16 September ’17 – A Wet, Rainy Weekend | #WeekendCoffeeShare

Cotillion Butterfly on an Irish Daisy

Welcome to my blog home for Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by Diana at Part Time Monster Blog. (According to her tweet, three hours ago, their Internet is down, and so there will be no “linky” on her page, this weekend, or a coffee post from her.)

If we were having coffee together this morning, I would let you know that although it’s getting on toward lunchtime, my husband is out in the back yard in his new workshop, showing it off to a ham radio buddy. There’s Irish Tea, Tetley Tea (black), and Toddy coffee concentrate, for which I can heat water, milk, or both, as you like. I’m minding the dogs, eating cheese and unsalted almonds, and not paying much attention to the outside world.

If we were having coffee together, I would invite you to the back yard (right now, the rain is not heavy enough to require an umbrella) to show off the progress we have made, this week. Al and I got the last of the siding up, yesterday morning, and he’s gotten a good start on applying wood putty and sanding; we have the paint for primer and outer coat, but he’s decided that he also needs to paint the concrete floor before anything else happens. I am on a roll with getting blog posts written and poems tweaked, and so he’s volunteered to add the grocery shopping to the end of his list.

If we were having coffee together, today, I would tell you that I’m very happy I signed up for the workshop I’d mentioned. I finished my first week’s writing for the four-week Introduction to Japanese Poetry workshop I enrolled in, last month. This week’s assignment is to write more haiku, read some essays on haiku, and go back to writing haiku according to the guidelines presented in Week #1’s assignment. Two poems I wrote this week that I did not submit to the instructor for critiquing. (Only sent the best three of the lot.)

a Cotillion lands
on the Irish Daisy in my lens–
a cameo appearance

puppies, fast asleep
midst bowls and tennis balls…
my empty lap

Copyright © 11-16 September 2017, by Elizabeth (Lizl) Bennefeld. All rights reserved.

I have started (and stopped and started again) responding to WordPress daily and weekly prompts at my WordPress site The Art of Disorder. The weekly photo challenges I responded to are Waiting and Structure, and the Daily Prompt (today’s) is Recreation. I also follow the Ronovan Writes Haiku weekly challenge, but I have left them at QuiltedPoetry.net. The 20-day self-directed WordPress class on Everyday Inspiration has been completed and can be found at Lizl’s Quiet Spaces Journal.

This has been an emotional week, first to last. On Monday, Al and I attended my aunt Marion’s funeral and interment at the old church in a village on the rural mail route my father covered for so many years. Inspired by meeting two cousins from the West Coast that I hadn’t seen since 1969, and whose contact information I didn’t even think to as for, and the widow of a Marion’s other son, who died in 2001, along with their two sons. If we were having coffee together, I would tell you that I was able to get an email address for another cousin living in the same area, who had been in correspondence with my brother in Minneapolis, and she and I are now “Friends” on Facebook. A lot of my father’s siblings moved to the Seattle area and Alaska (Eagle River area) after the end of WW II and/or the Korean War and continuing. His youngest sister was only a couple of years ahead of me in school, although I did not know it at the time.

I would tell you about my discovery that relatives on my father’s side of the family have tried to get contact information for myself and siblings over the years, but my mother would not give out any information. And of course, she did not mention that requests had been made. Mother was a very private person, and that sense of privacy extended to protecting information about her children and following generations.

If we were having coffee together, I would enjoy just sitting with you in the shelter of the gazebo, a few steps from the woodworking shop, listening to the wind brushing the leaves of the hedge behind us and the raindrops that soon will be beating against the shingles of the gazebo roof. There is something about sitting in silence (or lying in bed near an open window at night), listening to the wind and rain, cricket sounds, and birds murmuring to each other in the dark, that washes away the muscles’ stress and the clamor of the next day’s activities waiting to be worried.

Thank you for stopping by, this weekend. I enjoy our visits and look forward to our getting together again.

Best wishes for your week!




Toddy Coffee, Strong |late night

I didn’t get to sleep until after five, this morning, getting iCloud onto my laptop (or, I think it might be a notebook). I have backed up, transferred and deleted so much stuff, I don’t recall precisely where everything is, now. Four of my yogurt jars firmed up within nine hours, and so I put lids on them and stored them in the refrigerator. I’ve put the other three back into the incubator in hopes that they just needed more time. The house is chilly, because I have the base heat set to 66°F; it hasn’t yet dropped that low, even with the heat off.


I’m tense enough that I don’t want undiluted coffee on my stomach, and yet I really want coffee, and so I am drinking Toddy coffee made with the last of the milk. (I called to ask Al to bring some more with him, as well as more yogurt, when he returns home.)


I find that I am, with another death possibly eminent in the extended family, filled with sorrow that I did not make a telephone call to my sister before she died, last year. She did call me when she found out that she was ill, but she was optimistic about treatment, and since she always ended up yelling at me, when we talked, I did not make the call. I felt that if I were to call, it would be all about me wanting to feel good, and her being ill was not and should not have been “all about me”. And so I waited for her to initiate. And not long after, she had a stroke and never regained consciousness. And I still am not making it all about me. I am sad, but I know that she now understands much better than I do. She had a full and companion-filled life, many people around her who loved her and cared about her.

I was the oldest sibling, and she was next to youngest, with 12 years separating us. Essentially, we grew up in two different families; we were raised by two different sets of parents. She screamed at me, attacked and made fun of me because I did not see the same people that she did, when we looked at our parents and other siblings. That is legitimate. But she needed me to affirm what she saw as being “the” truth, and I could not in honesty do so. And so she saw me also as the enemy. In the way of so many people, she felt that if I did not agree with her, I did not love her.

It is a sorry thing that so many of the people who once were in my life considered a discussion to be a battle to be won, a demand that we must agree with full heart—never simply agree to disagree—in order to be friends. My life is much emptier than it might have been. What would marriage be like, if one’s partner needed to have the other agree on all points in a discussion, or share aesthetic sensibilities or music/literary genres? Ah! Perhaps that is why we formed our relationship and married so much later in life.