If we are healthy,
have enough money to spend,
and enough food to eat,
we are truly lucky…
and life is sweet
If we have a safe place to lay our head at night
If we can read and write
we are truly lucky
and life is bright.
If we have people we love…who love us back…
If we are surrounded by love…not hate
we are truly lucky
and life is truly great.
And…If we should possess all these in our life
Then…may I suggest:
we are more than truly lucky
we are truly blessed
Our youngest grandchild turns 16 today…I know you must be shook…
the fact that she’s 16 years old…means I‘m much older than I look!
Her birthday elicited in me a memory…older minds do this…as a rule…
It was back when she fractured her arm one day in elementary school.
Attached to this memory is another memory of when I was young…it was a day in early spring…when I found on the ground before me…a baby bird…with a broken wing.
I looked around but saw no nest...and with no time to wonder why
I picked her up, took her home then nursed her till she could fly.
There seems to be an innate quality in most of us...the impulse to be humane
by providing assistance to the weak...as we try to relieve their pain.
But this is not uniquely human...in the animal kingdom it is a running theme.
proving our world, when we stop to look, is not as ruthless as it seems.
It’s amazing where survival of the fittest is the rallying cry we sing
there are still some creatures who take the time to help those with broken wings.
Perhaps it’s one way to show the rest of us (I don’t think this too bizarre)
that all life in this world is precious no matter who or what you are.
That we must remember through the grace of God we are naturally selected
that no matter how you choose to slice it...we are, somehow, all connected.
That we should be treating every living thing with dignity and grace
That for every broken wing we fix...we make the world a better place.
So on your 16th birthday, Ava…
as once again we sing Happy Birthday
and many congratulations to you are spoken…
just a reminder we will be here if you need us…
any time your wing is broken.
Another day had ended and with her favorite fairy tale read…my daughter asked me,
"Mommy, what is love?” as I tucked her into bed.
And so I did what parents do when they’re not sure what to say…I took a deep breath and started talking…hoping I’d find the right words to say.
Hoping great insights would come to me as I scanned the recesses of my brain…
“Love,” I said holding her hand and stalling for time, “love is not so easy to explain.”
Then doing my best to answer in words I hoped she’d understand
I said,“Love isn’t something you see…you can’t hold it in your hands.”
“Yet love can be found everywhere…it floats upon the wind…it glides upon the sea…
It’s in every creature large and small…it’s in you…and it’s in me.”
“Love will only blossom when two loves are intertwined…
Love is beautiful, compassionate, forgiving…love is wonderful and kind.”
“Love grows from somewhere deep inside us…it is the music in our heart…
It’s something that we share when we’re together
and whenever we’re apart.”
“Love transforms throughout the years…from the time we’re young…till the time we’re grown…love is caring for someone else’s happiness more than you care about your own.”
“Love is as wonderful when it is old as it was when it was new…
I believe, when it comes to love…it’s something we are born to do.”
When I thought I’d said enough…when my ramblings were through…I smiled at my daughter and asked, “By the way…what is love to you?”
She thought about it for a moment then her eyes lit up and with a child’s innocence proclaimed, “I think love is what makes me smile every time I say your name.”
What is love? was the question my daughter asked me at the end of a beautiful day…
and the next time someone asks me…
I know exactly what I’m going to say.
One of the chilling aspects of a hurricane is how, from hundreds of miles away, you get to watch it form…and all the time you have to think…
and prepare…
before the storm.
The storm forms in the ocean…somewhere way out to sea…
and your first hope is that you don’t end up in the cone of uncertainty.
But even when you do, when the predictions that the hurricane will hit you are strong…you keep praying…wishing…and hoping…that the weatherman is wrong.
You’re filled with mixed emotions…knowing the hurricane is going to devastate…
but not knowing when, exactly, or who…
knowing it’s going to land on someone…somewhere…
and praying that someone isn’t you.
As you prepare for what might happen…what that eventual hurricane might do…
It gives you time to reevaluate the things, in life, that are important to you.
Your first thoughts and calls and texts go out to friends and family…
You want them to know you’re thinking about them
and that they’re as safe as they can be.
Once you’ve secured your house as best you can…
and you know your children, grandchildren and friends are safe and warm…
you’re satisfied you’ve done all you can
to prepare…
before the storm.
Then you wait as the storm approaches…
content the love of your friends and family is strong….
and as you hold on to one another…
you keep hoping…
the weatherman is wrong.
A young boy stopped in the bookstore…he said, “Hello, sir. How are you? I hope you’re doing well.” On second thought I think he was a teenager…the older I get the harder it is to tell.
“I have a question he whispered.” Moving closer in on me. “I promise to be brief. Do you have any books in your store on understanding grief?”
We found a book he was happy with and his next words cut me like a knife, “Only a few weeks ago,” he said, “my brother took his life.”
He held the book up to his chest…holding it tightly in his hand.
“I’m hoping to find some words in here that will help me understand.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I said, “and I know it will always seem unfair…
but wherever your brother is…I imagine he’s happy knowing that you care.”
He handed me his book to purchase but before the transaction was done…
I took out a pen and drew a semi-colon ; in the middle of page one.
“This semi-colon is a reminder,” I said, “that your grief is something you don’t need to hide. It’s a symbol for anyone dealing with depression…or suicide.”
“An author uses a semi-colon when he could have ended a sentence…but instead chose not to…in this case the sentence is your life and the author…well that be you.”
I told him about Project Semicolon…something he hadn’t known…
as a resource in case he needs it…as a way of showing him he’s not alone.
As he left the store…I hoped I helped…at least I know I tried…
and I thought how sad…how sorrowful it is when someone decides on suicide.
Sad that suicide was the only answer…the only solution they could find
Sad not only for the victim…but for all the victims they leave behind.
My first day talking to the creators would be filled with question about nature whose answers I’ve long awaited…the second day I’d start with nature then begin asking about the humans they created.
Why create a world so beautiful…why go to such extremes…such pains…
then create forces of destruction…like earthquakes, tornadoes…and hurricanes?
In this beautiful world you created…where the trees grow tall and the rivers flow…
why is there so much sadness…so much sorrow…so much woe?
When you saw humans creating their false hierarchy…and sitting certain ones atop it…why oh why creators…did you not try and stop it?
Why would you take so much time creating a universe….so much planning and patience and care…then allow us to abuse her…by polluting her lands, her seas, her air?
If you meant us to live in harmony with the Earth and all her creatures why would you let us choose to hunt them, to capture them for sport…and to imprison them in zoos?
Why once you created humans…would you then allow us to create…a world that’s filled with prejudice, with bigotry and hate?
Why would you create us with a thinking mind…with determination and free will
then watch us go to war with each other and manufacture weapons that can kill?
So many of our own we have mistreated…people of color, women…anyone who’s a little bit different or gay…why would you allow us to treat other human beings this way?
Slavery, concentration camps, taking people’s dignity…their land…
why would you let these things happen…these are things I do not understand.
Of course the answer to these…and questions like them…
must wait until we meet with our creators…our true fathers our true mothers….
perhaps in the meantime…
while we wait…
these are questions…
we should be asking one another?
On a morning walk gazing at the stars as they hover in the sky…I thought, when it comes my time to meet my creators, I’m going to ask them why.
In truth, it’s going to take some time because I have a million questions why…
Like why are there stars, a moon…a sun…why is there even a sky?
Why did they design the giraffe’s neck to be so long and sleek and lean…
Why are dolphins always smiling? Why do sharks always look so mean?
Why are there 4 seasons….why don’t elephants ever forget?
Why did you make a sun that rises every morning only in the evening to make it set?
Why do some animals walk, swim, hop or fly while snakes just slither on the ground?
Why did you create some animals that never make a sound?
Why did you create colors…all those different tints and hues?
Why did you make trees green and the oceans, seas and rivers blue?
Why did you create so many different flowers?
Why does the ocean need the shore?
Why can’t I swim like a dolphin…or like an eagle…soar?
Why are spider webs so beautiful no matter where they’re hung…
Why do pets, like dogs and cats, have to die so very young.
And while I have the creators ears…perhaps I’ll take the chance
to ask them what they were thinking creating mosquitos, cockroaches and ants?
I have many more questions to ask, I’ll say.
after they give these answers to me…
to which I’m sure they’ll smile and say…
no problem…we have all of eternity
Here’s something we did yesterday that was totally unplanned…
In the morning…and the evening…we walked barefoot in the sand.
There is something magical when feeling the sand beneath your feet…
It’s like when two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while…
have a chance to meet.
The morning sand felt cool…after a night of rest…untouched by anyone…
The evening sand was warmer…after a day out in the sun.
The morning sand was quiet…save for two sounds I adore…
birds waking up and greeting one another and waves crashing against the shore.
The evening sand was much louder…with people all around…
laughter…singing…music…it was a sweet cacophony of sound.
Standing in the water with the sand squishing between our toes…
we watched the sun set into the ocean to a chorus of…’there she goes’.
Studies have proven the benefits of walking barefoot as a way of reconnecting with the land…like we did when we were children in the grass, the mud…the sand.
Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t surprised…to me it wasn’t shocking….
the moment I took my shoes off…it was my child who did the walking…
Which is why of all the places I have walked across this wonderful land…
I find my child seems the happiest…walking barefoot in the sand.
Here is a simple fact of which I’m sure you are aware…
If you’ve spent any time upon this planet you know…
life isn’t always fair…
Here’s another simple fact…across this planet…
near and far…
although life isn’t always fair…
you’ll find…
some people are
So..
if life isn’t alway fair…
but some people are…
here’s a little quiz…
will you be one who isn’t fair…
or will you be one who is?
Once we say ‘I love you’ to someone…once that feeling is spoken or expressed in pencil or pen…what is it that makes us keep repeating ‘I love you’ over and over again?
Perhaps it’s because ‘I love you’ are the first words we remember…meant to wash away worry and fear…when our mother placed her head next to ours and whispered ‘I love you’ into our ear.
Perhaps we keep saying the words ‘I love you’ so we can linger in their echo for a while…remembering the comfort we feel every time we hear them…how those words always accompany a smile.
Perhaps repeating ‘I love you’ is one way to recapture the feeling in our heart…
the first time we heard…or read them…
perhaps it’s one way to revisit the feeling the first time we actually said them.
Perhaps, because we have no way of knowing if we will still be here…
the next moment
the next day
the next year
we want ‘I love you’ not only to be the last words we say…
but the last words our loved ones will hear.
Or could it be when we say ‘I love you’ we’re hoping an ‘I love you’ we’ll retrieve….
knowing as beautiful as the words ‘I love you’ are to give…
they are equally as beautiful to receive.
How wonderful we have so many ways to say ‘I love you’…many ways for “I love you’ to repeat…we can say them, write them, paint them, nowadays we can text and we can tweet.
We can sing them…we can yell them out…we can say them fast…or slow
but I imagine the best way to say ‘I love you’ is one we learned from our mothers…long ago.
It’s the ‘I love you’ meant to wash away worry…
to alleviate any fear…
It’s when we hold someone tight
place our head close to theirs
and whisper ‘I love you’ in their ear.
He remembers asking his dad, as they gazed up at the sky one night…
“Where do the stars go during the day, Dad? Who turns out their lights?”
“The stars are always shining.” His dad told him. “Each and every one.”
“It’s just…during the day…their light blends with the sun.”
“And once their light joins with the sun…that light spreads out everywhere.
So even though you cannot see them, rest assured, the stars are always there.”
He remembers asking his dad, as they were looking out their window pane,
“Dad, I’ve always wondered. Where does the sun go in the rain?”
“The sun is always shining.” His dad whispered…for he never talked too loud.
“She’s shining as she always has…she’s just hidden by the clouds.”
“And so you won’t forget she’s out there keeping safe and dry…
she occasionally gets together with the rain and paints a rainbow across the sky.”
His dad’s been gone for many years…many years they’ve been apart.
Yet, every now and then he’s blessed when his Dad’s words echo in his heart.
Now…any time he sees a rainbow he thinks about his dad…
thinks about the words he whispered…about the good times that they had.
And like the stars in the middle of the day he is joyfully aware…
even though he cannot see him…he knows his dad is always there.
I think it is quite obvious in this world we’re trying to create how many have forgotten the delicate relationship that exists between love…and hate.
I believe our creators created us for one reason…that reason is to love…
and I think we’ve moved quite far away from the world they were thinking of.
A world where we love ourselves and realize how every person is our sister and our brother…how, if we are to survive…to thrive…we need to love each other.
Because when love is not cherished…when it’s not nourished…before it is too late…
love not only dies…but can easily turn to hate.
And once love has changed to hate and a heart is filled with pain…
hate does not change so easily back to love again.
For once its roots take hold after the seeds of hate are sown…
hate will use every weapon in its arsenal before relinquishing its throne.
Love knows it is more powerful…that she has the will…the strength…the might…
but, being love, she wants to love…and has been reluctant to engage hate in this fight.
Love has said…be patient…love will win out in the end…we know!
and all the while, as love waits, hate grows and grows and grows.
Looking at the world hate’s created…I think love can no longer wait…
It’s time for love to fight…to join the battle against hate.
For now that hate has its knee firmly pinned against love’s throat…
it’s time to fight with every weapon in love’s arsenal…
including our voices and our votes.
It’s time to be a love warrior…to stand up unafraid…strap on our boots…
and attack hate where it is most vulnerable…by cutting off its roots.
There is one problem, and love knows this, when love warriors fight to redirect their fate…that somewhere in this fight…we too…may begin to hate.
But if we are ever going to have a say in the world we’re trying to make…
this is a road that must be traveled…
this a risk we all must take.
My friend sent her friends a message the other day…the message said, “Pray for me!”
because she needed prayers, because prayers can be given wholeheartedly and because all prayers are free
“And while you’re praying for me,” she said…(since she is a loving person who cares)
“pray for anyone in the world who may also be in need of prayers”.
When people ask for prayers from me…there was a time I felt chagrinned..
until I realized a prayer is just a wish we whisper on the wind.
For I am not religious…I have no God to call my own…
but I have faith when I make a wish for someone…that wish will find a home.
When I close my eyes, take a deep breath and make a wish for you…
it matters not to me which God that wish floats to.
Or if it never finds its way to a God…but travels across the Universe…wide and far…until one day it finds itself adding brightness to a star.
We never know while forming a wish within our mind…when we finally make it…
once we whisper it upon the wind…where the wind will take it.
So I closed my eyes and upon the wind I whispered a wish for my friend…
hoping it will join other wishes..other prayers…and help her troubles mend.
And following her lead I made another wish and then another and another…
I sent out wishes across the world for all my sister and my brothers.
I wished no one would go to bed hungry…I wished for the people of Ukraine…
I wished people would stop banning books…I wished for California to get rain.
I wished we were a kinder, gentler world…where everyone was blessed…
To be treated with acceptance and compassion…where no-one was oppressed.
I wished everyone was accepted…no matter their color, their religion, if they were gay or straight…I wished people would stop using religion as a vehicle for hate.
These and many more wishes, once I opened up my heart were freed.
to hopefully find their way across the world…and to my friend in need.
So if you were like me, when someone asks you to pray for them and you feel a bit chagrined…remember…a prayer is just a wish…we send out on the wind.
I use to wonder what it’d be like to talk to the animals…those on the ground and those that soar so high above…to speak the language of the dolphins, the eagles the elephants and the doves…
I was in our backyard when I noticed a palm frond that had fallen still clinging to a tree..so I gave it a little tug with the hope of setting it free.
The frond stayed attached to the palm tree (as you might have guessed)
but my tugging on the tree dislodged a dove family from their nest.
I hadn’t noticed the doves tucked securely in the palm tree’s trunk
and when I heard the nest hit the ground…my heart immediately sunk.
The mother dove flew to our fence…the first spot she could find…
and immediately started yelling at me…giving me a piece of her angry dove mind.
I was apologizing profusely between her loud and angry tweets when I noticed her two babies on the ground beneath my feet.
One hopped once…then twice…then flapped her wings and breaking the suspense…
quickly flew right over and joined her mother on the fence.
Her other baby tried his best but could only hop around…he was not yet ready to fly and was stuck upon the ground.
After watching her baby hop to a safe place and hide…I turned to the mother and paused….once again as she yelled at me I apologized for the damage I had caused.
I left the two doves on the fence and the one hidden in the lawn and when I returned a little while later all three doves were gone.
I wasn’t sure what happened…what was my mistake’s final consequence
until a few days later when I saw three doves sitting on my fence.
Had they returned to show me they survived…how the little one had finally flown…
Or had the mother brought her babies back to show them the man who destroyed their home.
By the mother’s tone I think it was the latter…
and again I apologized as I watched her family take off and soar into the sky above….
glad that despite my blunder they survived
and glad, at least in this instance,
I never learned
to speak the language of the doves.
On a morning walk as I watched a burst of lightning flash before my eyes…
a memory was awakened…of our children chasing fireflies.
It was in the evening…after dark…around a campfire in N.C.
when from a blended marriage we were still learning how to be a family.
I remember how our children were fascinated by fireflies…when a flash of light was all that they could see…I remember it was here they began to learn how beautiful nature could be.
I remember Deborah’s father smiling, knowing our children would be no match, as he told them he’d give them a nickel for every firefly they could catch.
As I look back at our children chasing fireflies…long before this poem was penned…
I remember at the time thinking to myself how I wished that moment would never end.
We never know when a sight, a sound, a taste, a touch…a smell…will awaken in us a memory from the place where memories dwell.
We never know when or how a memory…across our minds will leap…
to visit for a moment before returning to the place where memories sleep.
It’s funny how that moment…the one I wished would never end…still visits every now and then…like an old and treasured friend.
Of course that moment did end…but over the years I have come to understand why…why moments in our life flash like lightning across the sky.
Because moments of beauty are meant to be ephemeral…
so that every person…every child…every woman…every man…
can gather, in their lifetime, as many memories as they can…
So that…on a morning walk
when they see a bursts of lightning flash across the skies…
a memory will awaken…
like watching their children chasing fireflies.
Don’t we all marvel at the moon…
regardless of our religion…our spirituality?
Regardless of our politics…
don’t we all find beauty in the tree?
Regardless of who we love…
doesn’t a sunrise bring us all joy…a sunset make us all grin?
Aren’t we all amazed at the life of a butterfly…
regardless the color of our skin?
Regardless of our size and shape…
aren’t we all enamored by a giraffe?
Regardless of if we’re wealthy or poor…
don’t we all smile when we hear a baby laugh?
Regardless of our nationality…
don’t we all find inspirations in the clouds floating above?
Regardless of who we are…
haven’t we all felt the kind and gentle hand of love?
Perhaps before we speak with hatred in our hearts…
we should stop and think about the words we’re about to choose….
about all there is to gain…
and all there is to lose…
Perhaps before we act too fast…
or go to war too soon…
we should gather all together…
hold hands…
and marvel at the moon.
I was a teacher for 39 years and when I look back…in all honesty…I probably learned more from my students than they ever learned from me.
Each student was a unique individual which meant…I had a lot to learn.
It took a lot of time and effort…a lot of respect between us needed to be earned…
Each student had their own set of problems…some we had to accept…others we tried to quell…It was my job to help them to find the talents they possessed as well.
You like to think you were able to find a way to help…to make your words and actions blend…so all the time and effort you spent with each student was worth it in the end.
You hope you have an impact on a student before it’s time for them to go…
but when it comes to most of the students you teach…the truth is…you never know.
You never know what will happen from the moment your time with a student begins…
With any lucky when they leave your classroom you’re both a better person than you were the moment they walked in.
Then, every now and then something wonderful happens that brings a smile to your face and warms your heart…like when an old student of mine messaged me to say she was in a musical and had a singing part!
She asked if Deborah and I were coming…
I said of course…the pleasure would be ours…
then with total innocence she added,
“Thanks, Yerman, and don’t forget to bring me flowers.”
We watched her sing and dance and at the end of her musical play…we presented her with flowers….
my surprise came the next day.
On her Facebook page she wrote ‘I got flowers from my teacher Mr. Yerman…which brought me on the verge of tears…that she still thinks of me as her teacher…even after all these years.
It’s funny in all the time we spent together…both of us learning how to be…
I never taught her how to sing or dance…those were lessons she taught to me.
Which shows we never know the extent of the influence we have in the things we say and do…
I only hope Andrea, you who became my teacher…learned as much from me as I have learned from you.
The more I observe butterflies in our garden…the more about their beauty I’m in awe…because in every butterfly, if you look closely, you can find a flaw.
Examine them when they visit in the Summer…in the Spring…
you might see a faded color, a crooked foot…a broken wing.
Perhaps realizing their life span is so momentary…so transient…so brief…
they won’t let a little flaw deter them from flying leaf to leaf.
They know to live a happy life…they must challenge themselves…they must compete..
They know if they can reach the flower…they’re in for something sweet.
It occurs to me a little more and more as each day goes by
how much we have in common…with the common butterfly.
How each of us is beautiful…with a beauty to be awed…
and how, when you get close enough to see…each one of us is flawed.
But knowing we’re here for a short time…knowing our time is brief…
we won’t let our flaws deter us from flying leaf to leaf.
Yes, you find those of us whose colors have faded…who have a broken wing…
when given the opportunity have the ability to sing.
And those of us with crooked feet…when we’re given half a chance…
will amaze and will astound you with how beautifully we dance.
When we look past our flaws…we look to the sky
and with a little encouragement…and a little love
there is no limit to how high we’re going to fly.
I was poised to take a picture of a ladybug when she turned around and said,
“Do you mind!
It’s impolite to take a picture of a lady from behind!”
“I hope you know…” she reprimanded me for behavior she deemed shady…
“That although you may think of me only as a bug…I…am also a lady.”
No, I’m not insane…I wasn’t under the influence of any drink or drug…
but that morning I sat down and had a conversation with a bug.
I learned how ladybugs got their name…and here I’m pretty sure she was putting on airs…when she told me they were sent by the Virgin Mary as an answer to European farmers prayers.
“They called us ‘Beetles of Our Lady.” She said proudly…then with a disgruntled shrug…added, “over the years our names have been shortened to the more demeaning ladybug.”
She said as an aid to farmers across the world we beetles were dispersed…and to remember when it comes to our name…”you always say lady first”.
She said ladies are poised and graceful and confident…well-mannered, well-spoken…well dressed…she said a lady is always willing to help those in need and always tries to do her best.
She said every lady is beautiful…something she wished more people knew…
she said if you can’t find the beauty in the lady…the problem lies with you.
She said, “Because of the name we’ve been given…one belief I must curtail…for all this time we’ve spent together…you've been talking to a male”.
“So how can I tell a male and female ladybug apart.” I asked as he sat comfortably on his plant…
He smiled…a sly and knowing smile then answered simply…”you can’t!”
Again I was amazed at nature….how there are lessons around every turn…
at how much a ladybug can teach us…how much we humans have yet to learn
He was generous with his time…
he was wise and accepting and kind…
and as we said goodbye I promised never again
to take his (or her) picture from behind.
It’s been 21 years since that unimaginable morning on the 11th of September…
and each year, on this date, we take a moment to remember.
Family members remember loved ones lost…permanently taken from their view…
The rest of us remember people we never knew.
Memories of their joy and laughter deliver some relief…
bringing with them a little comfort as they usher in our grief.
For it is precisely those memories of joy and laughter that spread out from each family member…
to those who were not born yet
and those who were too young to remember.
Memories of an uncle, a brother, a sister, a father or a wife…
that takes a person they knew…
or never knew
they lost…
and brings their spirit back to life.
“He was my best friend…I loved him.”
“She was smart and funny and wise.”
“You have your mother’s smile.”
“You have your father’s eyes.”
Perhaps it is each memory of a moment with a loved one shared
that help us through the moments without them…
when we’re sad, lonely…or scared.
Perhaps it is each memory passed from me…to you…to you…
that can make a person remember and miss…
someone they never knew.
Perhaps that’s why we take a moment every 9/11
to remember a day in our lives so contemptible…
so unthinkable…
so misbegotten…
so the lives of those we lost that day…
will never be forgotten.
