Thursday, March 30, 2006
Highland Harmonizers
"Coincidence" can bring some of the nicest surprises. When I went to the mutli-generational center with its gym and weight room to sign up for membership, rousing music was coming from down the hall, a senior sing-along, which I later joined once a week. One of the guys there invited me to check out the singing group at Highland Senior Center, a bunch of retired people up to 90 years of age who entertain at nursing homes and wherever invited. It has been a delightful experience.
Tonight we performed for a club that meets at a piano store, with our cute 81-year-old violin/fiddle player bringing down the house, as usual, singing her rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Any More." She reminds me of my crazy Mama, who taught me to play the fiddle, and learned along with us when we got the old player piano that no longer worked properly, terribly out of tune. I figure Daddy's $50 was well spent.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Tonight we performed for a club that meets at a piano store, with our cute 81-year-old violin/fiddle player bringing down the house, as usual, singing her rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Any More." She reminds me of my crazy Mama, who taught me to play the fiddle, and learned along with us when we got the old player piano that no longer worked properly, terribly out of tune. I figure Daddy's $50 was well spent.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Lady of the Night
Another all-night rendevous with Charlie brings the total to four this week as we arrive home in time to greet the morning sun. Our duo has grown to the Three Old Stoogies with the addition of Dick, a cute little guy with a great sense of humor and a jillion rib tickling true stories. I am the oldest and biggest of the group, like stairsteps in size and age, so you can imagine what a ridiculous sight we are on the fringes of the movie set, laughing like a trio of banshees.
Let me give you a sample of how things generally work out for me. I recently asked for people to review my book, Absence of Grief, and the first two respondents were named Richard. The first guy used the nickname Dick, so I autographed the book using that moniker. A few days later when the next request for a book arrived, I started to sign it and automatically wrote Dick instead of Richard, re-thought it and got a fresh book, addressing it to Richard. Now I'm left with a book that says Dick on the flyleaf, which I stick in my purse.
Sitting at a table last night while waiting for some movie action, the thought occurred to me that next to me was a cute guy named Dick who had shown some interest in my writing, so I took it out, finished the note and closed the book. Dick looked over and asked, "Is that one of your books? Could I read it?"
If my new friend Dick is anything like the average Joe, he will have friends or family who are bipolar and/or alcoholic. Richard, the reviewer does. Two people in the tire store did. A lady in the singing group does. Coincidence?
Speaking of which, I gotta go practice with the singing group.
The Lady of the Night
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Let me give you a sample of how things generally work out for me. I recently asked for people to review my book, Absence of Grief, and the first two respondents were named Richard. The first guy used the nickname Dick, so I autographed the book using that moniker. A few days later when the next request for a book arrived, I started to sign it and automatically wrote Dick instead of Richard, re-thought it and got a fresh book, addressing it to Richard. Now I'm left with a book that says Dick on the flyleaf, which I stick in my purse.
Sitting at a table last night while waiting for some movie action, the thought occurred to me that next to me was a cute guy named Dick who had shown some interest in my writing, so I took it out, finished the note and closed the book. Dick looked over and asked, "Is that one of your books? Could I read it?"
If my new friend Dick is anything like the average Joe, he will have friends or family who are bipolar and/or alcoholic. Richard, the reviewer does. Two people in the tire store did. A lady in the singing group does. Coincidence?
Speaking of which, I gotta go practice with the singing group.
The Lady of the Night
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Friday, March 24, 2006
Mold and Health
How many ways can mold affect your health? Probably more than any of us realize. When my daughter began having memory problems, she was only in her thirties. Others in her work place were also experiencing neurological losses such as neuropathy, and they began to refer to this place where they spent so many hours every day as the "sick building". After years of complaining, they finally succeeded in getting management to have the area checked out by experts, and black mold was found inside the walls and ceilings, possibly from water leaks. This group was allowed to move out, but others were moved in, without getting rid of the mold.
This started me thinking about the neuropathy (nerve damage) in my feet that had puzzled doctors for over a decade. Usually neuropathy is the result of long-time alcohol abuse or as a complication of diabetes, neither of which I had. Then I remembered the smell of mold in my bathroom during rains. The mobile home we had lived in for eleven years was tightly skirted, so rain water that found its way underneath could not dry fast enough, making the perfect spot for mold to grow. The neuropathy which had been slowly progressing up my legs had begun to recede after we retired and moved away.
Next came a neice with an almost fatal lung problem. Several people in the hospital where she worked came down with the same symptoms, plus brain tumors and other diseases from which some died. She has not been able to obtain her own medical records there nor the results of testing done on the building, although one source told her that when they punched a hole in the wall, black mold oozed out.
One man who came home from Vietnam sick from an unknown source had little help from the VA, so started doing his own research and found that his illness was caused by mold in the jungles there. Further, he says that lung cancer is not caused from tar in cigarettes, but from mold that forms when tobacco leaves are soaked in sugar water to improve the taste.
I don't know what kind of proof he has, but it got me thinking about my late husband's long bout with fungus throughout his body. Doctors tried everything they knew to do, and when a medicine was developed for fungus problems in AIDS patients, his doctor thought sure it was the answer to this long-standing dilemma. It would knock the fungus back for awhile, but eventually he would have to take another round of the very expensive pills, especially after using anti-biotics for other problems. Perhaps smoking cigarettes containing mold was what prevented a cure of this miserable condition that started years before we moved into the mobile home. He died of lung cancer four years ago. Tar or mold? Something to think about.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
This started me thinking about the neuropathy (nerve damage) in my feet that had puzzled doctors for over a decade. Usually neuropathy is the result of long-time alcohol abuse or as a complication of diabetes, neither of which I had. Then I remembered the smell of mold in my bathroom during rains. The mobile home we had lived in for eleven years was tightly skirted, so rain water that found its way underneath could not dry fast enough, making the perfect spot for mold to grow. The neuropathy which had been slowly progressing up my legs had begun to recede after we retired and moved away.
Next came a neice with an almost fatal lung problem. Several people in the hospital where she worked came down with the same symptoms, plus brain tumors and other diseases from which some died. She has not been able to obtain her own medical records there nor the results of testing done on the building, although one source told her that when they punched a hole in the wall, black mold oozed out.
One man who came home from Vietnam sick from an unknown source had little help from the VA, so started doing his own research and found that his illness was caused by mold in the jungles there. Further, he says that lung cancer is not caused from tar in cigarettes, but from mold that forms when tobacco leaves are soaked in sugar water to improve the taste.
I don't know what kind of proof he has, but it got me thinking about my late husband's long bout with fungus throughout his body. Doctors tried everything they knew to do, and when a medicine was developed for fungus problems in AIDS patients, his doctor thought sure it was the answer to this long-standing dilemma. It would knock the fungus back for awhile, but eventually he would have to take another round of the very expensive pills, especially after using anti-biotics for other problems. Perhaps smoking cigarettes containing mold was what prevented a cure of this miserable condition that started years before we moved into the mobile home. He died of lung cancer four years ago. Tar or mold? Something to think about.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Another First
I spent last night with Charlie, a very exciting fourteen hours. And you thought two people going-on-70 were on the dull downhill slide! There is no adventure like an old adventure. Most of that time was spent sitting in a drafty tent eating hot wings, baby back ribs, fruit, veggies and various goodies, then sitting again in the Costco snack area visiting and waiting for something to happen on the movie set. We got in a few minutes play-shopping in the background while the actors did their thing in "Employee of the Month", a comedy about two guys trying to impress beautiful Jessica Simpson. Later, after our second meal and a change of clothes, I served as a checker at Super Club. (A big sign on the wall had changed the name of the store.) Most of my shots were from the back, so I was especially glad I had Molly trim my neckline during our weekly Sunday lunch and visit.
The whole movie is being made from 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. - between normal store hours. It's been a real education to see the work that goes into making a few minutes of film each night. No wonder it's such an expensive operation.
A row of trailer/dressing rooms and several trucks, including mobile restrooms, line the back area of the parking lot. A huge tent with tables, chairs and one heater serves as the headquarters for extras. We brought our own clothes, muted colors according to instructions, and the wardrobe ladies chose which were preferable for each shot. We shared the Costco restrooms for changing clothes.
Daylight brought blowing snow, and we discovered a flat tire on the car. Gentleman Charlie let me inside and started the motor for warmth while he braved the cold weather to change the tire and get us going toward home, hoping the bad roads had not forced closing of the mountain pass on I-40. The drive was uneventful, home and bed were luxurious. Saturday night will probably be a repeat of this new and glamorous adventure.
Stay tuned!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
The whole movie is being made from 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. - between normal store hours. It's been a real education to see the work that goes into making a few minutes of film each night. No wonder it's such an expensive operation.
A row of trailer/dressing rooms and several trucks, including mobile restrooms, line the back area of the parking lot. A huge tent with tables, chairs and one heater serves as the headquarters for extras. We brought our own clothes, muted colors according to instructions, and the wardrobe ladies chose which were preferable for each shot. We shared the Costco restrooms for changing clothes.
Daylight brought blowing snow, and we discovered a flat tire on the car. Gentleman Charlie let me inside and started the motor for warmth while he braved the cold weather to change the tire and get us going toward home, hoping the bad roads had not forced closing of the mountain pass on I-40. The drive was uneventful, home and bed were luxurious. Saturday night will probably be a repeat of this new and glamorous adventure.
Stay tuned!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Saddle
The Saddle
1940s & '50s
The Mexican saddle had a big wooden horn
and a cantle that laid almost flat.
The seat pad of soft suede was stuffed full of horse hair.
No cowpoke could ask more than that.
Two pointed toe-fenders of heavy tooled leather
protected the feet from sharp thorns
when dodging mesquite chasing stubborn old cattle,
but you still had to watch for those horns.
When Daddy rode out toward the farthest cow pasture
he sat like a king on his throne.
No matter the distance from all human contact,
on a horse he was never alone.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
1940s & '50s
The Mexican saddle had a big wooden horn
and a cantle that laid almost flat.
The seat pad of soft suede was stuffed full of horse hair.
No cowpoke could ask more than that.
Two pointed toe-fenders of heavy tooled leather
protected the feet from sharp thorns
when dodging mesquite chasing stubborn old cattle,
but you still had to watch for those horns.
When Daddy rode out toward the farthest cow pasture
he sat like a king on his throne.
No matter the distance from all human contact,
on a horse he was never alone.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Monday, March 20, 2006
Visualization
Visualization
It’s tough to realize the gruesome
truth of Jesus’ death.
The story has been told so much,
it hardly takes our breath.
But then some modern tyrant
re-institutes the cross
and we recoil in horror
at civilization’s loss.
We can’t relate to Jesus
as a personality.
He’s just a picture with a beard,
no feelings you can see.
But take somebody that you love -
your husband or your son -
and visualize him on that tree
for no sin he has done.
His bare and tortured body
writhes gasping hard for air.
The dried spit mingled with his blood
now streaks his face so fair.
His lacerated back against
the cross of rough-hewn wood,
the pain of piercing by the nails
can scarce be understood.
How could a loving father
whose son knew only bliss
send him below to suffer
such a death as this?
We cannot grasp the wisdom
that says this must be so
nor measure love so rich and pure,
whose depth we’ll never know.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
It’s tough to realize the gruesome
truth of Jesus’ death.
The story has been told so much,
it hardly takes our breath.
But then some modern tyrant
re-institutes the cross
and we recoil in horror
at civilization’s loss.
We can’t relate to Jesus
as a personality.
He’s just a picture with a beard,
no feelings you can see.
But take somebody that you love -
your husband or your son -
and visualize him on that tree
for no sin he has done.
His bare and tortured body
writhes gasping hard for air.
The dried spit mingled with his blood
now streaks his face so fair.
His lacerated back against
the cross of rough-hewn wood,
the pain of piercing by the nails
can scarce be understood.
How could a loving father
whose son knew only bliss
send him below to suffer
such a death as this?
We cannot grasp the wisdom
that says this must be so
nor measure love so rich and pure,
whose depth we’ll never know.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Saturday, March 18, 2006
St. Patrick's Day Adventure
In the last four years I've been having a lot of "firsts," beginning with losing my first hubby. Friday was not only my first time to have corned beef and cabbage, but I had it twice in the same day! Friend Charlie and I met a mutual friend for a delicious lunch at a senior center where two bagpipers were entertaining, and wouldn't you know the only table with room for our group was directly in front of the loud, loud music. We tried to stop up our ears, but couldn't quite manage to eat with our elbows.
Not much conversation was possible until we finished the meal and retired to the sitting room to catch up on the news of our lives. Then our trio was joined by a retired veteran of the US Air Force (U-2 pilot, prisoner of war) who now works as a clown, raising money for the Shriners. He showed us pictures of his cars and art work and jewelry he makes to sell on cruise ships. Very interesting, but we never did get in our planned visiting.
Charlie and I now dash across town to a nursing home where we join others of the Highland Harmonizers to spend an hour entertaining the residents. There I help with setting up, then stand like a bump on a log while personable Charlie mingles with the old folks and splashes rays of cheer everywhere. My favorite fiddler, 81-year-old Shirley, is the highlight of the day with her cute rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Anymore".
No time to help carry out the equipment, as Charlie has an appointment at the VA hospital. I listen to music and read in the car while Charlie is inside making arrangements for radiated seed implants for his prostate cancer. Then after a short rest, we head out to locate the Solo Club where Charlie was invited for a St. Patrick's Day Dinner/Dance.
The Solo Club is run by its members, a bunch of very nice people who are all single. Although there were two bars, there were no drunks and no fights, quite unlike the VFW dances of my youth. Since my dancing experience has been almost nil for the last 50 years, and having neuropathy in my feet, I was a bit nervous about my first club experience, but all went well. The menu was almost exactly the same as at the senior center, very tasty. I must have lived a more sheltered life than I realized, missing out on such a treat all these years.
Charlie had met Sheri on the movie set, and they discovered that they were from the same area in Minnesota. She told him about Solo and invited him as a guest. She is beautiful and very sweet, a member of the line dancing team that entertained us. Also at our table was her boyfriend, a handsome and likeable Cherokee Indian, a retired school teacher who looks much younger than his 65 years. He is a nominee for president of the club for next year. Sitting next to me was a man named Tex. I asked what part of Texas he was from and he said Virginia. His dad named him after Tex Ritter. Another guy, a friend of Sheri's, is also from Minnesota, but she had never known it until Charlie mentioned it. Old home week.
And who should we discover on the dance floor but our new acquaintance, the clown from the senior center! One of the onlookers was a man in a wheelchair who had been the victim of muggers in the WalMart parking lot, left brain damaged and helpless for the sum of $2.
So ends the latest adventure of the Merry Widow of Sandia Knolls.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Not much conversation was possible until we finished the meal and retired to the sitting room to catch up on the news of our lives. Then our trio was joined by a retired veteran of the US Air Force (U-2 pilot, prisoner of war) who now works as a clown, raising money for the Shriners. He showed us pictures of his cars and art work and jewelry he makes to sell on cruise ships. Very interesting, but we never did get in our planned visiting.
Charlie and I now dash across town to a nursing home where we join others of the Highland Harmonizers to spend an hour entertaining the residents. There I help with setting up, then stand like a bump on a log while personable Charlie mingles with the old folks and splashes rays of cheer everywhere. My favorite fiddler, 81-year-old Shirley, is the highlight of the day with her cute rendition of "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Anymore".
No time to help carry out the equipment, as Charlie has an appointment at the VA hospital. I listen to music and read in the car while Charlie is inside making arrangements for radiated seed implants for his prostate cancer. Then after a short rest, we head out to locate the Solo Club where Charlie was invited for a St. Patrick's Day Dinner/Dance.
The Solo Club is run by its members, a bunch of very nice people who are all single. Although there were two bars, there were no drunks and no fights, quite unlike the VFW dances of my youth. Since my dancing experience has been almost nil for the last 50 years, and having neuropathy in my feet, I was a bit nervous about my first club experience, but all went well. The menu was almost exactly the same as at the senior center, very tasty. I must have lived a more sheltered life than I realized, missing out on such a treat all these years.
Charlie had met Sheri on the movie set, and they discovered that they were from the same area in Minnesota. She told him about Solo and invited him as a guest. She is beautiful and very sweet, a member of the line dancing team that entertained us. Also at our table was her boyfriend, a handsome and likeable Cherokee Indian, a retired school teacher who looks much younger than his 65 years. He is a nominee for president of the club for next year. Sitting next to me was a man named Tex. I asked what part of Texas he was from and he said Virginia. His dad named him after Tex Ritter. Another guy, a friend of Sheri's, is also from Minnesota, but she had never known it until Charlie mentioned it. Old home week.
And who should we discover on the dance floor but our new acquaintance, the clown from the senior center! One of the onlookers was a man in a wheelchair who had been the victim of muggers in the WalMart parking lot, left brain damaged and helpless for the sum of $2.
So ends the latest adventure of the Merry Widow of Sandia Knolls.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Early Morning Fun
I got my first laugh of the day bright and early. When I turned the washing machine on, nothing happened, and it finally dawned on me that the electricity was off. Can't cook my regular oatmeal, I said to myself, so will just have a smoothie. Got all the ingredients in the blender before realizing electricity was also required for that. Teehee. Fixed a bowl of cereal, sat down to read Power for Today, hit the light switch. Nothing. Finished the cereal and thought, oh well, I'll just write about my St. Patrick's Day adventure for my blog. Duh!
I had used the last of the laundry soap in the load that refused to wash, so figured I might as well go to the little grocery store 5 miles away. Had to open the garage door by hand. Tough job! At the store, there are only two employees and the owner, but today the checker didn't show up and the owner had no knowledge of how to work the machines. He located a calculator and prepared to check out groceries the old fashioned way. Then arrived a teenage boy who had worked there awhile last summer, punched a few buttons and got things running. How dependent we are on our modern conveniences! Charlie, the owner, said they are on a different water system there, which is powered by electricity, so when their electricity goes off, so does the water. I try to think of something new every day to be thankful for, so today it's Sandia Knolls water. But I keep two barrels of extra water, just in case, thanks to Molly.
The electrity had been restored by the time I got home, so maybe tomorrow I'll write about yesterday's adventure. Back to the laundry.
Always looking forward,
The Merry Widow
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
I had used the last of the laundry soap in the load that refused to wash, so figured I might as well go to the little grocery store 5 miles away. Had to open the garage door by hand. Tough job! At the store, there are only two employees and the owner, but today the checker didn't show up and the owner had no knowledge of how to work the machines. He located a calculator and prepared to check out groceries the old fashioned way. Then arrived a teenage boy who had worked there awhile last summer, punched a few buttons and got things running. How dependent we are on our modern conveniences! Charlie, the owner, said they are on a different water system there, which is powered by electricity, so when their electricity goes off, so does the water. I try to think of something new every day to be thankful for, so today it's Sandia Knolls water. But I keep two barrels of extra water, just in case, thanks to Molly.
The electrity had been restored by the time I got home, so maybe tomorrow I'll write about yesterday's adventure. Back to the laundry.
Always looking forward,
The Merry Widow
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Adventure
Adding to my list of life adventures, I joined a crowd of hundreds Tuesday at Albuquerque's downtown bio-park as an extra in a movie, a comedy about Oktoberfest in Germany. The nude trees on the plaza had been artfully decorated with fall leaves, although pots of blooming daffodils were obvious signs of March. From 9:00 a.m. until 7:30 p.m. we mostly waited for something to happen, and when the cameras were rolling, we strolled around the fake carnival setting like tourists.
There was a real ferris wheel to add to the illusion, with free rides for the unpaid extras. Every 30 minutes they held a drawing to keep bored folks from leaving, but even I-Pods, TVs and digital cameras were not enough incentive for some. The men in the crowd thought they were well paid when they got to view several takes of a wet t-shirt competition.
Friend Charlie and his two neighbors were in German costumes, had been there since 5:00 that morning and earned about $100 each for their long day. If they hadn't been there for me to visit with between takes, I would have left early, too.
After dark we were in a big tent filled with fake smoke for a banquet, pretending to eat and listen to a silent band. My bunions were killing me after standing most of the day, I got sunscreen in my eyes, which burned and teared until bedtime, and I had foot and leg cramps every hour during the night until I finally took some Bendadril.
I felt sorry for the actors who had to do the same scene over and over and over, spending hours getting just a few seconds of dialogue. Maybe that's why they get paid so well. I could see absolutely nothing glamorous about movie making. But I'm always ready for another adventure. Variety is the spice of life, you know.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
There was a real ferris wheel to add to the illusion, with free rides for the unpaid extras. Every 30 minutes they held a drawing to keep bored folks from leaving, but even I-Pods, TVs and digital cameras were not enough incentive for some. The men in the crowd thought they were well paid when they got to view several takes of a wet t-shirt competition.
Friend Charlie and his two neighbors were in German costumes, had been there since 5:00 that morning and earned about $100 each for their long day. If they hadn't been there for me to visit with between takes, I would have left early, too.
After dark we were in a big tent filled with fake smoke for a banquet, pretending to eat and listen to a silent band. My bunions were killing me after standing most of the day, I got sunscreen in my eyes, which burned and teared until bedtime, and I had foot and leg cramps every hour during the night until I finally took some Bendadril.
I felt sorry for the actors who had to do the same scene over and over and over, spending hours getting just a few seconds of dialogue. Maybe that's why they get paid so well. I could see absolutely nothing glamorous about movie making. But I'm always ready for another adventure. Variety is the spice of life, you know.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Monday, March 13, 2006
Beyond Human Comprehension
Beyond Human Comprehension
Believing that the Christ would rule
with military might,
disciples thought all hope was lost
as they mourned his death that night.
This tragedy of broken hearts
and, worse yet, broken dreams
hung on the mourners like a pall
of dark despair, it seems.
But on the day of Pentecost
God made his presence known,
turned tragedy to triumph
with Satan overthrown.
And we, like those disciples,
don’t always understand
how bad news in our daily lives
may fit into his plan
of working out all things for good,
in spite of pain and woe,
to offer full salvation
because he loves us so.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Believing that the Christ would rule
with military might,
disciples thought all hope was lost
as they mourned his death that night.
This tragedy of broken hearts
and, worse yet, broken dreams
hung on the mourners like a pall
of dark despair, it seems.
But on the day of Pentecost
God made his presence known,
turned tragedy to triumph
with Satan overthrown.
And we, like those disciples,
don’t always understand
how bad news in our daily lives
may fit into his plan
of working out all things for good,
in spite of pain and woe,
to offer full salvation
because he loves us so.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Nature's Musical
Nature’s Musical
Rolling thunder is the timpani
in nature’s serenade,
accompanied by strings and horns,
our senses to invade.
The ripple of a mountain stream,
a breeze that whispers low,
the mourning cry of mating doves,
like an A string ‘neath the bow,
combine and harmonize their tunes
for a concert so divine
that God must pause and listen
as the notes all intertwine.
A far-off coyote’s “yip-yip-yip”
when sun and skyline meet
relax the weary laborer,
the restful night to greet.
Hoot owls venture forth at dusk
to add their lovely bass,
and insects chirrup cradlesongs
as darkness slows the pace.
No philharmonic orchestra,
no violin or flute
makes music quite like nature’s own.
There is no substitute.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Rolling thunder is the timpani
in nature’s serenade,
accompanied by strings and horns,
our senses to invade.
The ripple of a mountain stream,
a breeze that whispers low,
the mourning cry of mating doves,
like an A string ‘neath the bow,
combine and harmonize their tunes
for a concert so divine
that God must pause and listen
as the notes all intertwine.
A far-off coyote’s “yip-yip-yip”
when sun and skyline meet
relax the weary laborer,
the restful night to greet.
Hoot owls venture forth at dusk
to add their lovely bass,
and insects chirrup cradlesongs
as darkness slows the pace.
No philharmonic orchestra,
no violin or flute
makes music quite like nature’s own.
There is no substitute.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Friday, March 10, 2006
Country Spring
Country Spring
An early breeze of summer
blows soft across my bed.
The eastern sky becomes alive
in shades of mauve and red.
Birds twitter in the greening trees
to welcome day anew.
Young cotton sprouts peek out and gently
soak up morning dew.
Fresh tracks of quail and deer and coon
attest to neighbors rife
whose constance of variety
produce the spice of life.
The dog's bark warns of rattlesnake
ensconced among the vines.
Three feet away, his slithery mate
around a shrub entwines.
New life bursts forth on every hand,
excitement fills the air.
Twin calves nuzzle their mother,
enfolded in her care.
In retrospect I still can sense
the joy in everything.
My memory has stored the sights
and sounds of country spring.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
An early breeze of summer
blows soft across my bed.
The eastern sky becomes alive
in shades of mauve and red.
Birds twitter in the greening trees
to welcome day anew.
Young cotton sprouts peek out and gently
soak up morning dew.
Fresh tracks of quail and deer and coon
attest to neighbors rife
whose constance of variety
produce the spice of life.
The dog's bark warns of rattlesnake
ensconced among the vines.
Three feet away, his slithery mate
around a shrub entwines.
New life bursts forth on every hand,
excitement fills the air.
Twin calves nuzzle their mother,
enfolded in her care.
In retrospect I still can sense
the joy in everything.
My memory has stored the sights
and sounds of country spring.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Morning Greetings
A rooster from across the way
announces “all is well”
as dawn creeps past the morning star
and settles in the dell.
A thin white cloud accentuates
the snow-crowned mountain crest,
backed by dark grey and pink and blue:
God’s glory manifest.
The sun, still hidden in the east,
sets the powdered peak aglow,
easing slowly down the hillside
to the valley far below.
Each moment has its work of art
as shadows change the scene
in this Sandia paradise,
majestic, cool, serene.
Appreciation for these blessings?
Our bumper gives a clue:
“If you’re lucky enough to live in the mountains,
you’re lucky enough”, so true!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
A rooster from across the way
announces “all is well”
as dawn creeps past the morning star
and settles in the dell.
A thin white cloud accentuates
the snow-crowned mountain crest,
backed by dark grey and pink and blue:
God’s glory manifest.
The sun, still hidden in the east,
sets the powdered peak aglow,
easing slowly down the hillside
to the valley far below.
Each moment has its work of art
as shadows change the scene
in this Sandia paradise,
majestic, cool, serene.
Appreciation for these blessings?
Our bumper gives a clue:
“If you’re lucky enough to live in the mountains,
you’re lucky enough”, so true!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
A Positive Legacy
One man can’t make a difference?
Have you heard about the ark?
Old Noah didn’t pass the buck
with a negative remark!
He could have said, “I don’t believe
there’s such a thing as rain
because I’ve never seen it.
Folks will think I’ve gone insane!
I’m just a lowly farmer.
How can I build a boat?
Wouldn’t balsa wood be lighter?
Will cypress really float?
I don’t have any modern tools.
How about a power saw
and a pair of good, tough leather gloves?
My hands are getting raw.
Exhaust fans would be mighty nice
with animals on board.
Are you sure the grub will last a year
to feed this hungry horde?
He could have changed the blueprints
to better suit his taste,
but instead was prompted by his faith
to start to work posthaste.
For a hundred years he toiled and preached
and oft was called a fool,
obeyed the Lord as best he could
in spite of ridicule.
Because of Noah’s active faith,
we’re all alive today,
so when we’re called to service,
how can we but obey?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Have you heard about the ark?
Old Noah didn’t pass the buck
with a negative remark!
He could have said, “I don’t believe
there’s such a thing as rain
because I’ve never seen it.
Folks will think I’ve gone insane!
I’m just a lowly farmer.
How can I build a boat?
Wouldn’t balsa wood be lighter?
Will cypress really float?
I don’t have any modern tools.
How about a power saw
and a pair of good, tough leather gloves?
My hands are getting raw.
Exhaust fans would be mighty nice
with animals on board.
Are you sure the grub will last a year
to feed this hungry horde?
He could have changed the blueprints
to better suit his taste,
but instead was prompted by his faith
to start to work posthaste.
For a hundred years he toiled and preached
and oft was called a fool,
obeyed the Lord as best he could
in spite of ridicule.
Because of Noah’s active faith,
we’re all alive today,
so when we’re called to service,
how can we but obey?
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Chasing Butterflies
Chasing Butterflies
I’ve wondered at the stilted phrase - “pursuit of happiness”,
and picture in my mind a child so pure
who chases lovely butterflies, all flighty and elusive;
futility in motion, that’s for sure!
The way to find true happiness is thinking first of others.
Then the butterfly will softly light and rest.
Each day of service brings rewards beyond mere fame and fortune.
The humble servant is supremely blest.
To look for satisfaction in worldly wealth or splendor
out in the future toward the great unknown
negates the present moment, so fleeting, rare and precious,
the only time we have to call our own.
When you stop to smell the roses, pick a few to share with others,
add rays of sunshine where the light is dim.
If you see someone without a smile, give him one of yours.
Uplift the sad and lonely with a hymn.
A little loving kindness comes free just for the giving,
and reaps immense rewards to warm the heart.
Two lives can be enriched by an act of selfless beauty:
the butterfly that never will depart.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
and picture in my mind a child so pure
who chases lovely butterflies, all flighty and elusive;
futility in motion, that’s for sure!
The way to find true happiness is thinking first of others.
Then the butterfly will softly light and rest.
Each day of service brings rewards beyond mere fame and fortune.
The humble servant is supremely blest.
To look for satisfaction in worldly wealth or splendor
out in the future toward the great unknown
negates the present moment, so fleeting, rare and precious,
the only time we have to call our own.
When you stop to smell the roses, pick a few to share with others,
add rays of sunshine where the light is dim.
If you see someone without a smile, give him one of yours.
Uplift the sad and lonely with a hymn.
A little loving kindness comes free just for the giving,
and reaps immense rewards to warm the heart.
Two lives can be enriched by an act of selfless beauty:
the butterfly that never will depart.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Monday, March 06, 2006
A Walk in the Woods
1939
It was the first time we lived at Spring Grove,
when I was just a tot.
We lived in a trailer way out in the woods,
the woods Mama sure loved a lot.
I remember her walking with Dink on her back
as I tagged along close behind
through leaves that were golden and scrunched underfoot.
Delight was so easy to find.
One day I went walking alone up the trail
to see cousins Shirley and Roy.
Nobody was home but a big Collie dog,
and he danced around me with joy.
I reached up and put my fat arms 'round his neck,
and we became friends then and there
til Mama showed up with a long switch in hand,
and was she irate! I declare!
She switched my bare legs each step of the way,
and I learned a hard lesson well:
Don't worry your Mama, just stay close to home,
or you'll have a sad story to tell.
1939
It was the first time we lived at Spring Grove,
when I was just a tot.
We lived in a trailer way out in the woods,
the woods Mama sure loved a lot.
I remember her walking with Dink on her back
as I tagged along close behind
through leaves that were golden and scrunched underfoot.
Delight was so easy to find.
One day I went walking alone up the trail
to see cousins Shirley and Roy.
Nobody was home but a big Collie dog,
and he danced around me with joy.
I reached up and put my fat arms 'round his neck,
and we became friends then and there
til Mama showed up with a long switch in hand,
and was she irate! I declare!
She switched my bare legs each step of the way,
and I learned a hard lesson well:
Don't worry your Mama, just stay close to home,
or you'll have a sad story to tell.
Spring Grove was in North-Central Texas near where Mama was born and raised. Daddy's insecurity convinced him that keeping her in barren West Texas would doom their marriage, so he would move us down there every now and then until we starved out and had to go back west. This was during the depression, with few jobs available there. Dink (Jerry) was just a baby this time, and all seven of us lived in a tiny trailer with a rock for a doorstep. Shirley was Mama's niece and had kids our age, so I loved going to their house. Of course, at age 2 1/2, I had no idea I was "running away from home". A very educational experience.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Memories
Memories
The past is rich with memories -
embossed, perhaps, by time.
They lend themselves so naturally
to syncopated rhyme.
They seem to keep us young at heart,
and brighten dullest days,
reminding us of lessons learned,
and kids we helped to raise.
When grown too old for work or play,
with present thoughts uncertain,
we feast our souls on memories
as life brings down the curtain.
(From The Good Old Days)
The past is rich with memories -
embossed, perhaps, by time.
They lend themselves so naturally
to syncopated rhyme.
They seem to keep us young at heart,
and brighten dullest days,
reminding us of lessons learned,
and kids we helped to raise.
When grown too old for work or play,
with present thoughts uncertain,
we feast our souls on memories
as life brings down the curtain.
(From The Good Old Days)
If you enjoy my little bits of memory, think how your kids would love to hear or read about the details of your youth. If writing is not your favorite thing, get a tape recorder and start saving your own thoughts for future generations. Someone has said that when an old person dies, it's like the burning of a library. Don't let your life disappear as though it has no meaning.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
www.cgtrent.com
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Opportunity
Hanging in front of me so that I can read it every day is a quote from Thomas Edison: "Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work." So true. Some of the greatest joys I have experienced were produced with elbow grease and sweat. God certainly knew what he was doing when he gave us work to do. The feeling of accomplishment, especially when combined with helping others, creates more positive feedback than praise, drugs or entertainment.
What some of us would call "failure" Edison called "learning". Not one of his inventions was an overnight success, but were the end result of many failures. Someone has said there is no shame in falling down, but in refusing to keep getting up again. Trouble and trials are the only way to learn perseverance, and the older I get the more thankful I am to have experienced the woes of the Great Depression as a child, with hard work on the farm to toughen my body and will.
What some of us would call "failure" Edison called "learning". Not one of his inventions was an overnight success, but were the end result of many failures. Someone has said there is no shame in falling down, but in refusing to keep getting up again. Trouble and trials are the only way to learn perseverance, and the older I get the more thankful I am to have experienced the woes of the Great Depression as a child, with hard work on the farm to toughen my body and will.
Making Do
We lived out in the country and seldom went to town.
If problems reared their ugly heads, there was no help around.
Old innertubes and baling wire served as a first-aid kit
to fix the various machines, windmills that threw a fit.
A piece of old shoe leather could cure an ailing well.
A shoe-box made a gasket. The stories they could tell!
Tin cans were used to patch the holes where rats came through the floor
and scraps of leather formed the hinges holding up the door.
New shoes were scarce, and when our feet were showing through the soles,
a piece of cardboard cut to fit would cover up the holes.
Some copper wire from batteries repaired a gaping seam
as long as any hope remained, their short life to redeem.
With good fresh air and sunshine, we seldom came up sick,
but kerosene or castor oil would always do the trick.
The only time that I had seen a doctor since my birth
was when I had a shot for whooping cough, no cause for mirth.
With patches on our cotton-sacks and patches on our jeans,
the world could see the evidence: we lived within our means.
For more than mere necessities we didn't give a thought.
We'd sure be in an awful fix if happiness were bought.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
cgtrent@att.net
We lived out in the country and seldom went to town.
If problems reared their ugly heads, there was no help around.
Old innertubes and baling wire served as a first-aid kit
to fix the various machines, windmills that threw a fit.
A piece of old shoe leather could cure an ailing well.
A shoe-box made a gasket. The stories they could tell!
Tin cans were used to patch the holes where rats came through the floor
and scraps of leather formed the hinges holding up the door.
New shoes were scarce, and when our feet were showing through the soles,
a piece of cardboard cut to fit would cover up the holes.
Some copper wire from batteries repaired a gaping seam
as long as any hope remained, their short life to redeem.
With good fresh air and sunshine, we seldom came up sick,
but kerosene or castor oil would always do the trick.
The only time that I had seen a doctor since my birth
was when I had a shot for whooping cough, no cause for mirth.
With patches on our cotton-sacks and patches on our jeans,
the world could see the evidence: we lived within our means.
For more than mere necessities we didn't give a thought.
We'd sure be in an awful fix if happiness were bought.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
cgtrent@att.net
