by Robert M. Katzman ©¸ June 27, 2019
(1 of 20)
Some beautiful sunlit morning
While I wait for Cinderella to arrive
My grand-daughter might say to me:
“Grampa, what did you learn in your life?”
And I look through the colors of the glass
Fade backwards thru time
Drifting
Wondering how to answer someone so young
And pointing to the pretty window
I’d say to her,
“Well sometimes things were wonderful…
May 14, 2019
I planted 4 trees today.
I drove far away to a lovely rural nursery and the prices were tiny compared to near me.
Amber, Lisa and Kaitlan helped me with the transaction and with loading my old van.
The van needed to be jump-started because I haven’t used it all winter.
My driving forever cured the van’s sad battery.
My old body is inconceivably tired.
So tired I can’t tell how tired I am.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how tired am I?
42
(Read on …)Wildflower Diary (2)
by Robert M. Katzman © June 23, 2018
 Short essays, reflections & captured moments about prairies, plants, food and people worth writing about, at various times:
 July 30, 2017
My original essay, posted separately:
Wildflower Diary: Caring For Joy’s Gardenâ€
https://www.differentslants.com/?p=3550
 March 6, 2018
 Ok, this is my grandfather, South Side Jacob the Carpenter’s quick recipe for tiny seasoned red potatoes with cheddar cheese. He was from Byelorussia, born in 1882, so ya gotta take that into consideration. He used unusual tools to achieve his aims.
Here it is:
So, you roast the red potatoes on a metal tray for about 4 minutes in an oven, broiling them at 450. Then take them out, go look in your closet for a steel hammer with good balance to it. Wash off the serious part of the hammer, then beat the hell out of them little potatoes (with the skin still on) until they are totally defeated. Kinda like what happened at the 1968 Democratic Convention. But, I digress.
First Published July 30, 2017, © by Robert M. Katzman
Sometimes, in the cool night air I walk barefoot in the dark on the geometric red and white stone paths to inspect Joy’s Garden for evil invaders. All manner of uninvited plants seek to join the selected ones. They are unaware that a different bipeded specie’s resistance to them is constant and that pulled weeds, once sun-dried, become kindling for our hungry backyard brick fireplace.
There are five blossoming brooding Burning Bushes on the east and on the west sides of the little garden, to contribute to my defenses. Soon to be a fiery glowing red, Moses would be proud. But also, he wouldn’t wonder why there were ten of them. Subtly, but meaningfully to me, they send two messages. I let them speak for themselves.