Cedar Eden - The Blog
These are the poems, writings and musings of Michael R. Martin.
Here you will find recent writings, and poems dragged up from many years ago.
Cedar Eden refers to the name of my Adirondack Homestead.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
The rains lift, the clouds part, and the sun spreads a golden glow.
Moisture, like tiny prisms, colorful sparkles on pine boughs.
A cheerful robin, perched in a nearby maple, cheeps and clucks.
Deep in the woods, thrushes join in post-rain melodies.
Butterflies emerge and flit among the sweet milkweed blossoms.
A landscape alive with growth and promise.
Monday, November 27, 2017
Friday, January 01, 2016
January 1, 2016
The first day of the new year didn't so much dawn as it oozed into existence, the heavy cloud cover preventing anything remotely resembling a sunrise. A nearly invisible snow was falling, so fine that 24 hours of snowfall has yet to yield more than a dusting on the ground. Even the motionless trees, bare tangles of branches against the featureless sky, showed no sign of putting on a hint of sparkle for winter, for the new day, or the new year. In spite of all this, the dog stuck her cold, wet nose under the covers in a cheerful attempt to rouse me from my grumbling slumber. No sleeping in with Sadie on the job.
And so I ponder: What is a new year to a dog? For that matter, what is a new day? It seems a dog can tell time of sorts, sensing when a mealtime is past or, more dramatically, waiting for the regular arrival of a family member at the appointed hour. Even our own biological clocks have a way of waking us before the alarm goes off. But knowing it is time for something is not the same as knowing that time has past. Perhaps, to the dog, life is only periods of sleeping and waking, night time and day time, with no sense of what came before or what is to come, interspersed with periodic alarms that signal when it is time to be fed or to greet the children when the bus drops them off from school. How odd it must seem to the dog when those children head off to college and their appearance no longer fits any discernible pattern in their timeless existence.
Perhaps that is why Sadie has developed such separation anxiety. Just the slightest hint of a suitcase being packed and she will dart out of the door at the earliest possible instant, run into the garage and scamper excitedly between the cars, looking back at me to see which vehicle door will be opened to admit her wiggly bottom. It is the saddest part of leaving the Adirondacks for my job in Connecticut, that look of grief in Sadie's eyes as if to ask, "Why are you leaving me again? Haven't I loved you enough?" when I scoot her back into the house and close the front door between us. Standing on her hind legs, her front paws and nose just reach the bottom of the window as she stares mournfully out at my receding figure. Or maybe she just wants to go for a ride and I only project my own sense of loss onto her seemingly baleful expression.
But, all that is for another day. Today, at this moment, she only knows I have slept in beyond her breakfast and it is time for me to crawl out of the warm cocoon of my bed and feed her. And, I, human, am alone left to ponder my own mortality with the passage of time through the greying of my beard and aging of my offspring.
Monday, May 11, 2015
My rant: GoDaddy Junk Mail Filters Suck! (As does their customer support)
I've been going through all my hosted email accounts on GoDaddy, even my non-public and catch-all addresses, and the inboxes are ALL full of SPAM, even with filtering turned on. Nice job, GoDaddy, for making my email addresses useless.
So, customer support didn't solve the issue. They only tried to upsell me an additional service! I guess the hundreds of dollars I've spend per year on GoDaddy services just isn't enough. And doesn't rate real customer service.They don't even have customer service via email anymore - guess they were getting too much SPAM (ha!)!.
My advice to you: use gmail and gmail business services for your email addresses. I'll be leaving GoDaddy as soon as possible.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Fuel the Fire
Does not come to he who waits.
Simply passes by.
Ninety five percent
Is not one hundred.
That special spark
Will not blaze on it's own.
You must fuel the fire
With your heart's desire.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Being a Me
Wrapped up in this squishy body,
Looking out at the world.
It's interesting that the best times we have
Are those that take us out of ourselves,
Outside of the Me.
It leads me to believe that somewhere, outside of me,
Is a universe of life and love.
And the more we can experience here, in life,
Outside of me,
Brings us closer to the universal Us where we belong.
Friday, May 16, 2014
With new leaves sprouting
The morning wind takes on a new sound.
Gone is the clacking of bare limbs,
Replaced by the sighing of feathered branches.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
10 PM Spring Evening in the Adirondacks
Full moon washes the stars from the deep indigo blue sky
A robin flees from her nest as I walk across the deck
In the distance, spring peepers call from the bog
As a woodcock peeps from a tree then launches into it's twittering spiral
Seeking the avian equivalent of love and romance
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Thanksgiving Settling In
We've stocked the house with fixings for our traditional Thanksgiving day full of appetizers and a sumptuous Turkey dinner. Things are mostly tidied up in expectation of our cooking frenzy and the arrival of our special guest, Wilbert Gamble, our new pastor at the First United Methodist Church of Saranac Lake. We were one of two families offering hospitality should the weather prevent him from heading home. So he is spending time early afternoon tomorrow with Grant and Cindy Besio and then joining us at four. How he'll manage two Turkey dinners I do not know. And he is going to miss out on our all day snacking, which he admits is a tradition in his family as well.
Wilbert started attending our church about a year ago and frequented the early Praise Service where I am music minister. He has a great interest in learning guitar. And though I have told him I am not good at giving lessons, it is a frequent topic of discussion with him, with hints dropped frequently after the Sunday service. Perhaps I'll pull our a few guitars while hemisphere and give him a few pointers. Wilbert is teaching himself a classical style of playing but he wants to learn the mix of chording and flat picking that I tend to use.
For snacks, we are planning our traditional affair of smoked oysters, olivada (sort of a black olive pâté, simply black olives, garlic and pine nuts), roasted red peppers (marinated in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic and basil) and guacamole. I may have my stuffing in a hot dog roll that my mom started me on as a hungry teenager. I used to help,her make stuffing, as we pushed celery and onions through a hand grinder to make the base. Mom has since switched to a blender, while we use the nice 7 quart Quisinart I purchased over the summer (best investment we ever made).
The holidays are a nice time of year. I get pulled out of my fall depression by loving thoughts of family and memories of holidays past. I think of my childhood holidays and wonder what memories we have instilled within the hearts and minds of our two children. I hope they are rich enough to last their lifetimes, as seem to be mine.
I wish all my friends and family a Thanksgiving holiday filled with love and the melding of wonderful new memories with those of thanksgivings past.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Father to Son
Father to son
A love unspoken
Father to son
Sidney to Ray
Ray to Michael
Michael to Mathew
Father to son
Soul Insights now on sale as paperback at Amazon.com
Soul Insights is also available as a Kindle book for $6.95 • Get your free Kindle Reader App
105 people took advantage of my free Kindle copy promotion.
Visit my author page on amazon at http://amazon.com/author/cedareden and goodreads at http://goodreads.com/cedareden
I would appreciate reviews on amazon.com and goodreads.com
Wind Carrying a Memory
Takes me back to Gilmanton.
I see the memory now, as an observer:
A small wooden table in Nana's garage,
Painted white and pastels, handcrafted by Grampy.
We sit, two small children, in tall chairs, feet swinging.
My sister, Thia, across the table,
Bowl-cut blond hair and happy concentration,
Coloring with crayons on large sheets of paper.
Looking out through the open door
Down the driveway to the thick forest across the street
The wind deeply sighing through the pines
Frightened by small-child thoughts
Of what lies hidden in the wilderness.
Safety just a few steps away
Through a homemade screen door with its long, squeaking spring
Don't let it slam shut as you enter the narrow hallway
Filled with the smell of fried doughnuts and baking beans,
Spices and baking and clean.
The smells of love,
The smell of Nana.