SPRING THAW

Soon after I posted this, I decided to revert it to a draft. There's something about it that I don't like.

 Perhaps it's because I have two entirely unrelated subjects in juxtaposition. Perhaps it's because I'm getting extremely tired of writing about the snow. Perhaps because the old poem that I resurrected is lousy and was rendered even worse with revision - -  and the ancient family history is nobody's business.

At any rate, I'm posting it again against my better judgement. And then I'll move on.



"When I move to Tennessee my adventures will be over. I won't have anything to blog about."

That statement, which I made last October, has come back to bite me in the ass. I've only been here a couple of months and the adventures never end. Eventually they will kill me. 
Texas put the nails in my coffin. 
Tennessee has a burial plot waiting with my name on it.

Actually, things are improving. It got all the way up to 15 degrees last night. Even more exciting - - dramatic drum roll here - - the temperature soared to 35 degrees today and the sun appeared! I broke out into a cold sweat. Had to pinch myself. Thought I died and went to heaven.
Me? In heaven?? No way......

Note: 
The photo above is not my burial plot. It's a statement of triumph that I made today - in honor of having survived this latest blizzard.

Of course, I'm still in a helluva lot of pain from falling on the ice and I'm still snowed in and I'm still without water due to a broken pipe. But - hey! It could be worse. 

All right - enough of this Pollyanna crap. Since "Pessimism" is my middle name, I'll let you know how I really feel. I shoulda moved to the Sahara!!

Jon, control yourself! There are respectable people out there.

I keep hearing that this brutal Tennessee weather is extremely unusual. "Worst winter we had in 200 years."
Yea, right.

Native Californians tell the newcomers:
"Wow, this 9.3 earthquake is so rare! We've never had one like it before."

The Ozark hillbillies told me:
"Wow, this F-6 tornado is so rare! We've never had one like it before."

And so it goes.....

This afternoon

blue skies

The title of this post, Spring Thaw, has a duel purpose. 

I am yearning for a spring thaw, of course. But last night, while in the process of editing a new version of my poetry book, I found this poem entitled Spring Thaw that I wrote when I was in my early 20's. It was published in a literary magazine and then quickly forgotten.

I had never explained why I wrote it, and never wanted it published again. After finding it last night, I've decided to include it in my new book along with a dedication. It's certainly not a good poem but it's interesting for a personal reason.

Spring Thaw

(In memory of my Great Grandmother Sophia Horvath)

In April 
they dragged the river

for her body

waiting patiently under the ice

for months.

She yielded reluctantly,

still obstinate

after all these years.

On the muddy banks
of the Raritan
yellow wildflowers
nodded rumors,
raising their heads to see.

I never knew her.

I only know the stories

told in sporadic whispers:

that she was beautiful

mysterious

aloof

had several husbands

many lovers

and never smiled.

The lonely turbulence

of her shadowed existence

finally unraveled

like a carelessly abandoned

mourning shroud.

When she finally emerged

from the tomb of thinning ice

some say

her lips bore traces

of an intended smile.


She was my maternal great-grandmother, my grandfather's mother. I never saw her. There are no existing photos of her.

When my mother was a little girl she saw her once. Only once. My Mom remembered her as being quiet and cold - -  tall, slender, very well dressed, and extremely beautiful.
It is said that she resembled my mother. 

Everything about my great-grandmother was mysterious. She was possibly murdered but most likely committed suicide. My grandfather's surname was Knoll. Horvath was probably the surname of one of her husbands - or perhaps her maiden name.

I had never thought about her much, but now the great mystery of her haunts me.