Archive | Love

The Invited Guest. . . .

 

                                                                              with hammer and saw and wood and file. . . .

Many of us when we find that our life is not working for us, no matter what we try and even invent, take ourselves to the doctor.  And when all the protocols still do not work, if we give it thought, we take ourselves to school or wherever we find quiet space and open the books, whatever our persuasion.

When we learn that Dante took Virgil as his mentor-guide we should wonder why.  And find our reasons to look for own guide-mentor.

I chose the Nazarene as my Mentor after much study and have never regretted  my choice.  It was not a reason based on faith for I had none.  But it was a reason based on knowledge and for me the right one. 

For you whose Faith has meaning,  I share with you this poem.  It was written long ago and has great meaning for me. 

It has meant a life of hard work, study and some lovely sparklers.

The Invited Guest. . . 

I once knew a good carpenter who,
with hammer and saw 
and wood and file
showed me how to build a chair.

I did and sat on it
and then decided I needed a table.
With hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built a table and sat at it.

I knew I needed another chair
for an Other to sit on.
So with  hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built it.

I then invited the carpenter
to join me at the table.
We lit a candle and talked
and a new world was born.
How did I know

I first needed to learn how to build?

2

When I love you is coupled with a hug. . . .

These are my progeny I am fortunate to see at least with photos.  I am impressed that there are several lady greats in our lives.  And I am also impressed with the knowledge of two close mister greats.  There are others  I am certain in my scattered large family that I do not know,  but I welcome any word of them. 

These past few years have been difficult for the many youngers.  And I know the families at hand give support as they can.

I know the parents of these jenny gene children read my posts when able and are learning  about these children from this grandmother great.  I wish them luck in their endeavors in understanding what has been borne of them.  No doubt they will be scratching their collective heads with puzzlement trying to decide how to cope.

When I understood the maxim ‘as the twig is bent’ and realized that the twig is bent upon arrival with a history! . . it was the beginning of a lifelong journey toward the heart of Me.  Many a parent has voiced the timeworn plea of I treat them all the same!  I would quietly assure them but they arrive not from different countries but different worlds!

And no way will our words mean the same to  each of them.  Except these words. . I love you coupled with the strength of your arms around them.  There is no misunderstanding when hearts press each other.

And they will insist every day of their lives that they were  the favorite child . . . .             

0

Grandparents. . . the best magic. . . .


If I could wave my magic wand and grant a loving wish to all children born into whatever worlds are chosen, I would choose to garnish all wishes with the best wish of all. . . to grant a curious mind.  And the curious mind announces its arrival by the first simple ‘why?’

To accompany that mind I would grant loving grandparents down the street to whose arms I would have the child run when life would threaten to overwhelm.

And the child would learn that when the appropriate lessons for community living become a bit much to live with, the grandparents would grant surcease.  That pause to refresh  that only they could know would do.  And bring out the paints and the music and the ideas that flow profusely from them to the child. 

For Biology 101 teaches  that there is more of the grandparents in the grandchild than either  parents, whether we talk of the fruitfly or the human being.    Children and grandparents are on the same wavelength.

And therein lies the salvation of the future of our species.  For in the embrace of the grandparents lies a wealth of experience that promises the child that this too shall pass.  That herein lies what we hold sacred forever.  What  we learn to do because it is fun to learn, exciting because it is new to us and we can do it! Or because we feel good about ourselves.  It makes us feel stretched bigger than we are when we make ourselves better.

And to learn to feel good about ourselves, we will want others to feel good about themselves.  So we will do the good thing whenever we have the chance.  Until it is always a part of who we are.  And it brings to mind, doesn’t it, that this is what being human is all about ?

When we know to do the good thing is what we are born to do, we wear the right thoughts for the mind of  the world we are in.  And find also when we do it right,  we grow into a universal mind.  The universal mind being  the one that qualifies us for what will be demanded of us.

Amazing that we get parents to teach us what we need to learn and grandparents what we want, to ease what we have to learn.  And it all begins with a ‘why?’ . . . . .

photos by Tresy Hallissey. . (grandfather)
they paint and make leaves for the window

2

A divine observation. . . .

 

A divine observation. . .

 You take love
and wear as pearls.

Shiny tears they once were.
Shiny tears,

but they fell
to your breast

and now they are gems. . . .

                                              gems. . . .

0

Love Is Reason Enough . . . . for sisters. . .

 

 

I look upon this photo and am grateful that what my life emphasized is factual for me in this moment of time.  That what was crucial to our sons’ lives is what I see in their progeny and therefore, mine. 

When asked when mountains became impossible to climb how to go on, I said there were three good reasons.  Tresy, David and John.  They were all I needed no matter how high the mountains .  Not climbed poetically, delicately, or gracefully, but lumbering mostly.  With this photo, I have what I need to see.

The sisters portray exquisitely what love does.  Its power and capability is evidenced.  Bedded in love they will grow in love.  They are loved wisely and well as their parents were so loved.  And showed.  Made a difference?  A big difference.

Generations previous show us what poverty burglarizes.  Too many generations have looked upon children as simply clones stealing what little they were given.  Love and education mainly.  Food, clothing and weather protection  being important of course,  but crucial to well being and emotional growth are nutrients for the human spirit.

To catch a moment such as this gives hope.  This is a heart moment for Emma E. and a safe arrival and moment for Norah Claire. 

They portray everything poignant and alive with meaning.  They are a visual blessing.

photo by Merideth Hallissey . . parent

 

0

The Strange Bequest. . . .

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and this is a late regret to chalk up to a life in ebbtide.  But with the head on my shoulders today, I wish there had been times to talk of heart concerns.  Life was to be mountains for me to climb and I could have used his hand to hold.  Talk while you both are within arm’s reach.

The Strange Bequest. . . 

There was a man, a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud and
whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.

He sat one day staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said
‘I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long and have lived to regret it.

I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me a mind
that does not rest.

I have the thought that his father and
father before him wrestled
the same misty vision which now
is mine to set in motion.

I question this strange bequest,
for I have not the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.

Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial of celestial courage,
to fuse my spine with tempered steel.

There is so little time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

Love = Value Added. . . .

Attitudes of Gratitude . . . . .

I had been asked to make potato salad for guests because they think it special and I was delighted to do so.  When I finished I thought I should have kept the times to show long it took when I was at home and said I was tired at the end of a day caring for  family, home and property.  I was asked what was I doing all day since I didn’t have to work?   

I gave thought to love of family, for beauty I created in the home, yard and learning to do.  Not just what I did with my hands but with my heart.

It took 3 ½ hours from start to finish today when I made the potato salad.  No small act in time but its value was what went into it because of caring.  The celery chopped thin, green pepper, angular and red pepper to add color;  cucumbers angled to be crisp , eggs cooked perfectly made the difference.  Particular mayonnaise balanced with sour cream made it special.

Once yard work meant I knew plants and their needs, maximized color, plus caregiving meant I studied facets of connection between us and nature.  Watering was measured with empty tuna cans placed precisely.  Once a week spraying with mouthwash kept bugs off the landscaping and a can of beer in the sprayer fed the lawn also.  Time doing and learning?   A lot.  Worth it?  You bet.

My presence was an added value when David came home for chemo treatment.  I sat beside the bed when he had difficulty sleeping doing what I do in thought.  I was not cognizant of his awareness until he thanked me for sitting.  He told me that he was able to let his grip on himself relax and sleep was his relief for the guard on himself.   

Important?  How often everyone’s need to have a someone sit by us?

When I met my friend to go walking to relieve her tension, I said let’s put away the toys because it looks like rain.  Only toys she said but you and your husband worked to buy them and you respect your work?  Never thought of it that way she said.  I said the lesson then is the work means nothing and there is no respect for it.

Most people do not think of children as a sacred trust with lessons carefully taught.  Most think children are clones of them and a biological thrust of insignificance.

Carrying things too far am I?  But this casual attitude permeates every aspect of our lives.  Do I ask one more thing to do with a list of too many already? 

When I saw a credit card tossed on the counter with disdain for the checkout person I wanted to slap that hand who did it and apologize to the cashier.  The attitude said to me I am bigger than this small purchase or  it’s only dirty money.   I wanted to ask if he had so little respect for his work that gave him credit to buy or the cashier not worth simple courtesy?  I was ashamed of what I saw.

Ain’t nothin’ much?  But it is a whole lot of much this casual attitude.  With Covid 19 I worry a lot about attitudes.  I do not relate to souls bartering for rights to sit on the beach or go to the malls in droves.  You have a value you have not discovered.  Please, take precautions,  wear your mask.

Because I want Others to value you, I wear my face mask, to keep our planet afloat until they do.  We are in precarious waters.

photo by John S. Hallissey

0

Education wears many booties. . . .

 

Knowing the comics section as I do, it appears that she’s studying Doonesbury, which thrills my heart! Of course she’s already read Dilbert (on the front page)…

Love,   Emma E’s grandfather

 

 

I never knew the supreme abilities of the comics to educate.  I remember when our two eldest,  Tresy and David first took upon themselves to convince me that I should avail myself to the benefits of the education which life could not give me.  I listened over the weeks and months I am sure,  though I have no journal entry to verify that fact.

But I did listen and with trepidation, no doubt, began to look upon the comics in the morning to fill in what I inevitably lacked according to the two eldest.  And I became hooked.  It did not take long and my favorite soon became because I could relate with the myriad home crises,  For Better and Worse by Lynn Johnston.

I have a couple of the celebrated anniversary books,  the first one given to me  by the son of Tresy,  the fourth Joseph Harrison.  I  have loved these vestiges of another time and I think I will request the weekend edition of Chicago Tribune as a birthday gift.  I miss reading the comics and realize that a diet of hard lessons with no relief in  pictures,  is a diet with little flavor.

This photo of our Emma E. reading the comics during this time of self quarantine of the family is a lifting of Spirit for me.  Her grandfather Tresy  takes great pleasure in sending this photo from her parents.  Bless them all.  It is a heart lifter!

2

When Each Day Is A Victory . . . and our hands touch. . . .

Oftentimes we wish for words to say the wonderful phrase, that gives motive or impetus to a frame of mind that catapults our committed to things of highest value.  Yet there may be no words to say what needs be said.  What is upfront is already between the eyes.

I remember looking in the mirror angrily because it was not the girl I saw yesterday, but my mother.  And the mate looks at himself when shaving one morning or swiping his beard and he says to the image in the mirror, I am my father.  And with anger, hopefully not the same morning, sitting across from each other you both concur your irritating premises.

On further thought the day yields to brighter things and sitting again at the table there is a comfortable presence.  The presence says to us that we have shared a number of years and have come through bruised and slightly jaded but agile still.

With the number of things needing time these days,  each day is a victory, however small.  I remember the times I prayed to pick up someone’s discarded victory.  My need for one even discarded was so great,  I would chase a throwaway.

We change into faded sweats and sandals and sit and do what the old folks did when we were young.  Now since we are them, the fit of it all when shared says we are good, aren’t we lucky?  And our hands touch.

As I Am. . . in faded sweats . . .

Love me as  I am
for I can be no other.
It is not that talk is unwanted, but
have not all our allotted words been said?

Time now just for silence, a shared one, for
the years add up and there is no time for Others. . .

It is time for Being. . .

There is a time to accept
all that we have become
through years of arduous labor.

Not time for keeping up nor caring to . .
to someone’s elusive measure.
A time not to apologize for
our faded sweats and sandals.

We dress for the street to be seen
but this time now is private.

And being shared, are we not fortunate?

So much the better to love each other
and find us more than all right.
To say I’m good with no apology

. . . because we are.

1

Pieces Of My Heart. . . .for Emma E. . . .

 

I have not posted this past week because of some impediment in my desk computer, but thanks to my grandson who found the wrong and corrected it.  I am grateful.  I felt I had lost my voice.

But what I did was work to get some knitting done and the articles will be on their way.  It will free up time for other things to get done and prepare for a visit from my first born and his illustrator wife Claudia.  Both Tres and Claudia are generous with help for this blog.

The knitting this week  had me sweaty because of health issues arising again due to hand spasms.  Aging is a factor when hands lose feeling and become numb.  Yarn is hard to handle and keeps slipping off the needles.  And when the articles are small and require 4 double pointed needles,  hell breaks loose.  I think I forced other parts of my brain to work when synapses broke.  Sweaty business.

But I wanted to master the spiral pattern and did.  I hope now I can do it on a number of things simply by changing yarn thickness and needle size.  It is amazing to me carrying this idea to a larger concept,  that all things are connected in these universes.  These are the talents mastered that my Mentor, the Nazarene spoke of that we should multiply.  That are in Mind where moth and rust do not destroy.

I see the connection in all things.  That all things are utilized and nothing is lost or forgotten.  Simply,  all things thought through,  are connected.  It is a concept that takes us to our knees because there is no place else to go.

I am pleased with the outcome of the spiral knitting and took photos.  The other photos are colorful and were just plain fun to do.  It was an addiction of sorts that the only overdose with the substance did not require me to take care with heavy machinery or driving!

I was not required to seek medical help as often with overdoses is suggested.  I guess I am no fun at all.

 

spiral pattern                       

2

Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes