FLIP FLOP monkey...double click.

My friend, Marian, made this chair.
She's a star!

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SPRING LIME TEA COOKIES

Ingredients

• 2 teaspoons lime juice
• 1/3 cup milk
• 1/2 cup butter, softened
• 3/4 cup white sugar
• 1 egg
• 2 teaspoons lime zest
• 1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 tablespoons lime juice
• 1/4 cup white sugar

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Combine the 2 teaspoons of lime juice with the milk, let stand for 5 minutes.
2. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and 3/4 cup sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg, then stir in the lime zest and milk mixture. Combine the flour, baking powder and baking soda, blend into the creamed mixture. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto the ungreased cookie sheets.
3. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven, until the edges are light brown. Allow cookies to cool on baking sheets for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely.
4. To make the glaze, stir together the remaining lime juice and sugar. Brush onto cooled cookies.

What Came to Me
by Jane Kenyon
I took the last dusty piece of china out of the barrel. It was your gravy boat, with a hard, brown drop of gravy still on the porcelain lip. I grieved for you then as I never had before.

head held high

Always act like you're wearing an invisible crown. ~Author Unknown

Late February

by Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

I knew a clean man
but he was not for me.
Now I sew green aprons
over covered seats. He

wades the muddy water fishing,
falls in, dries his last pay-check
in the sun, smooths it out
in Leaves of Grass. He's
the one for me.

~ Lorine Niedecker

My sister Susan's
Mangos on a grill

art: s.wray, scraffito

photo:e.bouman

Water

Before I was born I was water.
I thought of this sitting on a blue
chair surrounded by pink, red, white
hollyhocks in the yard in front
of my green studio. There are conclusions
to be drawn but I can't do it anymore.
Born man, child man, singing man,
dancing man, loving man, old man,
dying man. This is a round river
and we are her fish who become water.

~ Jim Harrison