step and we were sitting there when the hubby came home for lunch. I told the kitten if he wanted to stay, that was the guy he needed to impress, and he must have understood because he jumped down and trotted over to meet the hubby.

We named him Barry Quartz. He was used to going outside, so naturally Sheba began going out too, and before we knew it, she was knocked up. She had her kittens in a box in our bedroom.

There was one kitten I became particularly attached to – he had exotic markings and it was pretty obvious his father was a Siamese. I named him Sekmut, and he like to ride around on my shoulders. But the hubby put his foot down and said three cats was too many, so I had to give him up for adoption. This decision was made even harder when a few weeks after that Barry died from a viral infection in his brain.

Sheba got pregnant again before we could her spayed, and this time I was allowed to keep one of the kittens. This one was an orange boy I named Osiris. Sirus was a real peeping Tom cat – he would go over to the neighbor’s house, climb up on their roof, and stare down at them through the skylight.

Unfortunately, he was hit by a car one night. A short while later we discovered Sheba was pregnant again, and we suspected it was by him because although the kittens were different colours, they all had the same markings, and all but one of them died.

The survivor was a tuxedo girl. The markings on her face were so perfect you’d have thought they were painted on. We named her Chiron, or more often, Cheerio. She disappeared the night before her vet appointment to be spayed. We never did find out what happened to her. I’d like to think someone took her in, thinking she was a stray.

We did get Sheba spayed – I think she was as relieved as we were. By this time we had the daughter, and when she turned 4 she wanted a kitten of her own. And not just any kitten, she wanted an orange kitten and she was going to name him Valentine. Well, by the time I talked the hubby into it, there were no kittens to be had, let alone an orange one. But then my sister’s friend had a cat who had kittens, and one of them was orange.

So I drove up to Hamilton to him. Well, the friend had cancer in her brain, and had been neglecting the cat. The kitten was not very healthy looking. He was scruffy and one of his eyes was crusted shut. I wasn’t sure he was going to live, so I also took the healthiest looking kitten of the bunch.

According to the vet, there was nothing wrong with them that love and proper care wouldn’t cure. Valentine had to spend the night at the vet, but Sam, as we called his brother, was allowed to come home. Ironically, Sam was the one who died, and we never did determine why.

I could do a whole post touting the virtues of Valentine. They say you don’t pick the cat, the cat picks you. And although he was friendly enough with the daughter, he picked me as his person. So a few years after Sheba died, the daughter was back to wanting a kitten of her own.

Enter Taz, AKA the Tasmanian Devil, AKA General Razzamataz Meowington III. His mother was a barn cat and his father was Maine Coon. He was a fearless little guy, and even stood off against our border collie – and won.

Valentine was getting old by this time, and his health wasn’t great, but the two became buddies, even though he still got to go outside and Taz didn’t. Sadly, a couple of years after we got Taz we had to have Valentine put to sleep – it broke my heart.

This happened in the fall, and when the daughter came home from University for Christmas, she thought it was time we got a friend for Taz. Enter Pandora, AKA Panda, AKA Pantaloons.

It was love at first sight, as far as Taz was concerned. Panda was a little more chill. She was also bat crap crazy, as most tuxedo cats are. And she was an early bloomer, so before we could get her to the vet, she was knocked up.

The hubby said we could keep one of the kittens, but it was going to be his kitten because the daughter had Taz and I had Panda. From left to right, pictured are Romi, Julius, and Dante.

The hubby picked Julius for his kitty, and strangely enough, Julius (AKA Sunny Bunny) picked him, too. Romi and Dante were supposed to go to a friend of the hubby’s, but he couldn’t take them right away. And by the time he realized he really couldn’t take them after all, they were no long kittens. Which is how we ended up with five cats.

First to go was Panda, from kidney disease. A few years later it was Julius, from cancer. Next was Taz, at 20, who had become senile and reclusive. A year later Romi died at 18, and then Dante at 19.

It was hard losing three cats in three years like that, but they were all seniors and they’d all had pretty good lives. And after having lived with senior cats for a few years, we were ready for kittens again. Probably for the last time, if these guys last as long as the terrible trio did.

Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll live even longer. :-D

Hay(na)ku Verse Form

For such a simple form there’s certainly an abundance of information about it. Think the Haiku is easy? Let me introduce to the Filipino Haiku, the Hay(na)ku. And yes, the parentheses are a required part of the name.

The Hay(na)ku was created by Filipino-American poet Eileen R. Tabios. It was first called the “Pinoy Haiku” and was released in 2003 on June 12, Philippine Independence Day. The name “hay(na)ku” (pronounced ai-na-koo) was coined by Vince Gotera.

The form consists of a single tercet with lines of one, two, and three words, in that order. Syllables are not counted which means the word “cold” and the word “temperature” carry the same weight. There are no other restrictions to this form.

Some of the variations of this form include the reverse Hay(na)koo, which starts with three words in the first line, two in the second, and one in the third. Other poets have also linked several Hay(na)koo together to make a chain.

If you’d like to learn more about this form, check the History of the Hay(na)koo in the author’s own words. I warn you though, once you start writing them, it’s hard to stop.


Cold
sets in –
winter has come.


Leaves
scuttle across
cold, barren ground.


Bees
buzz busily
flower to flower.


Cats
play chase
and then sleep.


Coffee—
dark magic
for waking up.

Happy Gotcha Day!

Perhaps one reason we are fascinated by cats is because such a small animal can contain so much independence, dignity, and freedom of spirit. Unlike the dog, the cat’s personality is never bet on a human’s. He demands acceptance on his own terms.
— Lloyd Alexander

As anyone who has ever been around a cat for any length of time well knows, cats have enormous patience with the limitations of the humankind.
— Cleveland Amory

I have felt cats rubbing their faces against mine and touching my cheek with claws carefully sheathed. These things, to me, are expressions of love.
— James Herriot

Today is a day for celebration! We have been blessed with Khaos and Dinsdale for a whole year now! Remember how cute they were?

Just look at them now:

They got a wee bit bigger, didn’t they?

Remember how much they liked their baskets? And how they could snuggle together in the big white one?

Now Dinsdale fills it up all by himself:

Then there were the small baskets. Here’s Dinsdale in his favorite basket back then:

Sadly, he’s having a little trouble fitting inside it now:

Khaos had a favorite basket back then too:

She’s a little smug about the fact she can still fit into her basket:

Every day is a new adventure with these two. Khaos isn’t as cuddly as she used to be, but she likes to snuggle in bed and play blanket monster. Dinsdale, on the other hand, has become more cuddly, but he still has that chronic respiratory problem, so you have to watch out for flying boogers when he starts sneezing.

He was such a cute little guy when he was a kitten:

And he’s still Daddy’s little suck:

Of course Khaos isn’t to be outdone in the cuteness department:

And she’s still pretty petite when compared to her brother, but I think that’s because she’s more active:

It didn’t take long for these two to establish ownership of the humans in the house. They have two very distinct personalities – Khaos lives up to her name. When she’s not snoozing, she’s racing through the house or playing with one of her toys. But she has to know where her people are at all times.

Dinsdale, on the other hand, is so laid back he’s almost comatose at times. His favorite thing to do is snuggle up with a human, whether they want to snuggle or not. And he has absolutely zero respect for the laptops. Laps, apparently, were made for cats, not computers.

Sometimes Khaos is able to persuade him to play chase with her, but what he really loves is to play fetch with the crinkle ball, which he’ll bring to you to throw for him. And he likes to fetch one of the crocheted bookworms if he can unearth it from wherever Daddy has hidden it.

Daddy does not like throwing the bookworm. There are two reasons for this. First of all, it’s like a crocheted string and there’s not much weight to it. And second, Dinsdale doesn’t play fair. He’ll drop it just out of reach and then swat at the hand that tries to pick it up.

I can’t remember what life was like before we got these two, and I can’t image life without them. So happy Gotcha Day guys. Here’s to many more to come.

Verset Verse Form

The Verset, also known as the Triversen, was created by American poet, writer, and physician William Carlos Williams. It’s a six stanza poem, but each stanza is composed of a single sentence that has been broken into three lines. It has no rhyme and no syllable count.

You start by writing a single complete statement or observation on whatever subject you wish. Then you break the sentence into three lines, breaking where you might pause naturally to take a breath or reflect. Each line is a separate phrase in the sentence – line one is a statement of fact or observation, lines two and three should set the tone, indicate a situation or associated idea, or continue a metaphor for the original statement.

Continue writing in this way until you have six stanzas of three lines each. The poem should be written to the rhythm of normal speech as if you were speaking them aloud.



Just six sentences,
that’s all I have to write
to make this into a poem.

How hard could it be
to write a sentence
that could be broken into three lines?

I have two down
and one more to go
before I’m done

This seems kind of silly
but I guess it’s necessary
if I want to make an example

I’ve nothing to complain about,
this form is fairly simple
there’s no rhyme or syllable count

The words are elusive tonight
and I’m forced to dig down deep,
unearthing them like buried like treasure.

Fresh From Kingston

Chilling out on the bed in your hotel room watching television, while wearing your own pajamas, is sometimes the best part of a vacation.
— Laura Marano

Isn’t it amazing how much stuff we get done the day before vacation?
— Zig Ziglar

I need a six month vacation, twice a year.
— Unknown

Fall means Writersfest, so Thursday morning I loaded the car with my pre-packed suitcase and writing bag, and drove to Kingston where I stayed for the next four days and three nights. Traffic wasn’t bad, and I actually made it in time for my first workshop – first time that’s happened.

The last workshop on Thursday was canceled, so I decided to indulge in a little shopping. I splurged on a moonstone pendant for myself, something I’ve always wanted. It was a little pricy, but not as pricy as the birthday present I got for the daughter. I picked up a belated birthday present for the son-in-law too, and a couple of small things for Christmas.

After dinner I was organizing my things and realized I’d forgotten my diabetic medication. A quick call to the hubby confirmed that my divided pill box was sitting on the kitchen counter. So we figured the quickest, and easiest way to fix this was to meet at the MacDonalds in the Belleville Walmart – the halfway point between Cobourg and Kingston.

By this time it was dark out, and I don’t see well in the dark. Add to that the number of one-way streets, and streets without signage in Kingston, and I ended up hopelessly lost. I did make it back to the highway eventually, but I was 45 minutes late getting to Belleville. But I met my husband, who not only gave me my drugs, but to make me feel better included the new Lynsay Sands book I’d received in the mail that day.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night – I think my mind was just too wound up. There was this unit in one corner of the room that was really noisy, and I ended up unplugging it.

And of course I had to have the balcony door open, so there were new sounds to get used to – cars, the water lapping on the shore (that sounded like plastic bags being crumpled), and a noise like an X-wing fighter from Star Wars that was produced by cars going over this green thing:

Here’s a view of the sunrise from my balcony, or at least as much of it as I could see:

And Friday night was a full moon. This picture was taken from the waterfront beside the hotel:

And this is what happens when you accidentally take a picture while moving:

I attended some very interesting workshops, which I’ll be talking about on my writing blog. One thing I will say about the Holiday Inn, they treated us well. This was waiting for us at every workshop, along with coffee, tea, and water. It made it hard to be a diabetic.

Other than shopping (which I did WAY too much of), I didn’t do much site-seeing. The workshops took up most of my days, and Thursday evening I was driving to Belleville, Friday evening I was pretty tired, and Saturday night I was getting my stuff ready to go home the next day.

I enjoyed my time away, and even re-connected with a couple of people I’d met at previous Writersfests.

I can’t wait until the next one!