Andrew's View of the Week

Four, Five, Six,

Posted on 11/10/2014 by Andrew Reynolds

There are four of them,
one of her,
and then there is my Heather
to name them all is the task.

Cats and more cats
Is there such a thing as the crazy cat man?
Who lives next door?

In the early morning, Spirit the cat
slow crawls between us
nuzzling, snuggling and curling
black fur and green eyes
pushing between Heather and I
as dark night enfolds all
under warm covers
and restful cool air.

I move my hand
and hear a meow
and find furry ears
I wonder what she knows in the watches of the night.

The other four – the rescued ones
the little ones
the ones I had hoped to find a home
are asleep in their room, I hope.

Bella, sleek and graceful
Leader, the gray, the elder
is likely sitting by the door
as dawn breaks, knowing we’ll soon be there.

Boots, fat and awkward
Potato on furry legs, black striped, and cloudy eye
is likely staring at the food dish
after Bella stirs, knowing soon they’ll be full again.

Socks, wire fur and claws that never stop
The only boy, cuddler, gray warrior
is likely on his bed looking out the window
as Bella scratches at the door, knowing it will soon open.

Spot, frightened and angry
Black stripped marshmallow, fast and angry claws
is likely in her little bed
as gray light filters in, knowing that she will be lifted from her cage.

Spirit, black as night and old as the hills
Gentle, persistent and jealous
is likely sleeping on my toes
until Heather stirs, knowing that soon she’ll be outside on her morning patrol.

Heather, my love and my life
Creative, playful and caring
is likely rising from bed
as I doze, knowing the day has begun.

I sit here at the keyboard
looking for rhyme
contemplating the mysteries of a cat
and wondering at the power of love.

Such is a Sunday afternoon
Kittens play
and old cats nap.

And I and my Heather
Live the life
and share our love
for the little cats and each other.

Well there it is, another poem. I tried to write a nice narrative essay about the four feral kittens we’ve rescued but this came out instead. Sigh, I am about to give up on writing essays and just do poetry. Not sure what is going on, but my brain seems to have stopped thinking in complete sentences and fully formed paragraphs.

In other poetic news, I am now up to 4570 words on my cancer poetry book. I am hoping to be able have a completed draft ready early in the new year – still not sure how long it’s going to be. It’s very doubtful I’ll find a publisher and I haven’t decided if I’ll self publish it or not.

The only thing slowing down progress on my book is the wood shop – I keep going out there and building things. Pictures of the latest project on Wednesday.

Till next week,

Andrew

Posted in General, Poems | Tagged cat poem, feral cat, poem, Poetry, resuce cat, writing | Comments Off

Wednesday Woodworking – the bench shelves

Posted on 11/05/2014 by Andrew Reynolds

I finally got a project done in my shop. Yes, I installed the pullout shelves under my bench. Now I can store twice as much junk. Here’s the finished project, complete with some junk placed on the shelves:

Only had time to fill the right side with junk. Will fill the left on Saturday.

Someday I’ll have more of my bench top clear to do things.

Maybe.

I you need me, I’ll be in the shop,

Andrew

Posted in woodworking | Tagged shelving, woodworking | Comments Off

Memories

Posted on 11/02/2014 by Andrew Reynolds

A friend on Facebook shared this quote last week:

“It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory that in life” P.D. James

How often is that true – the good old days get better with each retelling and we find ourselves yearning for the past. We remember the friendships, the relaxed carefree days of youth. We remember past glories and past happiness.

Yesterday, Heather and I went on a walk around Vasona Lake and up into Oak Meadows park in Los Gatos. We walk there on occasion and have taken the grand kids there on a number of occasions. It is a favorite place.

It is a place of memories for me.

My mother use to take me there as a child. I have memories of being maybe five or six and playing on the jet airplane at the playground in Oak Meadows. Yes, they have a real AIr Force jet there – a Saber Jet I think it is. Somehow the city got a used one, stripped of all it’s parts. It’s just the body and wings placed on top the tan bark.

It’s still there, stripped of a few more sharp edges and covered with a grey no slip deck paint. It still attracts the little ones. I smile every time I see it. The old fire engine is there too. What fun it was to play on that.

I remember coming here with friends and chasing each other by the creek. I remember feeding the ducks and running over the grassy fields. I remember such happy times here. The church picnics, the family outings, riding here on my bike with the boy scout troop and buying snow cones at the snack shack.

Such fond memories.

As we walk around, I share some of these memories with Heather as a wave of nostalgia washes over me like the surf on the sand. It rushes over my toes and fades back to the sea. Oh, if I could just go back to those times and feel childhood and youth again.

In real life, I doubt I came here more than two or three times a year. There was only one church outing to this place. Our mothers scolded us for running to the creek and throwing rocks at each other. The scout troop came just one time – for an afternoon and I recall getting a flat tire on the way home and having to walk my bike the last two miles.

Still, today, as our world spins into the dark days of winter – I’ll take the few happy memories and will warm my soul in their glow.

Till next week,
Andrew

Posted in General, Writing | Tagged memories, Oak Meadows, Vasona Park | 2 Comments

Blood Test this Week

Posted on 10/26/2014 by Andrew Reynolds

The PSA

Prostate specific anxiety
Just a little poke
Just one little vile

My future in a number
Just a little number
Just one

What will it be?
Uncontrollable
Unknowable.

Am I doomed?
or am I freed
from the slow march.

The road travels up
and down
Just over the horizon is
relief or the long slow end.

Options, possibilities and alternatives
Crowd out thoughts of
friends, love and life.

This number, in sequence
Compared to that number
Those numbers, other numbers.

If A plus B
Minus C
Growing fast
or shrinking slow
or sameness without answer.
A number
That brings us to a life
without
PSA

This is another little poem from the book I am writing. It comes to mind today because this is the week that I had my six month PSA (prostate specific antigen) test. For those of us treated for prostate cancer this little number means a lot. A continued low number meaning the cancer is contained. A high number indicating that treatment has failed. Well, it’s not that simple but what the number will be is a constant source of anxiety.

The good news is that my PSA test came back with the lowest number I’ve had yet – clear evidence that the radiation treatment worked. It should be party time here with rockets and balloons.

But a glass of wine with friends is enough as I’ve got life to live, art to create, a book to write, and a wife I love.

Till next week,
Andrew