The Flowers Pick Themselves?

e.e. cummings always makes me scratch my head.

And that’s a good thing.

I love to pick up a bit of a poem and then go look it up. Here’s the whole thing.

who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky—filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon.
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where

always
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves

I wish I’d know this poem when my mother caught me pulling the buds off of her peony bush. What would she have said if I had decided this?

Really, who could resist pulling those cute little balls? I was forbidden from picking any flowers for one year and I have never picked a flower since then. Well, maybe once or twice but almost never.

My gym, McBurney YMCA, has been coming up with great quotes for the welcome board—like this one…

Russell embraces this thought—he truly seizes an occasion and makes the most of it.

Speaking of Russell, I had a nice realization last week. You know, I’m sure, that he’s named for my paternal grandmother, Louise Russell Swanson. It’s my middle name, and also that of my uncle Dave, David Russell Swanson, and David Russell Swanson, Jr, and David Russell Swanson, III.

But there’s more. Russell’s kennel name was Ollie, which is the name of my great-grandmother on the other side. So clearly, it was meant to be between Russell and me.

Here we are—four generations with me on Ollie’s lap with my Mom and MomMom Brown.

Yes, I’m working hard and I’m making progress on the Red House—just about finished a field of sunflowers and asters.

I’m not sure how I feel about them— do they look kind of hostile? Do they look like they’re trying to keep the lady away from the house? She is Mary Cassatt, from an etching by her friend, Edgar Degas, titled “Mary Cassatt at the Louvre.” I’ve always wanted to put her in a drawing. I stole it because the artist and teacher Frank Mason said, “If you take something from another artist, steal it don’t borrow it—you don’t want to have to give it back.”

So I’m keeping her and I’ll keep at the drawing; I think next will be a pine forest surrounding the house. Maybe that will balance to sunflowers. Would you rather not hear me fretting as I work? Does it spoil the magic? Would you rather not see the sausage made?

Before I go I have to say, Thank you Senator Booker!