ENORA

 

Enora used to take him walking in the woods…they would listen to the trees….They would stop to touch the flowers…watch the butterfly and bees.

Enora loved to walk among the birds…she knew them all by name……She did not have a favorite one…for she loved them all the same.

She would close her eyes and listen to their songs…their melodies without words….“Oh I would give anything.” She’d say…”to be singing with these birds.”

On the day Enora passed away…the Enora he adored…he ran into the forest…to the place where they explored.

He remembered how they walked these woods..and all the wonders they had found…but he was not expecting…what he discovered on the ground.

He was thinking of Enora…when suddenly he heard…plaintive cries…what sounded like the moaning of a bird?

He looked around and then he saw it… a few steps up ahead…a baby bird had fallen from the nest…the baby bird was dead.

He scooped her in his hands as gently as he could…then in a voice both sad and calm…he looked up in the tree and said, “I’m sorry!” to the mom.

Tears cascaded down his cheek…as he looked into the mother bird’s eyes…as he listened to her somber tweet…as he watched the mother bird cry?

He nestled the bird within his hands…she was a beautiful shade of blue…then carried her back to his front porch…unsure what to do.

As his thoughts returned to Enora…it became easy to decide….He filled an old shoe box with cotton…then laid the bird inside.

He carried that box back back to the woods…got on his hands and knees…and with mom (and Enora) watching….buried her beneath that tree.

“I know that you’re unhappy, momma bird.” He said.  “Wishing things were different than they were.”…but your baby’s with Enora now…and she’ll take care of her…”

Then he looked up to the heavens…searching in his heart for the right words…“I think you got her wish Enora.” He said…”have fun singing with the birds.”

Then the momma bird landed on a lower branch…and sang the sweetest lullaby

as both boy and bird found their own way…

to say their last good-bye.

THE ESSAY

 

The teacher stood in front of the class,

“Today, she said, “I’m giving you the same assignment I give every year!”

“Please write what you want to be when you grow up...

and remember: 

There’s no wrong answer here.”

She found most answers to be the same as every other year she taught:

doctor, fireman, super hero, movie star…

one student wants to own a yacht.

The teacher read with interest…as their grammar she corrected

until she came across one paper…with an answer unexpected.

It was written by the shyest girl in class…who did not want a super power.

WHEN I GROW UP, she wrote in capital letters,…I WANT TO BE A WILDFLOWER.

Because bringing beauty to the world…is a flower’s livelihood

and I want to grow in places …no one ever thought I ever could.

The teacher held the essay in her hands…unwilling to let it go…and suddenly, out of nowhere, her tears began to flow.

She gently set the essay down…and as it glowed in her lamp’s light…She thought for a moment, picked up her pencil…then she began to write.

‘You already bring beauty to my world’, she wrote

‘And I know you’ll find a way...

to add beauty wherever you go.”

and she graded it an A.

DREAM HOUSE

 

When we were younger and we’d dream…Debrah and I would agree on what size and shape and color…our perfect house would be.

It would be a bungalow with room for our family…and more…the kitchen would be big and modern…there’d be bedrooms on the second floor.

There’d be a huge yard for our children…with a garden that would bloom in Spring…

A porch would stretch the entire length…with rocking chairs…and a swing.

Our first house was not a bungalow…but we felt it’s bones were strong…and we thought it’d be a great place to start…until our dream house came along.

It was a cozy little house with oak trees on the land…but it turns out saving up for our dream house was not as easy as we planned.

We realized quite early…as I’m sure many of you can relate…with children to feed and bills to pay…our dream house would have to wait.

Something was always breaking or there was something else we needed to buy…and so a year…and then another…and then another year went by.

Our children started growing…we were following an old familiar theme……and it seemed the dream house we first dreamed of…would forever remain a dream.

But we grew to love our house and neighborhood…it’s been our home…our haven…our retreat…our children grew up playing in this yard…riding their bikes along this street.

This house has seen us through all our dramas…every comedy…every tragedy…it’s where our children learned to laugh and love…it’s where we built our family.

Life is often unpredictable…for the more we live…the more it seems…happiness is just a matter…of rearranging dreams.

Because now we wouldn’t dream of living in any other house…

but this house…

the house we’ve grown into…

It turns out our dream house wasn’t the house we dreamed about…

It’s the house where our dreams came true.

WHEN YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER ASKS YOU TO DANCE

 

 I have a wonderful memory that popped up yesterday by happenstance…of a time when my granddaughter said, “Hey PopPop…how’d you like to dance?”

At the time I hesitated but she persisted…“It’s easy…you will see…we pick a song and you follow the moves from the video or if you want…just keep your eyes on me.”

I’ve never been known for my rhythm…but I kind of remembered the song…so I put my inhibitions aside and tried to dance along.

My arms began to flail…I had the rhythm of a stone…

I tried to dance to the music but my feet had a mind of their own.

Eventually I didn’t care if I was nimble or, like her, as light as a feather…what was more important than the dance…was that we were dancing together.

And for a moment, just a moment…in my mind we were the perfect pair…She was a young Ginger Rogers…and I was Fred Astaire.

Time has flown by since that day…four years to be precise

so to all you grandparents out there…let me give you some advice.

If you want to make a memory…I suggest you take a chance

to trip the light fantastic…when your granddaughter asks you to dance.

Because even though I have less rhythm now than the rhythm I had back then…

I know for certain if she had asked me today…

I would danced with her again.

POTTERY CLASS

 

The other night we took a pottery class and I wish I could convey…the excitement we both felt with our hands immersed in clay.

In some ways we felt like kids again…perhaps that’s the appeal…as we began to play in the mud…upon the potter’s wheel.

Sitting on my stool or at the table where I stood I was struck how working with the clay…is a lot like parenthood.

When you first come face-to-face with the clay you feel so unprepared…you have no idea what you’re doing…you’re excited…and you’re scared.

You know you have to do something because deep down you understand…whatever happens to this clay…is totally in your hands.

And so you take a deep breath, perhaps smile at your wife…and then you jump right in…at first trying your best just to hold on as your world begins to spin.

The clay seems to have a mind of its own…it’s not going as you planned…and it’s only when you relax that you feel the clay conforming to your hands.

You do your best to feel your way…you squeeze, you push, you pull, you scrape...and eventually right before your eyes…the clay takes on a shape.

As the clay keeps spinning and spinning…you’re always on your guard…hoping you’re not pulling too softly…or pushing way too hard.

When you’ve done all you can…you stop to look at the creation you’ve just thrown...hoping you’ve created something that can stand up on its own.

And whenever you see what you’ve help make…your smile is as wide as a Cheshire Cat…as you proudly whisper to yourself…”I had a hand in that!”

And you’re proud to see how tall your children have grown on they’re grown…still…every time you see their face…you smile…knowing they wouldn’t have grown so tall…if you hadn’t built their base.

MURMURATION

 

Have you ever witnessed a murmuration…that beautiful and wondrous sight…when birds all together change directions in the middle of their flight?

Seemingly they work as one…as the flock swoops left, right, lower and higher…murmuration is another reminder of nature’s beauty and her ability to inspire.

I noticed them walking ahead of us on the beach…an older couple holding hands…and I marveled at the graceful synchronicity with which they walked upon the sand.

There, with the waves of the ocean splashing on the shore, in the midst of the setting sun…were two people walking together…but they seemed to walk as one.

I stood there for a moment…mesmerized…my eyes wide open…unblinking…for it seemed that as they walked…each one knew what the other one was thinking.

Perhaps they’ve waked together for so long…perhaps they knew every inch along this sand…or perhaps they gave each other silent signals as they held each other’s hand.

Whatever the reason, to me, the beauty of the beach that day was thoroughly enhanced…for this couple did not just walk together on the sand…they danced.

Suddenly a flock of birds circled overhead…just out of our reach…and I felt blessed to watch a murmuration in the sky…and another on the beach.

And I wondered…were these birds heading in this direction or was it purely by chance…and seeing this older couple decided to join them in their dance.

After watching the sunset…the beach was deserted…we found ourselves alone…so I immediately took Deborah’s hand in mine…to dance a murmuration of our own.

It is something I’ll never forget…how we bathed in the beauty and the wonder nature can create…and how, following in an old couple’s footprints, 

we learned it only takes two…to murmurate.

HOME

 

I was brought up thinking that our house was where the mailbox had our name…and like everyone in my family…our house and our home…were the same.

It’s where we laughed and cried…where around the dinner table we sat…but as I’ve aged I’ve come to realize…home is much more than that.

A house is just a house…floors, room and walls with a roof above…but what makes a house a home is when it’s filled with love.

Since love is not restricted to one place…it has the ability to roam…I now understand that many of us…live their lives in mobile homes.

Because as long as we are blessed with family…a family whose love is strong…then anywhere we go…we take our home along.

When we’re driving in our car…a car made of metal and rubber and chrome…whether it’s just the two of us or our children or grandchildren in the back seat…our Subaru feels like home.

When we celebrate a birthday at a restaurant…have a picnic under a sky of blue

as we talk and laugh together…it feels like home, too.

When we see a movie together…taking up an entire row in the hippodrome…as I sit there surrounded by family…the theater feels like home.

And when we ring our son who lives across the country…when we talk to him on the phone…even though we’re standing 600 miles apart…it feels like he’s home.

Yes, our house is certainly important to us…but as has been proven to me time and time again…I don’t need walls, a room a roof…for wherever I may roam…

wherever I have family…

wherever I have their love…

then that’s where I call home.