Saturday, October 28, 2006

Belated happy Birthday to Lois, Megan and Faucon

All of you radiate such joy and wisdom to this group.
Thank for everything you have shared with us
with love from Gail and the Gypsies

Thursday, October 19, 2006


 the night the refinery blew up

Sparrow Girl – The Night the Refinery Blew Up

There are certain sounds you wake up to feeling inexplicably fearful and sickened. Long before knowing the why’s of it your stomach is already in great big knots. Very few events in my life had prepared me for waking up like this. In that split moment of waking up from what was my first experience with concussion from an explosion I had nothing on which to base my fear other than just knowing instinctively that this was a very, very bad thing. Before that split second was over I had already called out to my mother.

posted at

Happy Birthday Lois, Megan and Faucon.

An Angel for you all.

I hope you all had wonderful birthday's, sorry if this is late, I don't get to check in very often as you all know. With love and best wishes.

Camelot Scribe.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

happy birthday Lois

lemons from Cyprus to wish you a very happy birthday and many more to come
with love from Traveller

For Lois

Dear Lois:
Have a wonderful, delightful birthday!!!
Best Wishes

Happy Birthday to Lois,Megan and Faucon

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

For Lois on her Birthday


"To know someone here or there with whom you can feel there is understanding in spite of distances or thoughts expressed ~ That can make life a garden." -Goethe

Wishing every joy and comfort for the coming year and many more returns of the day.

((((big joyful hugs))))


SeaMuse Grove

There is a vacant spot near the Manor House
where the trails split to the Abbey
and Enchanted Forest that would be perfect
for a special grove of trees,
planted for Lois who guards their spirit.

I will have a cart of spriglings here
at the Gypsy Camp the morrow --
where each friend can select their favorite
and transport it to the grove for investiture.

What say you? I have in my Fitz cart:

alders, firs and lemon trees --
aspens and cedars and a jacaranda --
Mimosa, walnut and sycamore too,
and a Sequoia set aside for for life.

If you don't see what you need,
just whisper to Cher-Lynn
and it will be so --
and plant for Lois a memory
and prayer,
and a place of comfort
for you and me.


Happy Birthday Lois - Seventy Candles


Enchanteur was going to bake a cake
but then she thought
it is Lois's birthday
so she put on her best Snow White outfit
and is leading a
cheeky dance.
Join in the fun

Happy 70th Lois. Enjoy your day darling heart!

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Sparrow Girl – Early One Saturday Morning

Across the street in a modest townhouse lived a family with three sons. The middle son was the one who would bully me at school. I didn’t, beyond the bullying, know any of them well at all. All I even knew about them was that they had a television, which on rare occasions, my parents and I had been invited to watch. Usually when something of earth shattering importance had happened somewhere in the world and there was extended news. News such as throwing a satellite into orbit or a man, monkey or dog into space.
These homes were newer than our apartments and had central heating. Very few homes those day had anything other than a cooking stove from which ambient heat was derived. Looking back I would assume that these families had a higher standing economically as most of the housing was company owned for the express befit of keeping their employees happy. Each house had a small tree and a little yard in front and back.

I had no reason to think about them at all. Until one day their lives became important to me and all the other people in the neighbourhood. I had been fast asleep all night happy in knowing that I would not have to wake up early in the morning because, after all it was a Saturday. My parents were far to happy having a couple of hours extra themselves to wake me up. It was not hey who woke me the next morning. It was still quite dark out, a cold day in the late autumn. The apartment was still cold. Apparently my father, who would normally be first up to start the coals burning, had not yet started up the coal stove.

I had been awakened by a lot of noise outside on the street. There was the howling siren of ambulances. Police were at the house on the other side of the street. My parents stood silently by he window. I knew something was wrong. If something pleasant was happening outside they would have noticed me and happily pointed out whatever might be of interest. Instead they stood like statues by the window. There was something were alarming about that. So much so I could hardly bring myself to ask what all the fuss was. So I didn’t ask. Instead I quietly walked up to the big picture window in the living room. Carefully, as not to destroy what might be a solemn moment for my parent, I tiptoed to the edge and looked.

Suddenly my presence was noticed. My mother immediately stood beside me. She said nothing, but knelt beside me and held my hand. That wasn’t something I was used to. Mams wasn’t given to moments of mushy physical demonstrations of affection. My father was still standing exactly where he was. I could not escape the feeling that whatever was going on out there had my parents quite upset.

I knew a little something about ambulances. I knew they came to get sick people and took them to the hospital. I knew the police came to catch bad guys and to help lost children find their way. The only time I had ever seen and ambulance and police in the same place was when we passed an automobile accident on the road to den Hague. Obviously here it had to do with quite something else.

As we all looked down, a stretcher carried by two ambulance attendants came out of the house. My mother was biting her lip and her eyes looked like she might cry. So I held her hand a little tighter and looked at her. She remained quiet. My father let out a spontaneous “oh”. Something he was not usually given to doing either. There was someone on the stretcher, all covered up. Completely covered, even the face was covered. I assumed it was because it was a cold day. Faces get cold too.

Then came the second stretcher and now I was getting a strong feeling that this was more than a sick person going to the hospital. I could not stay quiet any longer, I just had to know what all this was about. “Mams,” I asked, “what is going on over there”. I was feeling quite anxcious as I asked, frightened actually.

“Well,” started Mams, stroking my hair and biting her lip, “there was an accident, the gas was left on and everyone died.”

Well, that was to the point. I had some notion of what Mams was saying. I knew, for instance that gas could explode. It was not long after the night the nearby refinery blew up. Obviously here there was no explosion, the house looked fine. So I blurted”but the house isn’t blown up!” this was a cue for my dad, who loved explaining things, anything, and he could go on about almost anything for much longer than most of us had the stamina to listen. In this case no one minded he explain it. Mams was obviously deeply affected by all that was going on, Dad never failed to be absolutely calm (unless there was a drop of blood to be seen, then he would faint dead away).

“When the gas is left on and there is a lot of it in the air it is poison for people to breathe, and since they were sleeping they just never woke up.”

As if it would all change just because I asked the question “All of them?”

“Yes, all of them”

For about another hour we all stood by the window as the other stretchers came out of the house. Eventually as the sun was starting to warm us through the window, the police locked the door to the house, and the small crowd gathered on the street started home. It was comforting to see my father start up the coals in the stove in the kitchen. I didn’t see the benefit of having gas if it was just going to kill you. That was the day I stopped complaining about being cold first thing in the morning I had warm clothes and fat knitted socks to wear.

I was very sad because children should never die, but at least these children would go to he next life with their parents, they would not be alone. For weeks it as talked about. The teacher at school tried to explain how gas was dangerous, but my father had explained it much better. The women in line at the stores poke tearfully and at time weeping.

In time it was spoken of rarely. It made an impact. For the rest of your life I would dislike the us of gas, and appreciate just how easily one mistake can have fatal consequences, a lesson best learned early.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Happy birthday to Megan

I wish you very many happy returns - sorry I'm late.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Beautiful Gypsy Purse

Here's a lovely piece of art by Lilla Le Vine at Art-e-Zine. She shows you how to make a Gypsy Purse and provides some lovely Gypsy maidens to download as well.


Wednesday, October 04, 2006

For GrannieKav

Your “campfire game”, and introspection
caused me to instantly pounce on a distinction between
those descriptors that are physical anthropomorphisms,
and those that allude to a more spiritual quality..

As a poet I am drawn to the latter,
and will now consciously focus
on using such more frequently …

no more ‘hint of a smile’, but
perhaps ‘wink of a smile’

my thanks, dear one.


possibly my favorite from your list is

SEED: “The list of a ship turning towards home”

A cant towards a memoried haven
is of turmoil twixt mindful rudder
and keel willed obstinacy ;
both causing a list of soul and serenity.

A luft of sail give hint of sadness
‘bout lost adventure on waiting shores –
balanced alone by faith in waves
that cavitations of my presence
will brush the sands of tomorrow.

a Fitz of course


Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Who am I?

Here's a little game that's fun to play round the campfire.

Who Am I?
Am I `whatsisname's wife'? ( a chamringly oblique reference I once heard to myself)
Am I Laurence's mum - or Moni's, Lana's, Mags', Luci's, Chris's or Kat's?
Am I the byline on my stories? (Reporter, poet, demented scribbler?)
Am I Grandma Kav? (I must confess, I like this one best)

But actually even that is not who I really am...

I am the wind over the tree tops
The rush of waves on the shore
I am the stars filling the night sky
The trickle of waters over rocks
The song of the bird in the morning
The list of the ship as it turns toward home
I am the gold of autumn leaves
A swathe of bluebells in the spring
I am the laughter of children
The thunder of hooves
The crunch of crisp windfall apples
Many Many colours, soft, bright, pastel, bold, check, plain, striped, plaid, dotted, rainbow
I am all that that and it is all of me
And that is who I am.

Now - who are you?

Monday, October 02, 2006

Home Again


I have prepared the fore-sought fire, my friends,
in a practiced circle of ancient stones;
with needles of pine from a hollow log,
and inner-bark of a cotton-wood tree.

The lattice tiers swell from small to grand
such that a single spark will conflagrate
to warm the death-chill of hunt and wander,
and release the cloak-pin that bounds your soul.

The music will come with the ember glow,
and laughter asparkle with crackle and spark,
to lift your spirit on to Gypsy toes
as your flashing eyes will return to home.

papa faucon