Snow!

Today we had a snowfall. Good-bye spring, hello winter again. I went shopping before it snowed. I bought new oil paintings at Walmart. I seem attracked to water and sunset pictures. I also got an end table I put together as I watched The Notebook. It took the whole movie to put all the screws in, and 5 screwdrivers. It reminded me of Grandma's Alzheimer's. Towards the end she called me 3 different names and called my baby niece by my name. Maybe I can glue my broken heart together and snap out of my depression making me dysfunctional. I got inspired to actually combine my upcoming volunteer work with my great-great-great-aunt's diaries, letters, and scrapbooks into a fascinating book that hopefully will sell. I decided to volunteer at a museum this summer dressing like someone 100 years ago. Maybe I'll understand what she meant by every entry in her diary with "I did my morning chores". I hope the feeling lasts to work on my sequel to my fairytale I neglected for 2 months. The farm this aunt lived on is still in the family. I have to talk my Dad into taking me out there to paint pictures of various things. Mom thinks is was shameful I drew a picture of the shack in the woods. Grandpa and Dad loved the picture. I would like to get a shot of the old cast iron wagon wheel that was left by a tree. The tree grew around it and one day a thief stole the other 3 wheels, but must not wanted to bother chopping the 4th wheel out of the tree. And then the footbridge. I wrote a poem about this farm beginning at the footbridge that my Grandma loved. It is a beautiful place. Tall cottonwoods creating a canopy. Grapes, cherries, gooseberries, raspberries grow. Every year my Dad tortures Mom with making gooseberry pie for the 4th of July. Gooseberries are tiny sour green berries on thorny bushes. In Snow White, there is a gooseberry pie made in the dwarves' house when the witch arrives. Maybe this summer I go down there again. Here's my poem: The Footbridge
Over the creek without a name
lies the footbridge
Under the cottonwoods over the footbridge
birds sing the woodchucks asleep
By the footbridge squirrels peak from shadows
while the leaves rustle like a baby rattle
A hill stands before a vast cropland
by the footbridge cool in the shade
Hidden in the forest by the cropland
raspberries, gooseberries, and grapes grow
Hear the voices from ghosts
rocking a washing machine
Hear the birthday parties
and Christmas carols playing on the radio
Hungry pigs squealed and horses pulled plows
by the footbridge
Crumbling into history is the farmhouse
with holey green roof tiles
Watch the footbridge torn down
after the lost barn guarding the fodder
And watch another built
like the one built long ago
Post later. Bye!