For many years we lived in Toad Hall, an old American Gothic Foursquare house named for the mansion in Wind in the Willows although ours wasn’t really a mansion, the kids just thought it was. Now we live in a different home – one more suited to aging with dignity – yes, well, we can hope – The House Between. “Between” because we are living that stage of life between now and what is to come. Sound a little macabre? It’s not. We needed move to a space with main floor accessibility for older people who may not always be able to climb stairs to sleep and eliminate. We love this home in a quiet neighborhood with offices overooking the wooded ravine behind where we feed birds and watch coyotes play leap frog. We love knowing, too, that this is not our final place – there is more healing and goodness in the next life. I’ve kept the name of my blog toadsdrinkcoffee because I don’t know how to migrate to a new one. The name is now even more obscure, but it had to do with living in Toad Hall and my addiction to coffee. However, I did migrate my old publication – Notes From Toad Hall – to the new one Letters from the House Between.
Thanks for stopping by.
Posts
6 comments:
I forwarded this to my mother because we had a big Christmas Day argument about bird identification that involved English Sparrows. Your poem is so lovely and the argument was so ugly...I thought Mom should have a more pleasant encounter involving a reference to English Sparrows.
She said she liked many of those same sounds, as well.
I'm partial to bacon sizzling and pages softly turning.
The sound of coffee grinding is most definitely one of my love languages.
Ann, you are kind to place me in the company of poets. I wish I could say I planned it. Glad your mother liked it, though.
I loved this, Margie - especially "the whomp of the furnacing igniting." I no longer hear that in my own home, but it takes me back to my childhood and now our rare but special trips to my mother's. And, oh, the blessedness of those nursing infants!
Bacon! Mmmmmmmmmmmm!
Sounds very quiet as I read that list. I could hear each of them.
Winter silences.
Almost a haiku.
Post a Comment