Macaroo
- Name: Mac
- Gender: Female
- Location: WA US
| Total Posts | Last Post | Last Seen | Joined |
|---|---|---|---|
| 23824 | 12/10/09 11:10:36 | 12/10/09 11:10:36 | 02/19/01 |
| Visitors Now | Visitors Today | Most Visits | Total Visits |
|---|---|---|---|
| 0 | 0 | 40 05/26/09 |
1547 |
Favorite Places
Stuff
I'm a 62-year-old atheist living in Washington State. I've been married for 42 consecutive years to the same man...also an atheist... which is somewhat
of a marvel these days. We have one daughter, two granddaughters and two great granddaughters. It kind of cheats the Other Half out of the familial male
bonding rituals, but he loves us all dearly and is philosophical about the lack of testosterone in the mix.
Besides my family, I love music, books, food, movies, my garden and my boards. I hate housework, turnips and right-wing whack jobs; not necessarily in that order.
Everything else is subject to change without notice.
Besides my family, I love music, books, food, movies, my garden and my boards. I hate housework, turnips and right-wing whack jobs; not necessarily in that order.
Everything else is subject to change without notice.
Happy Turkey Day!
Seattle Time
Weather
Freethinkers Pub
Come to the Pub.
Anything from light conversation to sometimes heated debate. All beliefs are welcome, but be prepared to discuss them intelligently.
Boomer Bay
Join us at the Bay
If you were born between 1942 and 1964 and you're tired of sharing space with emo drama, adolescent angst, garish anime images, leetspeak and whatever passes for music these days, this is the place for you. Intelligent adult conversation at the beach house. Bring swimming suits and brains.
Chez Mac Autumn
Words and Music
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Fiddler Jones
04/22/08 18:02:50 | 1 Comments
THE EARTH keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to "Toor-a-Loor."
How could I till my forty acres
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill-only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle-
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.
Edgar Lee Masters; Spoon River Anthology
