Monday, November 20, 2017

Mr. Toad

ABC Wednesday
November 23rd, 2017

The letter is T for Mr. TOAD




Lots more Ts here at ABC Wednesday

Monday, November 13, 2017

The Akond of Swat

ABC Wednesday
November 15th, 3017

The letter is S for the Akhond of Swat

A truly living person who reigned for many peaceful
years in the Country of Swatz..

and upon whose death Edward Lear wrote the following!

Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
                                                or HOT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk,
                                                or TROT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
                                                or a COT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
                                                with a DOT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
                                                or BLOT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
                                                or PLOT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
                                                or shot?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
                                           O the Akond of Swat?

Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
                                                a JOT?
                                           The Akond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
                                               or WHAT?
                                           For the Akond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
                                               or a LOT?
                                           For the Akond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
                                               or a DOT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ,
                                              or a SCOT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
                                              or a GROTT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
                                              or a POT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe,
                                              or ROT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
                                              or a KNOT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
                                              or NOT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake,
                                              in a YACHT?
                                         The Akond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
                                         Is the Akond of Swat!

More interesting Ss here at ABC Wednesday!!

Monday, November 06, 2017


ABC Wednesday
November 8th, 2017

The letter is R for Remembrance

When you go home

tell them of us, and say,

for their tomorrow 

we gave our today

John Maxwell Edmonds

more Rs here at abc wednesday

Monday, October 30, 2017

A quote by Anna Quindlen

ABC Wednesday
November 1st, 2017

The Letter is Q for Quote and Quindlen

I have just finished reading Miller's Valley

by Anna Quindlen

I have a feeling that I have used Quindlen before

in my search for ABC Wednesday's quirkiest letter

but Miller's Valley did not exist then,

although many of Anna Quindlen's other books

had delighted me.

An American author, journalist and opinion columnist

I first discovered her when I read

"A Short Guide to a Happy Life"

and she says of her writing that it is always about families,

they being the metaphor of all of living.

And it is so with Miller's Valley.

Read it if you can, - you will love it!!

As to one of her quotes...

"Think of Life as a terminal illness,
because if you do you will live
it with joy and passion, 
as it ought to be lived".

More interesting Qs here at ABC Wednesday...

Saturday, October 28, 2017

This and that....

October 28th,  2017

Saturday evening, and I wore myself out in the garden today, snipping back spent flowers and plants and preparing the beds for winter.  I am about half way finished, and the wheelbarrow is piled high!!!

A cup of tea, a cookies, and a little nap revived me enough that I was able to start winding the warp  for my new planned project on the loom, having finished the last batch of tea towels. 

as they came from the loom

washed, pressed and awaiting hemming

This warp is delightful, - not as long, nor as wide - prospects of beaming and threading and sleying just eight inches of ends instead of twenty-four.  
The warp is a lovely wheat coloured Bambu and the weft a delicious yellow.....

I can hardly wait, but there are only a few days left to enjoy lovely October sunshine
and brilliant blue October skies
while I fill the wheelbarrow and feed the compost bin.

And then the Melancholy Month of November....

ah well - Christmas comes after and I have lots of weaving plans
for November.

Monday, October 23, 2017

ABC Wednesday
October 25th, 2017
The letter is P for Polliwog

Do you remember,
or did you ever
bring a bucket of frog spawn home with you
from the lake, or the pond???

And then watch it,
day by day, as the eggs developed into tadpoles
and then the tadpoles into

The word "polliwog" comes from the old English
Pol meaning head
and Wygle - to wiggle.

And how they do wiggle!!

Here is a nice poem by Albert Garcia
entitled "Frog Eggs'

They started as a small slime
of black dots.  After
wading through the pond
you and the boys,
sloshing a plastic bucket,
poured brackish water
into a clear bowl, and there
they were, a little jelly packet
of lives that grew daily
under our magnifying glass.
They're turning flat,
you tell me as you peer in
this afternoon, and I admit
I'm as caught up in this
as the boys who announce
any wiggle, any sign
of the tail, legs, gills.
But I'm content
to watch you watch the eggs, you
hovering over the bowl,
hair encircling your face
like dark ferns surrounding a pool
before a waterfall,
holding, accentuating the light.

and a light video on the life of a frog
hosted by Kermit!!!

There must be something to be said
for those lazy, hazy
polliwog days!!!

For more Ps visit here at ABC Wednesday
with thanks to those who maintain this meme.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

O is for Owl

ABC Wednesday
October 18th, 2017

O is for Owl, and for Mary Oliver

Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard

by Mary Oliver

His beak could open a bottle,
and his eyes - when he lifts their soft lids -
go on reading something
just beyond your shoulder -
Blake maybe,
or the Book of Revelation.

Never mind that he eats only
the black-smocked crickets,
and dragonflies if they happen
to be out late over the ponds, and of course
the occasional festal mouse.
Never mind that he is only a memo 
from the offices of fear -

it's not size but surge that tells us
when we're in touch with something real,
and when I hear him in the orchard
down the little aluminum
ladder of his scream -
when I see his wings open, like two black ferns,

a flurry of palpitations
as cold as sleet
rackets across the marshlands
of my heart,
like a wild spring day

Somewhere in the universe,
in the gallery of important things,
the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish,
sits on its pedestal.
Dear, dark dapple of plush!
A message reads the label,
from that mysterious conglomerate:
Oblivion and Co.
The hooked head stares
from its blouse of dark, feathery lace.
It could be a valentine.

Lots more interesting Os here, at ABC Wednesday
with thanks to those who maintain this meme.