April Showers Brought May Flowers

I've got lots of new plants in the yard this year.  Here's my verbena.  According to folk legend, it was used to stop the bleeding from Jesus' wounds when he was taken down from the cross.  It seems too lovely for such a sad use.

Whenever I see the name Gerbera daisy, I think of Gerber's Baby Food.  This is unfortunate, for this delightful plant ought not to generate such a mundane image.

The botanical name for the pincushion flower is scabiosa, which sounds like a disease.  We'll stick with pincushion.

Spirea is properly spelled spiraea.  It rhymes with Crimea, Korea, and Medea (according to the online Merriam-Webster Dictionary).  It has medicinal properties similar to aspirin, though an overdose could be fatal.

This Virginia Spiderwort looks like a wreath.  Native Americans used the plant to treat a host of maladies including insect bites, kidney trouble, stomach aches, cancer, and "female ailments and rupture."  I imagine our forebears produced these medicines more safely, simply, and cheaply than the pharmaceuticals that are foisted on us today.

Bacopa is supposed to improve your memory.  Dr. Oz recommends taking 150 mg per day, but Dr. Weil recommends crossword puzzles, reading, and other more rigorously-studied supplements.  If I could, I'd like to know what the Native Americans recommend; they seem more knowledgeable.

On Memorial Day. . .

. . . a fitting quote from Mark Twain:
"Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."

Tarmac Times

Yesterday I got to do something I haven't done in a long time--see someone off at the airport from inside the airlines gate.  Ever since September 11 we've had to drop people off--pull up to the curb, unload their bags, and speed away.  But since Miranda flew as an unaccompanied minor ("UMMMMMM," as we call her) to Boston last night, I was able to be with her until she boarded her plane.

Here's a song to celebrate the memory of old times at the airport.  Sing to the tune of Peter, Paul & Mary's "Leaving on a Jet Plane":

So your bags are packed, you're ready to go
I'm standing here inside the gate
Watching all the planes glide in and out
But they haven't called your row just yet
The pilot's smokin' a cigarette
Already I'm so sad to see you go.

So kiss me and smile for me
Turn around and wave at me
Let me know that you'll be back again
You're leavin' on that jet plane
The one that's on the tarmac now
I'll wait and watch you go.

There's so many times I dropped you off
When the TSA don't let you stop
I tell you now, they've changed everything
For we're all potential terrorists
With suspicious shoes and underwear
We're patted down, it's all too much to bear.

So kiss me and smile for me
Turn around and wave at me
Let me know that you'll be back again
You're leavin' on that jet plane
The one that's on the tarmac now
I'll wait and watch you go.

Minister in Chief

Not long after the Boston bombings a friend of mine was seeking theological wisdom to help process the attack.  When we both realized that neither her rabbi nor my minister had offered anything especially helpful, I suggested that she watch President Obama's comments on YouTube.  They were both thoughtful and profound, I told her.

I was reminded of this conversation when I listened to the president's response this week to the tornado in Oklahoma.  Once again, he offered spiritual solace not only to those directly involved but to all of us in the midst of tragedy.  Has he defined a new role for the presidency?

If so, he's good at it--which may account in part for his steady approval ratings.  His unusual equanimity rarely gives way.  That he can speak of the unspeakable time and again defuses some of the terror that accompanies these events.

Minister in Chief is probably not listed in the president's job description.  But this work done well makes all the difference.

A Dog's Life: Cassidy

"An animal's eyes. . .

. . . have the power to speak a great language."

- Martin Buber

Ants on the Move

When I told our electrician this week that I was battling ants, he replied, "Who isn't?"  I guess I'm not alone.  Here's a song about this latest invasion, a version of "The Ants Go Marching":

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching ten by ten
I see they're back in my house again
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching eight by eight
I set out traps that are filled with bait
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching six by six,
I smash two more with a ton of bricks
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching four by four
I think it's time to declare a war
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching two by two
I flush them both right down the loo
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

The ants go marching zero by zero, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching zero by zero, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching zero by zero
I now declare myself a hero
'Til they all come marching up from the ground to get back in my way.
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.

May Monotony

The news this week, I'm sorry to say, isn't interesting to me.  I loved the photos of Chris Christie and Prince Harry, and Angelina Jolie's disclosure was provocative on many levels.  But otherwise, the reporting of this week's events--the IRS, the AP, Benghazi--seems overridden by hyperbole and distortion.  So I'm posting a picture of my columbine instead.

Mother's Day Mementoes

Flowers by Mark. . .

. . .  and face jug by Miranda.  Lucky me. 

The Royal Redhead

What's not to like about Prince Harry?  The pictures from Washington are delightful.  Here's a song to celebrate his visit--sing to the tune of that old summer camp song "Bingo":

There was a prince who came to town
And Harry was his name, Oh!
H  A  R  R  Y
H  A  R  R  Y
H  A  R  R  Y
And Harry was his name, Oh!

The locals oohed and aahed they did
As Harry toured the sites, Oh!
*  A  R  R  Y
*  A  R  R  Y
*  A  R  R  Y
And Harry was his name, Oh!

He toured the town with John McCain,
Two warriors together.
*  *  R  R  Y
*  *  R  R  Y
*  *  R  R  Y
and Harry was his name, Oh!

He and Michelle became fast friends,
They bonded at the White House.
*  *  *  R  Y
*  *  *  R  Y
*  *  *  R  Y
And Harry was his name, Oh!

He has his mother's charm, he does
In visits with the soldiers.
*  *  *  *  Y
*  *  *  *  Y
*  *  *  *  Y
And Harry was his name, Oh!

Americans like royalty
And Harry fits the bill, Oh!
*  *  *  *  *
*  *  *  *  *
*  *  *  *  *
And Harry was his name, Oh!

What's God Got To Do With It?

It's a good thing that Mark Sanford has God on his side.  In his acceptance speech Tuesday night, the former South Carolina governor told us that he was "saved by God's grace."  He wanted to "publicly acknowledge God's role in all of this," and he said that God spoke to him and said, "Not that you'll win but you'll learn."  Sanford spoke of a "God not just of second chances, but of third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth chances."

Uh-oh.  Sounds like we're in for more hikes on the Appalachian Trail.  A God of first and second chances is one thing, but after that you're on your own.

Or are you?  When you can so easily pull God out of a hat and wave your magic God wand, you can get away with anything.  Especially in the Bible Belt where God and sin go way back.  Sanford knows his constituents and knows his God talk, and God didn't let him down.

Springtime Magic

A song from my past:

"White coral bells upon a slender stalk,
Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk.
Oh, don't you wish that you could hear them ring?
That will happen only when the fairies sing."

They must be out again, those fairies, for I hear the bells tinkling in the breeze.

Sanford Saga

What can you say about former South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, one of the creepier politicians in the news these days?  He should have exited quietly, following his North Carolina counterpart John Edwards.  But he didn't.

Here's James Taylor's lovely song "Carolina In My Mind," twisted into a tale of Sanford sleaze:

"In my mind I'm going to Carolina.  Can't you see Mark Sanford, can't you just see his soul mate?
And ain't it just like a guy like him to put his ego first?  Yes, I'm going to Carolina for some sleaze.

Jenny, she's the jilted wife, she just charged her ex with trespassing,
He was standing on her porch.
A cellphone flashlight in his hand has left him guilty, and he went to Carolina by mistake.

There ain't no doubt he should have walked the Appy Trail as he first claimed
'stead of meeting his soul mate.
And hey, babe, it's Argentina calling to him, but it's Carolina where he should have been.

So for now he's running in Carolina.  Can't you tell he's nutty?  Can't you just tell he's too loose?
And it ain't it just like this governor to run a rambling ad? 
It's the Alamo he thinks he's up against.

Going to Carolina for to win.  Yes, he'll win in Carolina in his mind.

A Dog's Life: Sundance

 Here's Sundance lying on a skirt I left on the floor one day. . .

. . . do clothes make the dog, or does dog make the clothes?