What you want to be eventually, that you must

be everyday; and by and by the quality of your

deeds will get down into your soul.

from: Put A Cherry On Top

by: Ben Behunin

quoting: Frank Crane

Can You Haiku?
We all know its a good thing to try something new...to stretch and grow.
Its a goal of mine to be creative each day...whether its writing or some silly art project or taking the 'perfect' picture of the desert. Even cooking a new recipe could count...but heaven knows I havent tried that in a while.
Names come to mind...for me to try and write about..to pay honor to..to show them that  I love and admire them...
This time it was Blake Brindley..Brian's very best friend. But this time words were hard to come by for me with this handsome man. So I took my own challenge and tried a creative route..something I've not done since high school or college.  I thought I'd  learn about Haiku's again and see if I could compose one for him. Its a challenge...because the guidelines say that Haikus are normally written about nature and the senses. I wanted to write one about a person. (Im always pushing limits arent I?!)
But over a period of time and a creative push, I've 'created'  a few.

Growing old certainly does have its perks..Im printing these with hardly an ounce of concern for the opinions of others. Who cares. At least I tried. I enjoyed the experience of trying.

March winds

came two sons, different mothers

heavens' gift to one another.

(oops..haikus arent suppose to rhyme...)

Testosterone based

Lusting for life on edges

Starting  at noon.

Two bashful boys
turn statuesque and assured
sally forth good men

*


Many anxious nights
longing for returns
muffled footsteps bring relief 

I dont think I'll make a dime or earn any honors for my Haikus...but this truly was a fun experience..to learn and try my mind at something new. Hopefully Im a good example to Blake and Brian..to always try new things. Or maybe in reality that is what they do for me..for they are masters of risk and new undertakings. oh to be young again. But not too young...

Love this man...love what the two of them are for each other. Brothers from different mothers. They came into the world just a day apart...friends for a lifetime.

Godspeed Blake...you are loved!!

There are so many fun sites to learn and to read haiku's. This site is one of my favorites. Check it out if you'd like. Go Here.

Taking joy in life is a woman's best cosmetic. 

-Rosalind Russell

Dearest Lois,
You've just had a birthday..and if I were a bet'in lady..I'd wager a huge pile of cash that NOBODY could   accurately guess your age...due to that darling face!!  For a woman who's visited deaths door and back...you could and do fool us all!!
Always a hip hair style, a closet full of cute shoes, the latest fashions adorning your trim bod, and an ever present smile, plus that contagious laugh, with the wit of a well paid comedian, all lend to your youthful appearance. I doubt we'll ever see a time that you'll be found just standing on the sidelines of life.  You're creative, resilient and enjoy a  feisty spirit that will forever keep you young my kindred spirit friend.
Your gift is seeing and building a life full of inspiring and fulfilling adventures. You are full of love and you spread that love wherever you go. When you're in a room full of people, EVERYONE  feels of your love and your exuberance for life.Your radiance is contagious...and all that speak to you come away feeling happier and appreciated. What a gift you have my friend. What a gift.
This one is for you Lois!!
May you always be your luscious self with a cherry on top!!!
Love you!!

MORE WHIPPED CREAM PLEASE

I have a new delightful friend, 

I'm almost in awe of her.

 When we first met I was impressed, 

By her bizarre behavior.

 That day I had a date with friends, 

We met to have some lunch.

 Mae had come along with them, 

All in all - a pleasant bunch.

 When the menus were presented, 

We ordered salads, sandwiches, and soups. 

Except for Mae who circumvented,

 And said, "Ice cream, please. Two scoops."

 I was not sure my ears heard right, 

And the others were aghast.

 "Along with heated apple pie,"

 Mae smiled, completely unabashed.

 We tried to act quite nonchalant,

 As if people did this all the time. 

But when our orders were brought out,

 I did not enjoy mine.

 I could not take my eyes off Mae, 

As her pie ala-mode went down.

 The other ladies showed dismay, 

They ate their lunches, and they frowned.

 Well, the next time I went out to eat, 

I called and invited Mae. 

My lunch contained white tuna meat, 

She ordered a parfait.

 I smiled when her dish I viewed, 

She asked if she amused me.

 I answered, "Yes, you do,

 And you also do confuse me."

 "How come you order rich desserts 

When I feel I must be sensible?" 

She laughed and said, with wanton mirth,

 "I am tasting all that's possible."

 "I try to eat the food I need, 

And do the things I should. 

But life's so short, my friend, indeed, 

I hate missing out on something good."

 "This year I realized I was old," 

She grinned, "I've not been this old before. 

So, before I die, I've got to try, 

Those things for years I have ignored.

 "I've not smelled all the flowers yet, 

And too many books I have not read. 

There're more fudge sundaes to woof down, 

And kites to be flown overhead."

 "There're many malls I have not shopped, 

I've not laughed at all the jokes.

 I've missed a lot of Broadway Hits,

 And potato chips and cokes."

 "I want to wade again in water,

 And feel ocean spray upon my face. 

Sit in a country church once more, 

And thank God for His grace."

 "I want peanut butter every day, 

Spread on my morning toast,

 I want un-timed long distance calls, 

To the folks I love the most."

 "I've not cried at all the movies yet, 

Nor walked in the morning rain.

 I need to feel wind in my hair,

 I want to fall in love again."

 "So, if I choose to have dessert, 

Instead of having dinner,

 If I should die before nightfall, 

You'd have to say I died a winner."

 "That I missed out on nothing, 

That I had my heart's desire. 

That I had that final chocolate mousse, 

Before my life expired."

 With that, I called the waitress over, 

"I've changed my mind, it seems." I said, 

"I want what she is having, 

Only add some more whipped cream." 

 Virginia (Ginny) Ellis Copyright, 2000

Blessed be thy brain
              that you may conceive of your  own power.
Blessed be thy breast
              that you may give sustenance to those you     love
Blessed be thy knees
              that you may bend so as not to break
Blessed be thy feet
               that you may walk in the path of your highest will.

                                                                     -Robin Morgan

Love you cousin!!

You will go out in joy
and be lead forth in peace;
the mountains and hills before you
will burst into song,
And all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn
will grow the cypress,
and instead of briars
will come up the myrtle.
This will be for the glory of the Lord,
for an everlasting sign
which will not be destroyed.

-Isaiah 55:12-13

Lovely Sabbath To You...

....I know nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of 
the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in bed at night
with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring.
These with the rest, one and all, are  to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with
miracles,
Every foot of the interior swarms with miracles.

-Walt Whitman

Happy Sabbath friends

This grand show is eternal.
It is always sunrise somewhere;
the dew is never all dried up at once;
a shower is forever falling, vapor is ever rising.
Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming,
on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn,
as the round earth rolls.
-John Muir

Blessed Sabbath everyone.

Sabbath Musings

Have you found the meaning in your life?

The Map
by Jessica DeGraw
3-20-12

Imagine if
You are a child.
You find a map; 
A pirate's treasure map.
You search.

Everyone searches.
For their keys,
For their shoes,
For their dreams.
They search.

When you are searching,
What are you searching for?
Something nonessential?
Something worthwhile?
Searching for change?

And how do you search?
Do you agonize over it?
Are you annoyed by it?
Do you feel anxious about it?
Are you diligent?

When do you find it?
After an hour?
After twenty-four?
After one-hundred and sixty-eight?
After you've given up?

What if you never find it?
What if you never stop searching?
What if the map is infinite?
What if that's the point?
Imagine if.


found here
art found here

FATHERS DAY REVISITED...

Tegus, I'll not find a better man than
you, not on the steppes, not in any city
or in all the wilds of the Eight Realms.
You're better than seven years of food.
You're better than windows. You're even
better than the sky.
from: Book of a Thousand Days
by: Shannon Hale

Dad with his fabulous "man-childs"
Bob, Mark, Brent and Scott

"He was all questions. But small boy expect their fathers to be walking lexicons, to do two jobs at once, to give replies as they are working, whether laying stones or building models...

My grandpa Sharp (2nd from the left)
Stan, Cecil,Frank, John
D, Mur or Anna, Gramps, and Beth

...digging up a shrub, or planting flower beds...Boys have a right to ask their fathers questions....Fathers are the powers that be,

Daddy Joe,  Logan, Liam, Beckham!!!

and with their power and might must shelter, guard, and hold and teach and love...All men with sons must learn to do these things....

Dad and Mom and ME!!!! (1yr)

...Too soon, too soon, a small son grows and leaves his father's side to test his manhood's wings."
by:Roy Z. Kemp

"Gramps" or John C Sharp--baby Bump--my dad

My Builder

Grandfather-Paul Burnham

Brother Joe and first born-joshua

My grandpa Vern and Grandma Ida Clemenson

Rob, Lachlan, Olive, Knox

David and Benjamin

By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families
in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the
necessities of life and protection for their families.
Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their
children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and
mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.
from: The Family:A Proclamation to the World
by: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Birthday Remembered

It is the secret of the world that all things subsist
and do not die, but only retire a little from sight
and afterwards return again.  Nothing is dead; men
feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and
mournful obituaries and there they stand looking out of
the window, sound and well, in some new strange disguise.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDPA PAUL
Born on June 9th 1903

this handsome man was born109 years ago

In preparation for this post I was able to read the minutes of his funeral.

Oh how I wish I could have known Grandpa Burnham.

Oh how grateful I am to have the faith and knowledge that someday I 

will have the opportunity to greet him on the other side of the veil.

Many wonderful accolades were spoken on Pauls' behalf.

Mostly words of comfort to my grandmother Ida, and to my mother and her brother Bruce.

Many people loved and admired Paul.

My mother was 12 years old when he died.

After all these years..she is still very sad about her loss. Im wishing she felt more comfort

and peace. I think she wonders about how different her life might have been
had her dear daddy not died when he did.  Mom is good at delving into "what might have beens."
I wish she wouldnt....for her experiences have made her into the wonderful woman she is today..
with character traits that sound a lot like her dad....
generous, kind, hard working, 

There was a poem read at his funeral that I thought I'd share again:

A REAL MAN

Men are two kinds, and he

Was of the kind I'd like to be.

Some preach their virtues, and a few

Express their lives by what they do.

That sort was he.  No flowery phrase

Or useless spoken words of praise

Won friends for him.  He wasnt cheap

Or shallow, but his course ran deep.

And it was pure.  You know the kind.

Not many in a life you find

Whose deeds outrun their words so far

That more than what they seem they are.

There are two kinds of lies as well; 

The kind you live,  the ones you tell.

Back through his years from age to youth

He never acted one untruth.

Our in the open light he fought

And didnt care what others thought

Nor what they said about his fight

If he believed that he was right.

The only deeds he ever hid

Were acts of kindness that he did.

Men are of two kinds, and he

Was of the kind I'd like to be.

No door as which he ever knocked

Against his manly form was locked.

If ever man on earth was free

And independent, it was he.

No broken pledge lost him respect,

He met all men with head erect,

And when he passed I think there went

A soul to yonder firmament

So white, so splendid and so fine

It came almost to God's design.

.

Sabbath Reflections

“After All We Can Do”
Robbie Pierce

I had been in that hole for a very long time—
In the dark and the damp, in the cold and the slime.
The shaft was above me; I saw it quite clear,
But there’s no way I ever could reach it from here.
I could not remember the world way up there,
So I lost every hope and gave in to despair.

I knew nothing but darkness, the floor, and the wall.
Then from off in the distance I heard someone call:
“Get up! Get ready! There’s nothing the matter!
Take rocks and take sticks and build up a fine ladder!”
This was a thought that had not crossed my mind,
But I started to stack all the stones I could find.

When I ran out of stones, then old sticks were my goal,
For some way or another I’d climb from that hole.
I soon had a ladder that stood very tall,
And I thought, “I’ll soon leave this place once and for all!”
I climbed up my ladder, a difficult chore,
For from lifting those boulders, my shoulders were sore.

I climbed up the ladder, but soon had to stop,
For my ladder stopped short, some ten feet from the top.
I went back down my ladder and felt all around,
But there were no more boulders nor sticks to be found.
I sat down in the darkness and started to cry.
I’d done all I could do and I gave my best try.

But in spite of my work, in this hole I must die.
And all I could do was to sit and think, “Why?”
Was my ladder to short? Was my hole much too deep?
Then from way up on high came a voice: “Do not weep.”
And then faith, hope, and love entered into my chest
As the voice calmly told me that I’d done my best.

He said, “You have worked hard, and your labor’s been rough,
But the ladder you’ve built is at last tall enough.
So do not despair; there is reason to hope,
Just climb up your ladder; I’ll throw down my rope.”
I climbed up my ladder, then climbed up the cord.
When I got to the top of it, there stood the Lord.

I’ve never been happier; my struggle was done.
I blinked in the brightness that came from the Son.
I fell to the ground as His feet I did kiss.
I cried, “Lord, can I ever repay Thee for this?”
He looked all about. There were holes in the ground.
They had people inside, and were seen all around.

There were thousands of holes that were damp, dark and deep.
Then the Lord looked at me, and He said, “feed my sheep,”
And he went on his way to save other lost souls,
So I got right to work, calling down to the holes,
“Get up! Get ready! There is nothing the matter!
Take rocks, and take sticks, and build up a fine ladder!”

It now was my calling to spread the good word,
The most glorious message that man ever heard:
That there’s one who is coming to save one and all,
And we need to be ready when he gives the call.
He’ll pull us all out of the holes that we’re in
And save all our souls from cold death and from sin.

So do not lose faith; there is reason to hope:
Just climb up your ladder; he’ll throw down his rope.

My heart leap up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.
For little boys as little boys,
No special hate I carry,
But now and then they grow to men,
And when they do, they marry,
No matter how they tarry,
Eventually they marry.
And , swine among the pearls,
They marry little girls.


Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays,
With parents who feed and clothe him.
Their lips are sticky with pride and praise,
But I have begun to loathe him.
Yes, I loathe with a loathing shameless
This child who to me is nameless.
This bachelor child in his carriage
Gives never a thought to marriage,
But a person can hardly say knife
Before he will hunt him a wife.


I never see an infant (male),
A-sleeping in the sun,
Without I turn a trifle pale
And think, is he the one?
Oh, first he'll want to crop his curls.
And then he'll want a pony,
And then he'll think of pretty girls
And holy matrimony.
He'll put away his pony,
And sigh for matrimony.
A cat with a mouse
Is he without a spouse.


Oh, somewhere he bubbles, bubbles of milk,
And quietly sucks his thumb;
His cheeks are roses painted on silk,
And his teeth are tucked in his gums.
But alas, the teeth will begin to grow,
And the bubbles will cease to bubble;
Given a score of years or so,
The roses will turn to stubble.
He'll  sell a bond, or he'll write a book,
And his eyes will get that acquisitive look,
And raging and ravenous for the kill,
He'll boldly ask for the hand of Jill.
This infant whose middle
Is diapered still
Will want to marry
My daughter Jill.


Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle!
My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle.
A fig for embryo Lohengrins!
I'll open all of his safety pins,
I'll pepper his powder and salt his bottle,
And give him reading from Aristotle.
Sand for his spinach I'll gladly bring,
And tabasco sauce for his teething ring,
And an elegant, elegant alligator
To play with in his perambulator.
Then perhaps he'll struggle through fire and water
To marry somebody else's daughter!

-Ogden Nash

My dear, wonderful, handsome nephew is getting married tomorrow afternoon!  And of course we're gonna be there!!  Sealing for time and all eternity at the beautiful Salt Lake temple!   Watching the two of them settle in for a life time together...for the rest of my life!! Its going to be fun!!!  We love them both so much!!

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-Elizabeth Bishop

art: “Turning Point” by Craig Kosak

Sabbath Musings

The Spider's Web

The spider dropping down from twig
Unfolds a plan of her devising
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.


And all that journey down from space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted
She spins a ladder to the place 
From where she started.


Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.


-E.B.White

Sabbath Reflections

Every morning when I wake

dear Lord a little prayer I make

O please to keep thy lovely eye

on all poor creatures born to die

And every evening at sundown I ask

blessing on the town

for whether we last the night or no

Im sure is always touch and go

-Dylan Thomas

the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
is is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went  and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
      archy

-Don Marquis

(Archy was a literary cockroach who typed one letter at a time by landing on the keys--no capital letters- and Mehitabel was a cat who served as a foil for Archy's commentary on human behavior.)


“lite bike” by Lee White


.

Sabbath Reflections

She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worthy,"

Nor, "I have not strength."

She did not submit with gritted teeth,

raging, coerced.

Bravest of all humans,

consent illumined her.

-Denise Levertov

WALKS THROUGH SNOW CANYON. (Southern Utah)                  
It’s still early in the day, yet not early enough  
to feel the cool breeze like a touch of a gentle caress.
The cliffs of the eastern wall appear blue, almost black.
On the sunny side the sandstone glows in bright cinnabar red.
Summer’s heat  arrives fast in the canyon.
The comfort of shadows does not last.  
I am scrambling up hill on a narrow trail,
step by step through powdery red sand,
Over sharp edged black lava rocks
and grayish sandstone boulders
slanted across the path like giant turtle backs. 
A rustle in the sage brush lets me stop and listen.
Two, no even four Roadrunners cross my path.
They find refuge in the thicket of shrub live oak.
This is THEIR Territory, where they live,
lay eggs and hatch their chicks.
And the chicks grow up, and don’t know anything else.
And the cycle goes on and on.  
A bunny rabbit scurries the other way.
Instantaneously  disappears behind a cluster of yucca,
which is now in full bloom.  
I walk my way higher up over rubble of stones,
stepping carefully from boulder to boulder.
And down again, on a huge rock,
polished by wind and water over thousands of years.  
I reach the sandy floor of a narrow side canyon.
Hackberry trees with lush green leaves give shade.
The walk is cumbrous in the dry sand.
Exhausted I rest in the coolness of the trees’ shadow.
A squirrel jumps from branch to branch,
munching on the soft leaves,
which provide the only moisture on these dry hot days.  
Mighty sandstone  columns spiral straight up to both sides.
They look as if  glued together, varnished with a coat
of black laquer, from basalt lava flow,
which may have happened a million years ago.
On return I choose a different trail.                                                   2                                                                                                   
Carefully  placing my steps through an array of stones,
and scattered black basalt plates toppled over.
Above me a huge boulder slanted, hanging on   
to the edge of a rock wall, almost  ready to fall down.
But time in geological measure is slow.
It might stay there, daringly lopsided for another millennium.   
A lizard whisks by over the black surface.
For an instant it stops, shows off it’s amazing beauty.
The tiny sage green speckles on it’s back  fluoresce in the sun.  
The desert flora woke up after springtime rain.
Torch cactus opened it’s  magnificent purple flowers.
Penstemon, and fire red desert paint brush between rocks,
and yellow Utah daisies bloom along the trails. 
A ground squirrel slips out of a tiny hole.
It carries a pebble in it’s mouth,
then drops it, stands up on it’s hind legs to look at me.
Startled it whisks back into the hole.
I wait, but it doesn’t show up anymore.  
Eventually the trail connects with a paved bike road.
Tired of scrambling I take the easy way.
Meanwhile the temperature rose to the 90s.
Shade is now rare at midmorning.  
I turn my eyes towards the glaring sun and squint.
Natural shapes become symbols of eternity.
Cliffs and petrified sand dunes formed the canyon
over a million years ago, when the earth was still resilient,
and the core of hot magma bubbled up to the surface. 
Large rounded mounds of Navajo Sandstone
with layers of red and yellowish color,
like giant scoops of vanilla and strawberry ice-cream
touch the horizon in distance.  
Again I gaze at the rock walls’ grotesque figures
which nature has formed by wind and water.
Respectfully I greet a ghostly apparition,
an anonymous head, crowned with a petrified turban,
though it seems to be more a skull than a face,
I call him Mohammed of Snow Canyon     3
His empty eye sockets are staring at me. 
I wonder since how many millenniums he looks down from his throne
He might have seen dinosaurs roaming through lush vegetation.
Volcanoes erupting, Anasazi Indians gathering prickly pear fruits,
and scratching cryptic signs in the basalt coat of the sandstone.  
Eventually modern time humans appeared,
Mormon pioneers rediscovered the canyon,
and named it SNOW CANYON,
after Lorenzo and Erastus Snow, who were prominent Utah leaders.  
And finally people of the 20st century came
with their machines to Snow Canyon’s wilderness.
And they built paved roads and parking lots
with stop signs of a different red.
Was the “improvement”  good or bad? We don’t know for sure.
But surely it made Mohammed ‘the apparition of Snow Canyon’ sad. 
                          ------------- 
For just an instant I am a wanderer in an ancient world,
in a landscape created by wind and water,
by volcanic eruptions and lava flows. 
I feel small like the lizard that had crossed my path,
or the ground squirrel which leapt out of an earth hole.  
I feel like an intruder into a sacred wilderness.
Yet I came FOR THE LOVE OF NATURE
though ashamed of using the paved road
of modern civilization for better convenience.
-Anna Winkler
May 2007