MOURNING WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

 Whenever I see evil rise up unexpectedly…I’m reminded how my world is not as peaceful and loving as I would like it to be.

An act of violence so senseless…it cuts through me like a knife…reminding me not only of wickedness…but also the sanctity of life.

The first time I ever felt this was back in 1963…when in school we were told of the death of John. F. Kennedy.

As a 10 year old my young and inexperienced mind needed a bit of clarifying…as to why wherever I looked…all the adults around me were crying.

I was too young to truly comprehend what they were crying for…that somehow, with his death, our world had changed for evermore.

It’s been 58 years since Kennedy’s death…but just the other day…13 soldiers in Afghanistan had their futures blown away.

Is that not the true tragedy of death…for President Kennedy…for those 13 soldiers…and for every victim in between…how they are gone and we are left to wonder…what might have been.

Would they have been great people…would they have lived a happy life…maybe yes…and maybe no…the tragedy of their passing is that we’ll never know.

As we watch more and more lives being lost to evil every day…we realize how more and more…our innocence is chipped away.

With each senseless act of brutality…we become more and more bereft…until we’re left to wonder if we have any innocence left.

If we search we can find a reason for their deaths…find someone we can blame…but that doesn’t change the fact they are gone…and our world will never be the same.

So, today I mourn with the 13 families of the 13 soldiers lost…

I share their sadness at the violent world we are living in…

I mourn the loss of their lives…

and I mourn what might have been.

BEFORE THEY DISAPPEAR

 I remember Grandpa…when our family gathered at his house…as our joy and laughter filled the air…we would always find him smiling…sitting in his favorite chair.

I remember how he’d smile…listening to new stories…or stories we retold…when I was young I figured that’s what Grandpas do when Grandpas get that old.

Sometimes he would add to a story…Oh! How his stories could beguile…but most of the time he was content to sit…to listen...to watch…and smile.

I know now what Grandpa was doing…it wasn’t because he was old…or weird…he was capturing memories as they surfaced…before they disappeared.

He was gathering up new memories…ones he hadn’t heard before and filing them away in his heart…in the place where memories are stored.

As he listened to us retell old stories…stories of family and friends…he was recalling his own memories and seeing how they blend.

He was reveling in the moment…knowing moments like those only last a little while….awash in all those memories…he could not help but smile.

I know this because when our family gathers at our house…as joy and laughter fill the air…I am now that Grandpa smiling…sitting in my favorite chair.

Capturing as many memories as I can…new memories and old ones I hold dear…smiling…trying to enjoy every moment…before those moments disappear.

Hoping every memory I’m a part of…over time…in my family will appear and reappear…and just like memories of my grandpa 

will bring a smile to their faces…

when I’m no longer here.

AN OLD BARN

 The other day on a drive home our car automatically slowed

then stopped next to an old barn just a short distance off the road.

There is an allure about old barns…still standing but falling apart

a beauty and a mystery that touches the soul and saddens the heart.

You wonder how many animals used this barn as their primary domicile

You wonder if the family who owned and operated it…was happy…at least for a little while.

Did they erect this barn next to their dream home……on a spot where they decided to stay?

Was it where they built a life together…or merely a temporary stop along the way?

Was this barn filled with love and laughter?

Was it a place where happiness flowed?

What could have possibly happened…

that she now sits abandoned by the side of the road?

Does this barn understand what has happened to her?

Does she realize she’s been spurned?

Or has she been quietly…patiently waiting all this time…for her family to return?

You wonder how long this old barn will stand…

how many more years will she be able to last…

you hope a family will come along before it’s too late…

and return her to the glories of her past…..

Whatever her story…whatever happened…she is a beautiful…imposing sight…

Perhaps that’s why when we snapped this picture…we took it in black and white.

Because standing tall deprived of all color…

devoid of all of her hues

shows the beauty this old barn possesses…

but it captures her sadness too.

AT THE END OF THE STREAM

 

Have you ever pondered over our ability to hope?…Have you ever wondered why we dream?…Why we make a wish upon a leaf…and send it down a stream?

Those who know me know I’ve lost most of my hair and I need my glasses if I am to see…but in my dream last night I had hair, I wasn’t wearing glasses…I was handsome…I’m not sure the me in my dream…was me!

When I woke I began to wonder about dreams…what if, in our sleep, we are able to see…not the world as it is…but the world as we’d like it to be?

What if a person whose hearing is lost…in their sleep finds time to rejoice…because there in their dream…loud and clear…they hear their mother’s or father’s voice?

What if a person confined to a wheelchair…while asleep in Hypno’s trance…discovers they can stand…or walk on their own…what if in there in their dream…they can dance?

Children in the midst of war…surrounded by death and destruction every day…what if in their sleep they dream of a world at peace where the only thing children do…is play?

It is comforting to think while we sleep…in dreams at the end of our day…the whole world is at peace…and our troubles have faded away.

So in the reality of the morning we find ourselves waking up to…we find a spark…a flash of hope….that it’s possible for dreams to come true.

Perhaps we are all born to hope…perhaps we were placed on the planet to dream…perhaps the fulfillment of our wishes lies on that leaf…on that leaf at the end of the stream.

REMEMBERING WHITMAN

 International Dog Day was yesterday and as I watched people celebrate with photos and good cheer…my mind wandered back to our dog, Whitman, who, unfortunately, is no longer here.

Memories of Whitman in my mind…quickly magnified…as I remembered the life he lived…until the day he died.

I looked through old photos that captured beautiful moments…wonderful days…and I was thankful how these memories are never far away.

I love how some of our memories lie dormant…as if shrouded in a fog…and how, once the fog has lifted, we find memories of our dogs.

And such is the wonder of memories…as out of the fog they climb…that our heart can be filled with sorrow…and happiness…at exactly the same time.

Like how as each memory reveals itself…when it gives our minds a peek…a smile lights up our face…as a tear runs down our cheek.

I wonder if dogs weren’t created…if that wasn’t part of the Creator’s plan

to teach us life is short and we should grab as many memories as we can.

There are two wonderful curiosities that occur with dogs and their owners…

a kind of space/time aberration.

It’s something we all understand…that needs no explanation…

The first…and here I’m sure any dog owner would agree…

Is how our dogs…who love us no matter what…become members of our family.

I believe Whitman was the best dog in the world…

on this my feelings are strong…

I imagine every dog owner thinks the same…

And the second wonderful curiosity is…

none of us are wrong.

A CHILD'S MIND

 Having worked in schools and now in a bookstore many children have come my way…and whenever I see a child I see innocence on display.

I love the way a child’s mind works….there’s no pretense…no deception…

I love their openness…their candor…love the innocence of their perception.

Recently I was again reminded of that innocence when a mother and daughter I had the pleasure to meet…they were in the bookstore when the mother noticed her daughter’s shoes were placed on her wrong feet.

When she mentioned this to her daughter…her daughter bent down and placed her hands upon her calves…“Don’t be silly Mommy,” she said, “these are the only feet I have.”

Her mother and I smiled at each other…knowing children see things differently…as they struggle to make sense out of the world they hear and see.

I wonder if a child’s mind…(of course this is just a guess)…

isn’t created to absorb love, and acceptance…and cultivate tenderness. 

I picture a child’s mind as vast…

and open…

and wherever it originates from…

the more love and acceptance that’s put into it…

the more open and tender it becomes.

As I watched her mother help her change her shoes…

and, thankfully, not her feet…

I secretly hoped this child’s mind throughout her life

would remain open

and

innocent 

and sweet.

I HAVE A FRIEND

 

I am lucky to have a varied group of friends…

some similar to one another…

some as different as night and day…

but when it comes to the friendships I have formed…

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have a friend whose favorite season is Summer…

and another who loves the Spring…

I have a friend who loves to dance…

and another who can’t dance but loves to sing

I have a friend I’ve known most of my life…

and another I’ve only recently met…

I have a friend who dislikes animals 

and another who surrounds herself with pets.

I have a friend who loves ice cream…

another friend who only eats cake

I have a friend who hates the sight of reptiles 

and another who loves to play with snakes.

I have a friends who is an artist…

another who isn’t but loves to draw

I have a friend who is a doctor 

and another who practices law….

I have a friend who loves the beach…she loves the weather when it’s hotter

I have a friend who loves the cold and won’t go near the water.

Yes…I consider myself lucky…

in the morning when the day begins

and in the evening when it ends

at the myriad of connotations 

when I say

I have a friend.

MY OPTIMIST AND MY PESSIMIST

 

An optimist lives inside me…walks beside me

his glasses are rose colored…his outlook… a little sun-kissed.

Unfortunately there’s more…for living right next door

inside me…his neighbor…the pessimist.

Whatever my condition…they jockey for position

one's outlook is gloomy…the other’s…is quite glorious

and I never can say…at the end of the day

which one will end up victorious…

The optimist, once unfurled,…sees before him a beautiful world

the pessimist has his fears, his confusion… his doubts

Take Stella for example…she’s just a sample

of exactly what I’m talking about

Stella’s indiscreet…she lives on the street

I use to see her every morning when I walked by…

When in the dark I would meet her…I’d try hard to greet her

but to this day she has never said HI.

We’ve been like two ships that pass in the night…and that’s been alright…

It’s been our relationship for many a year

My pessimist wonders what’s wrong…why she’s been homeless so long

while my optimist thinks things aren’t as bad as I fear.

As I come round a bend…where two buildings ascend

she’s usually sitting on a bench in between

I’m not sure why or how…but for quite some time now

when I round the bend Stella’s nowhere to be seen.

The pessimist in my head thinks perhaps she is dead…

now residing in a cemetery or catacomb…

The optimist in me…sees it a bit differently

thinks, perhaps, Stella has returned to her home.

Of course I have no way of knowing…how her life is going

as both my optimist and pessimist spar at each day’s beginning…

but by the end of the day…I am happy to say…

my optimist does most of the winning.

In fact…over the years…through my hopes, dreams and fears..

the pessimist in me has softened…

and though they both still reside…somewhere deep inside…

I find the optimist now visits more often. 

FROM WHEREVER FLOWERS DREAM

 

During an early morning walk in silence 

you hear the wind as it whispers to the trees…

You hear the synchronized rhythm of the crickets…

their percussion floating on the breeze.

In the darkness as you walk…

you watch the leaves and branches sway…

you hear the birds about to retire share a song 

with the birds about to begin their day

The nightingale and the owl…

the mockingbird and the chickadee…

blend together…as if rehearsed…

a morning melody.

You marvel when the flowers hear this singing

how they wipe the dew from out their eyes

how they search the darkness for the sun

then smile and stretch up to the sky.

And suddenly there in the darkness

your mood begins to swing…

because if you listen closely

you can hear the flowers sing…

Then as the darkness is receding…

and the morning begins advancing…

you wonder if it’s just the morning breeze…

or are the flowers also dancing.

And you feel blessed for having witnessed

an encounter so supreme…

The moment the the flowers have awakened

from wherever flowers dream.

STILL PROUD TO BE A SLOW READER

 

I am an avid reader now, but when I was younger…years ago

In school my teacher admonished me because I read so slow.

It was there and then I learned words have the power to make one feel small 

because for a long time after she said that…I didn’t like to read at all.

But as I grew I began to look at reading through a wiser set of eyes.

I saw how reading slowly…rather than a handicap…is a blessing in disguise.

When I open a book I never know what adventure is waiting there for me

It might be a drama…a comedy…a mystery…or perhaps a little of all three.

I Immediately embark on a journey in the author’s capable hands

where each page becomes a stepping stone into another land.

Once I turn to the first page…the adventure doth begin

and from the comfort of my bed I visit places I’ve never been

I can journey to exotic sites, witness untold beauty so sublime...

It’s even possible in a book to go traveling through time!

I can help solve a difficult crime, know what’s lingering behind that door

I can feel the joy of love as it emerges…or the horrors of a war.

Which brings me back to reading slowly… 

As I journey from the present, to the future…and into and out of the past,

from one world to the next…why would I want to travel fast?

No, I prefer to take my time…so now my reading follows this simple plan

I slowly enter into a book and…if I love it…I linger there as long as I can.

So to that teacher who all those years ago, wished my reading skills were stronger….

know that I am happy reading slowly…because the joy lasts that much longer.

And to all you other slow readers out there…never feel self-conscious…never think it’s something you should hide…

because slowly experiencing every moment…in a book…as in life

is the best way to enjoy the ride.

HOW DO WE WANT TO BE REMEMBERED?

 

If we want to be remembered for our compassion…

for our humor…

for our grace…

If we want to be remembered for the love within our heart

for the smile upon our face….

If we want to be remembered as someone who listens…

someone who cares…

If we want to be remembered for our willingness to share.

If we want to be remembered for our acceptance of the entire human race…

If we want to be remembered for making this world a kinder…safer place…

If we want to be remembered for our generosity…

our tenderness

our willingness to give…

If this is how we want to be remembered…

Then… 

perhaps…

this is how we ought to live.

DA VINCI AND MONET MEMORIES

 

From the time I first gazed upon them I have loved the paintings of Monet…

love the impression of his subjects…love his colors…love the way they interplay.

I’ve also loved the paintings of da Vinci…though a completely different style…

I love the details of his Mona Lisa…love her colors…love her smile.

I think memory is a lot like these paintings for when a moment is first unveiled…

It is brushed upon our hearts and minds…like a da Vinci…in detail.

But over time our memories seems to blend together…a little everyday

until, when we grow a little older…we tend to remember in Monet.

When our family comes together and we bring up memories of yesterday…

Invariably we all remember them…in a slightly different way.

Facts we knew distinctly when first experienced…facts we remember as sublime

tend…inside our memories…to blend together over time.

I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked…that this is the way our memories replay…

why da Vinci memories tend to fade into memories like Monet

Perhaps when we were created this is how our memories were cast…

and we are meant to find small details in our impressions of the past.

Perhaps it’s precisely those details that help shape our impressions…eventually…

for that is the essence of art

and

the beauty of memory.

MAGIC OF TIME

 

They say that Time is magical…that she makes everything brand new

They say that Time can heal all wounds…but…I don’t believe that’s true.

I believe there are some wounds so deep…so sorrowful

that the best Time can do…is help conceal them…

for she knows no matter how hard she tries

she’ll never be able to heal them.

And though she is saddened when those wounds reappear

for she understands those moments will be rough…

she takes solace knowing all the other times

concealing them’s enough.

LOVE IS

 

“Daddy...what is love?” His daughter asked with innocent, open eyes.

“Of all the miracles in life.” he said, “love is the most wondrous surprise.”

“Love comes out of nowhere…like a sudden summer rain…each drop of love is different which makes it difficult to explain”

“Sometimes love is like the wind that floats silently through the air…you never actually see it but you know when it is there.”

“Sometimes love is like the moon...it softly enchants our gazes.

Its light is strong and bright and infinite....and it goes though many phases.”

“Sometimes love is like the sun...ablaze and fiery hot…

It is loud and bright and in many ways...everything the moon is not.”

“Sometimes love is like a tree...it’s beauty...heaven-made.

It supplies us with the air we breathe…and the comfort of its shade.”

“Sometimes love is like a flower...whose aroma can fill a room.

and exactly like a flower…love needs to be nurtured…if it ever is to bloom.”

“How do I explain love?” I don’t know that I should even dare.”

But I do know if you look around…you’ll find love…everywhere.”

“And I do know once you feel love,” he hugged her, “every day that love will grow…and it is such a wonderful feeling…you’ll never want to let it go.”

“So I guess if you want to know what love is…it’s in the eyes of a dad as he looks at his daughter…when she’s happy…sad…or mad…and it’s in the eyes of a daughter…sitting on his lap…when she looks up at her dad.”

HER GRANDSON'S WORDS

I remember the day of her funeral…I noticed him…right from the start…and his is the memory that stands above all the others…that, to this day, remains etched in my heart.

The first pew in the church sat empty…except for her youngest grandson (his parents said he wanted it that way)…he said when it came time to talk about Grandma…he had something he wanted to say.

When the pastor nodded to him…he walked to the podium without an escort…he looked out over the crowd in attendance…then with a quick glance to his parents for support

he closed his eyes…touched his hand to his heart…and finding strength from somewhere within it…he said, “This world was a much better place when my grandma was living in it.”

As he walked back to his family…his footfalls were the only sounds in that church you could hear…and, if you could muster the energy to look up, you’d have seen a church that was filling with tears.

The pastor closed his bible…he ended the service knowing no more scriptures needed to be read…knowing, after the words her grandson spoke, nothing more needed to be said.

Yes, of all the wonderful stories told at her funeral…all the compliments…all the praises…all the boasts…it’s those brief words spoken by her grandson…that I shall remember most.

 

IT'S INDIGENOUS

 

No matter how much I read and study I will never understand the way we treated the indigenous people…the first ones to live upon this land.

I wish I could go back and change the past…amend our history…but, alas, time only moves forward…and that is not to be.

I believe understanding other cultures…other religions…what they do…the things they know…help us understand one another better…help us all to grow…

They believe in the spiritual nature of the land…they believe the land has worth…they believe the Earth is the mind of the people and that we are the mind of the Earth.

And though it is too late to change the past…the people and places we come from…it’s not too late to change the people we are today…and the people we will become.

So, for me, I begin every day with a sun salute…then I stand up…fold my hands and pray…and I try to feel what they must have felt…as they began their day.

I look to the East and pray for Respect…then to the North to be as Brave as I can be…to the West I pray for Wisdom…to the South for Kindness and Honesty.

Next I turn my eyes to the Great Spirit and pray for Love in everything I do…with everyone I see…then down to the Earth…a quick glance…and I pray for Humility.

Knowing that’s a lot to ask to whatever Great Spirit I’m praying to…I remind her I will still feel blessed if just one of my prayers comes true.

And then I add my own prayer:

That no one ever be made to feel small…

and that all these things I pray for…

will be indigenous to us all.

CHILDREN'S BOOKS

 While cleaning house ahead of our family’s summer birthday party

dusting every cranny…all the nooks…

I paused as I began to dust a shelf that housed old children’s books.

Children’s books we haven’t read in years…as so much time’s elapsed…since we read them to our children…and grandchildren…when they still fit upon our laps.

Some books we read only once…some had messages to impart

some we read so many times…we knew them all by heart.

Some books still looked as good as new…while others showed their age

as I opened each one gingerly…as I reminisced through every page

From Dr. Seuss to Little Golden books…to Peter Pan who flew among the stars…From Goodnight Moon and the Velveteen rabbit…to Where the Wild Things Are.

Each book not only contains a story…but is a memory by itself…

which is why, together, they have found a treasured place upon our shelf.

Although these books were essential to our children’s and grandchildren’s growing wings…we haven’t read to them in years…as they’ve flown on to other things..

I can’t help but think, however, these books remember when our children and grandchildren were a little smaller…and when they come to visit…

each book stands up a little taller.

Thinking about another day…another time…way back when…

hoping to be noticed…opened up…and read again.

Waiting fo the day these now grown-ups and their lives again shall overlap…

Perhaps when they read them to their children 

and their grandchildren…

while they’re still young enough to fit upon their laps.

PEACE BY PEACE

 I was never a great speller…in school…when my teacher called on me

I was never really sure if the ‘I’ came before…or after the ‘e’

When it came to certain words…I always found it telling…

how two words could sound exactly the same but both have different spellings?

In every spelling bee I ever entered…I never won first prize…and I never dreamed my lack of spelling skills would be a blessing in disguise.

But in some cases it has been…(in many others that remains to be seen)

Let me offer one example of exactly what I mean.

With hatred, bigotry and war in this world all on the increase…

one way, we’re told, to solve this problem is to attack it piece by piece.

But due to my lack of spelling prowess…when I dream of a way for hatred and bigotry to cease…I write: the best way to solve the problem…is to attack it peace…by peace.

If we attacked it peace by peace…despite our disagreements…if we showed one another we care…we might look less at the things that make us different…and find more of the things we share.

Peace by peace we might discover we’re all quite similar when we look into each other’s hearts…perhaps we’d find what brings us all together…and stop tearing ourselves apart.

Perhaps it starts quite simply…just by writing piece another way…

Instead of putting the ‘I’ before the ‘e’…we put the ‘e’ before an ‘a’.

Of course I’m not sure my teacher back in grade school would agree…

But I like to dream the world wold be more peaceful…

If everyone spelled…a little more like me.

IT LOOKS LIKE LOVE

 

They noticed from the time when they were young…from before they all could speak…their father’s way of looking at the world was different…some would say…unique.

Every morning he’d open the front door…look out over the land and to the sky above…then he’d turn around and say… “Today…children…it looks a lot like love.”

Rain and shine, good and bad he believed this is the world as God designed it…

"But she also filled it up with love." He’d say, "And it’s up to us to find it!”

Which is why every day he was on the lookout for the love he constantly spoke of…

and every day, wherever he went, he would call attention to that love.

He’d point out a smile exchanged by strangers…watching anybody share…his children were amazed…how he’d find love anywhere.

He’d show them a mother comforting a crying baby…a family holding hands…and slowly the more love that he’d show them…they more they came to understand.

Once they learned this lesson…once they knew what they were looking for…they began to find love in places where they hadn’t noticed it before.

It showed up at family dinners, good night kisses in their rooms…it showed up in the rain that helped the flowers bloom.

It showed up in people helping other people…in a wave to someone they didn't know.

It showed up anywhere they happened to be…and anywhere they’d go

The more they began to see love in their life and in the world around them

the more they began to understand how love envelopes and surrounds them.

Thanks to their father’s teachings…and those seeds of love he’d sown..

they learned how love makes every little thing in life…glow…with a beauty all its own

Which is why their own children…from before they all could speak…

saw their parent’s way of looking at the world as different…some would say…unique. 

When every morning they open their front door…

look out over the land and to the sky above…

then then turn around and say… 

“Today…children…it looks a lot like love.”

LOVE AND THE WIND

 

Love is one of those beautiful mysteries of life…we can’t control it…we can’t obtain it…and so…like most of life’s other beautiful mysteries…we look to nature to explain it.

Love is like the wind…it appears suddenly…out of the blue…

you don’t go looking for it…it finds its way to you.

There are times when the winds of love are gentle…you close your eyes and sway…other times they are strong enough to carry you away.

Like a cool breeze on a summer day that you’re happy to befriend…

once you’ve felt the winds of love…you don’t want them to end.

Alas, we do not control our love…anymore than we control a windy day…

for just as we know not when love will arrive…we know not when it will pass away.

It is only when love is taken from us…when the wind becomes a thief…

we realize its preciousness…and the price we pay…is grief.

But since so much joy rides on the winds of love…every moment of every day…

our eventual sorrow…our inevitable grief…is a price we are willing to pay.

For where would this poem be without the very wind it is speaking of…

and where would our lives be without the joy and happiness of love?

IN THE MIDDLE

 I like to start each day feeling safe and happy…

usually this leads to a grin 

and the hope that my family and friends are also safe and happy 

as their day is about to begin.

And I like to think them at least once every evening…

before another day slips away…

hoping they’re still safe and happy…

hoping they all had a good day.

I believe life is a series of beginnings and endings…

looming in the shadows like silhouettes…

every birth has its death, 

every first note its last…

every sunrise has its sunset.

But as we experience beginnings and endings

I know this also is true…

most of our life is spent in the middle…

living between the two.

There is no doubt beginnings are important…

as are also those times we must bid adieu…

but I also believe it’s in those middles…

where all of our dreams come true.

So, for me, there is no better time than the beginning or the end of each day

to sit back

to reflect….

close my eyes…

and think of those times in between…

in the middle…

where happiness lies.