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Posts Tagged ‘acceptance’

At Gene’s Funeral, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on October 29, 2021| Leave a Comment » 

That’s the secret, love. It’s not about finding what you’re searching for…it’s about valuing what you find. (Reed Logan Westgate, The Infernal Games)

Time. I find so little of it lately. And yet, this poem, written four years ago, hits me as if I’d written it yesterday.

GENE’S WORDS—AT HIS OWN FUNERAL

My death started in January
when bare branches caressed snow
cold as my body.

My friend, the gentle priest,
stood at one end of the casket
and asked if he blessed my head or feet.

He didn’t know I laughed, hearing him
from the gnarled branches of a nearby tree,
where a bright, red cardinal and I

waited to fly together into new,
exciting places I would never be able
to explain to those left behind.

The priest had commented on my raucous
sense of humor. He paused, memory or imagination
filling in the blanks. Church space remained

reverent. Stifled laughs warmed my spirit, the chill 
of my body left behind. My eulogist spoke
about schizophrenia, paranoia. I carried 
 
the burden and pain. My friend said I 
was not my diagnosis. He mentioned
common moments. Coffee, killer cigarettes, picnics,

my volatile, unstable movements
as if they had been claps of thunder
during a hymn. Something that happens,

and can be embraced as part of a larger whole.
A woman reached one arm around her husband.
Their son held his infant daughter. I carried

the baby’s father as an infant. My cardinal 
companion flew upward. I followed.
A voice came from a light breaking through

the winter gray.  Your fear has been buried.
Come. I had never heard the voice.
Yet, I knew death had ended, a new life begun.

pic made from public domain photo and pastels

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More than a Moment on a Playground 

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , on October 5, 2021| 1 Comment »

playground

Children make your life important. (Erma Bombeck )

A metal bar on playground equipment can be as elusive as the top branch of a sequoia tree, to a child with Down syndrome. Low muscle tone affects movement. I watch as a more agile child edges Ella out. We are at an Oktoberfest. The adults roam the booths.

Ella sits on the ground and covers her eyes. I could go to her and be an even bigger child at play. An unspoken protector. However, Ella needs interaction with peers. I wait. And hope.

A girl with thick, kinky curls stops where Ella sits. I don’t hear their conversation. I’m not included. My granddaughter follows her new friend through the maze of kids and metal. The other girl calls her by name. Ella smiles.

The other girl is more agile. Yet, she doesn’t appear to show off her skills. She leads Ella through what she can maneuver. For another half hour. Until I see the girl stop and raise her hand toward someone behind me. “Okay. I’m coming, Daddy.”

She needs to go home. To join her family. A family already displaying the importance of getting along. I don’t turn to see either parent. I take a picture in my mind of a girl with light brown skin, dark hair. The beauty of black and white joined. And a gift I hope to pass along in a few short paragraphs.

Peace in mini doses.

 

pic created from public domain photo and colored paper

 

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The Pond: A Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , on August 27, 2021| Leave a Comment »

Park pic

Know that everything is in perfect order whether you understand it or not. (Valery Satterwhite)
THE POND

A deer lay dead in this pond last winter,
bloated, white as the ice-spotted hills.
The carcass froze, demise unknown,
while the frigid water licked its sides
until the body could be hauled to shore.
Now, a late summer breeze
remembers nothing of snow,
and warmed water fills in the emptied space.
My spirit longs to plunge under the surface,
to swim with the schools of tiny fish
under the water lilies,
to sing with the frogs,
and smell the algae and rotting things
until it finds the secret of water,
that accepts whatever space it is given.
Frozen, heated, evaporated,
eventually it becomes a pond again,
that accepts the dead and feeds the living
without question.

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Run Between the Raindrops

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , on August 21, 2021| 2 Comments » 


sun
There's a lot of difference between listening and hearing. (G. K. Chesterton)

As I drive, rain splatters on my car windshield. Fresh fat circles followed by long and hard streaks. I remember an old saying from my childhood, Run between the drops. Never a realistic expectation. More a fantasy notion.

I want to dry rain and tears, to change the diagnosis a friend recently heard. Cancer. And not an early stage. I want to run between the drops and take people who need healing with me.

A raincoat is the best tool for now. Live through all that happens. My friend’s laundry is in the spin cycle now. Clean wash soon to be dried. I will do what I can. And wait for the sun to shine again. It always does.

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Flashlight, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 14, 2021| Leave a Comment »

flashlights

Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.  (Jonathan Swift)

Flashlight

She stirs artificial sweetener into her coffee
as my husband shares one oldie recording after another.
Creedence Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane,
The Supremes. The 1960’s scene.

Folk artists. One-time hits. I listen.
And watch as my friend moves her head
with the drumbeat. She is blind. She won’t look 
for bookshelf dust or carpet lint. We welcome 

few guests during pandemic time. She celebrates
learned pathways through my house and moves 
between our couch and dining room table.
We share places where disability dissolves.

Or so I imagine until she reaches for coffee
and touches another cylindrical object instead.
“What is this?” I answer, “flashlight,” 
as if she knew about the object the way

she understands the feel of our leather couch,
the last Elvis Presley song, or a groaner-pun.
“Oh,” she answers. Yet, I don’t see the un-seeable
 until I return the artificial light to a desk drawer.

She would fathom flash-light 
the way any sighted person grasps a concept like infinity. 
I have a lot to learn about my friend’s life. 
I am grateful she is willing to teach me.


published in For A Better World 2021

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Wisdom, Perfectly Imperfect

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on June 13, 2021| 2 Comments »

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.  (Albert Einstein) 

A technician from our security alarm company will be arriving this morning. Soon. Grandchildren have been through the house. The living room looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned since the turn of the century. I have a good imagination; I vacuumed two days ago. 

Paul H. arrives with his toolbox. He doesn’t look at anything except our misbehaving security box. I don’t notice much about him until he has almost finished with repairs. One of his eyes doesn’t align with the other. Nevertheless, he knows what he is doing and answers questions with ease. 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” my husband asks. “Sure,” he answers. I add a little milk per his request and the three of us talk. About travels. About life. 

“I fell off a ladder,” he says. “Thirty-three feet.”

 I gasp. 

“Multiple injuries. Broken bones. Surgeries. More surgeries. Funny how kids stare and say exactly what they think. No holding back. They say I have a crazy eye. I just tell them it is artificial. I can’t see out of it. At all.” He turns toward me. “I’m a miracle.” 

I think about my earlier petty concerns and smile. This man chose to see us with the vision he has left. Not a marble under the TV or a crayon on the couch. A little shared coffee sounds great. I add warmth to my cooled mug and warmth to my spirit. 

Time to sign on the dotted line. Job completed. Thanks, Paul. May the story of your miracle help others see through their own times of darkness. 

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Birthday Number 75 and Still a Student

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on May 14, 2021| 2 Comments »

Bass Harbor signed

If we have not quiet in our minds, outward comfort will do no more for us than a golden slipper on a gouty foot. (John Bunyan)

“What do you want to do for you birthday?” my husband asks.

I have a few days to think about it. Not many. Age 75 is approaching with hurricane swiftness. No good options for avoiding the fact.

My unspoken answer is, appreciate. A goldfinch and cardinal appear at our bird-feeder. Their bright colors move against a cobalt blue sky. I am learning to paint. Acrylic layers take time. Each stroke crosses the canvas and dries. My work is imperfect. At this advanced age I am a student of both art and of life. The above painting of Bass Harbor in Maine was a recent gift for my husband.

What do I want? I want to be. Having is overrated. I’d like to turn off the news when I can no longer help. I’d like to recognize wrongfulness yet never allow hate to take over. I’d like to work without letting work be my master.

I will celebrate my entry into the world in a small way. And grab the beauty in the moment, even if it is hidden under a mountain of rocks.

Today I pick up a pencil and begin another drawing on canvas. A single graphite path. A short-sighted vision. Enough for now. Each stroke is only an imitation of the real anyway. What-I-do is what matters.

Peace. May it extend beyond an image or a moment.

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From a Dandelion, a Word to the Wise

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 24, 2021| Leave a Comment »

Dandelions, like all things in nature are beautiful when you take the time to pay attention to them. (June Stoyer)

Good afternoon, human. I’ve been awake since early morning, grateful last week’s pesticide spray missed me.

Sure, I’ll pose. There are tulips on the other side of the sidewalk. Red. Yellow. I noticed you didn’t stop to admire them. You knew people in the eighteenth century preferred my ancestors to mowed grass. Nice research. I am hardy, rise early, and sleep late. I appreciate the compliment.

Wait… Don’t leave so quickly. I’d like to play mirror with a homo sapiens for a minute. Because…because you are thinking about people who are important to you. One woman was beaten when she was a child. She needed to be rescued. Yet, her spirit shines brighter than my yellow surface.  Her giving is honest.

I talked a bit fast there. But I wanted to get a lot of stuff in. Strange, isn’t it, how some creations flourish where others dissolve with the next temperature rise? Not a judgment, just what it is. An orchid is in trouble when its leaves get too dark. Can’t change that in a human either. However, the human has more sources for support. Physical. Mental.

You didn’t expect that much from a plant, a flower, this ordinary, did you? Even you have your stereotypes. I hope to see you again after the next mowing. Keep your eyes open. Thanks for the chat.

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A Different Kind of Holiday

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , on December 23, 2020| Leave a Comment »

From the Distant Music of the Hounds. (E. B. White)

To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year.

Seasonal music plays on TV or the radio, yet it can’t fill the vast space known as social distance. Necessary. But new, different. I am forced to look inside. At the person I see backward in the mirror. At what I give, not what I receive.

My older granddaughters call. They love their gifts. Sweatshirts. They chose the designs. I cherish their gratitude. Hugs need to come over the phone or on Facetime.

“I love you, Grandma.”

What other gifts do I need?

In past years did I celebrate or accept the season as an entitlement?

Time. Precious. Each passing second. Survival, not to be taken for granted.

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The Pond (A Poem)

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , on December 2, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

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