Archive | Love

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

It Is A Gift. . . .

 

‘Each lifetime lived adds to the cumulative sense of loss.’
the teacher

All Who I  Am. . .

I feel the pull of the Polish one bent over her bread board,
pounding, kneading, smoothing the egg dough
into a satiny mound.  Raisins, like eyes, half buried
in the fleshy loaf, stare at me, daring me to absorb
her rhythm into my blood.

Her aching restlessness I breathe already.
Her utter frustration to make new whips me to
a working frenzy, a woman possessed.  She delivers me
to my bed in agony.  With memory splintered, glinting
off the corners of my eyes, I find me.  And awake again
to a morning promising me no relief from her visions.

II

My brow furrows, forming ledges to shield my eyes
from a sun that beats unmercifully.  Sweat pours to drench
my body and nausea routes its way flooding
an overloaded circuitry.

The wandering tribesman leading the camel favors one foot.
Calluses shoot pain into the moon calf of his leg and I limp.
The tart taste of yogurt in his mouth washes clean
the sand out of mine.

Each step becomes a mile in length and his laborious effort
throbs in my temples.  I will be harvest for the flies.
I cannot bear the heat anymore.

 III

The air, sharp as a cut lemon, washes me.  The children race in
their overlarge sweaters with roses painted on their
faces smooth as milk legs.  Lace fringe curtains entertain
the visitors agape at the starkness, the simplicity,
the square picture.  I am at home.

The arctic terrain beats my blood to a froth with exuberance.
My sturdy body matches my earth.  My love shields me,
woos me and I am as cherished as a milk cow in a land
of sparse grasses.  To each other we are the heavy cream
poured on a dish of skyr .

IV

How far back do I dare reach to uncover all who I am?

Is part of me racing, black skinned and hot, basket overflowing,
precariously balanced on my head and heart beating
outside my skin?  My loose breasts clap-clap in pain
against my rib cage as I hurry to make up time spent chatting
with my sisters, fearful of the masculine outrage brewing?

I sit at my desk, surrounded by the present essences of
today’s people, today’s commitments.  The air is spicy with
fomenting earth.  My brow does not furrow from the heat yet.
Summer’s dog days will arrive too soon.

I ‘ve reached backwards and sideways and tasted portions of lives
both palatable and unpalatable.  But altogether rich.  Is my
fatigue of genetic empathy, perhaps imagination gone wild
or an accumulation of too many lives lived, too many
sorrows sorrowed, too many dreams dreamed?

V

The answer will be mine.  With my departure I will take
the sum of my days, the loves loved, the dreams unfulfilled
and all who I am and walk again the cosmos.

And because of my love for me I will create another world.
Due to my cumulative sense of loss. . . .

There will be no more loves aborted.

5

Godfriends of Caliber. . . gifts of heart. . .

This bouquet is for you. . .

Tish, Marylouise, and Dorothy, Jan, and Joy, heart friends gone but always upfront; now some cyber friends distanced including (few) males attesting publicly to science, but attending silently to problems not to be tested by science gods in their pristine laboratories.

All friends of caliber, all honorable characters with huge depth, with problems in the confines of earth habitats; the streets of cities and living rooms in homes.  My gender confronted mostly in the kitchens, midst getting dinner on the table or cleaning up afterward.

These are the laboratories where reality lives, while the one buying food for the table with the currency of the day sails out the door with a you take care of it dictum, (with an I have bigger fish to fry,  like maybe world peace?)

But in today’s world drama, the difference is the one left also needs to get to a paying job because two salaries are required to maintain the premises or a trained talent wants their fair share of today’s kudos or currency.  For particular reasons, that is the drama.

Since questions loom in many corners, what bears leverage on the troubled soul?  Is it visible to be handled or invisible with an I could not help it attitude?  The latter must be dealt with kid gloves or at best a saintly demeanor else we have worlds collapsing in quarters unable to be rebuilt.

Do we need religious or professional help or can we work it out with agencies designed just for this kind of thing?  A conundrum, to be sure.

If invisible, is it genetic, inherited,  meaning other members of the family have had this problem? Or a new one that deals with unmentionables, or drugs, from alcohol all the way to end of the alphabet, or something best left to experts?

Known is that no one ‘s upbringing prepares them for parenting in today’s world.  This is what is known as OJT.  On the Job Training.  This is how recruits are assigned jobs in the Military, no matter one’s background.

Good friends of caliber are required in life, someone or a handful to inspire or calm when crises loom.  Someone in Congress? Today, hard to believe.   Or a lawyer? (I called for a friend) Or an ear to listen to heart hurts? (too many times to count).

Or a nurse/friend like Cati who held our fractured  family together when David was leaving us, or young neighbor Cherl, who became like a daughter, or friend John, magically appearing in crises.

These are godfriends (correct word) who hold the leaky boat afloat when water rises and family cannot or is unable.  I wrote that heaven does not play favorites.  They don’t.  Everyone is cherished.  I was not spared the mountains to climb but had godfriends to journey with.  They gave the supreme gift of heart needed.

What can I say when language has no adequate thank you?  I call them godfriends.

0

When Life Is An Act of Devotion. .love speaks . .

 

 

 

 

Grampa says . .  Grandma created first homemade meatballs in eggplant/ tomato sauce over polenta with a salad of romaine, cherry tomatoes and kohlrabi with olive oil and balsamic. . .

 

and then crafts with grandma Claudia, the talented artist. . . .

 

 

And then a story to close the day. . . .

 

It is a simple story but such a big hurdle for mankind . . . that is
to treat new life with an act of devotion to prepare for the challenges
we face in preparation of our potential.

Where we are now, is the place for us to start.  So we can then speak with
truth in our search for brotherhood.  Not a pipe dream but a fact.
Not just a wish but a promise if we use what is ours within us to
help make perfect peace on earth in our time.

A lot to ask when life has not been exactly fair with us?  Yes, but we
have help if we seek it out.  It takes courage to even ask I know.
But that too is within us.  To find we are courageous is a welcome
surprise. Sometimes invisible arms hold us up.                                                                                                   

4

A Woman Of Great Wealth. . .

 

It was a hard move  for all of us leaving over a hundred acres of camp property we were living on in Connecticut to move to city life in Michigan.  From a lake with mountains and an 1800 farm house to a house with eight feet on either side was what we were looking at.  But stepping in I immediately knew it would be home to us.

Our sons bonded tightly there even as they branched out to new friends and activities,  The photos show how involved we were.  I was talked into helping with the construction of the hockey rink in the backyard.  It was started every year from that first time a week before Christmas.  That was when we could depend on weather to behave itself.  We counted on freezing daily then.

I made rules that I would only spray till 2 a.m.!   If I remember correctly,  spraying involved 20 minutes every hour for two to three days.  That was after there was a few inches of snow to push back to form a rim.  And it was a joyful night when the lights were turned on and fun began.  The guys were ready, the brothers and the younger’s friends.

Hockey could be played till 9 p.m. on school nights and then they came into the basement to undo skates and then upstairs for cocoa and whatever chief cook baked.  This went on till graduation from high school.  I was not popular with neighborhood moms with young sons when bombarded with the cry of why can’t we have a hockey rink?  Alas, someone needed to stand and spray and not everyone loved winter as we did.

Some not as agile on skates but all loved chasing pucks with sticks.  We had our share of broken windows in the house and garage which had to be repaired quickly.  They became adept soon to hold the shots low and also at repairing the windows.

The younger, son John, eventually settled in California to teach when I received a call one afternoon from the class he was teaching.  He said his class did not believe the hockey rink in his backyard. Would I answer their questions?  The children were unbelieving.  I explained how we did it and what was done to maintain.  You sprayed with a hose they asked?  Yes, I said and not after 2 a.m.!

After much time with questions of how cold did it get, how long and how many played and the kinds of things kids wonder about especially the strange mother who would volunteer to do this!  They thanked me and made me wonder how many were still unconvinced.

Over a half century later, I consider myself a woman of great wealth in charge of this memory bank.

5

By Whose Authority? . .I Am My Own Authority! .

When this photo came the other day I could see a young woman of stature and maturity in answer to the question ‘By whose authority?. . . whatever the problem. . . .  saying firmly that ‘I am my own authority!. . . . ‘ because her ancestry endows her.  I give a brief synopsis. . .

Her great great grandmother
the Jenny. . .

to the question by whose authority?    ‘Because I said so, that’s why!’
I heard it often enough.

Great Grandmother Veronica when
over 60 years old answered the Literature
Professor. . . .

Not being a member of the Church how do you know what is right to do?
Grandmother great answers. .‘I have a heart and knowledge.  I know what is right.’

Grandfather a retired Teacher
of English and Drama and
Grandmother an artist and retired
Teacher of Art

In love with this ongoing surprise of a granddaughter 2 days a week after 3 sons,
enriching her life with words and art and laughing with fun always.

Both parents working to maintain a home and lives of meaning and enrichment for a new family.  Hoping also for some rest.  This is only half of the picture  that is mine to see.  This is my side of Emma E.  The maternal side I surmise and hope to meet one day is as rich because I know Emma E.’s mother.

Life always holds the sparklers and is balanced.  And if in this world plans go askew, in another world they come to fruition.  To the question at the top By Whose Authority Do You Speak?. . . Emma E. will answer with a curt,  I Am My Own Authority! And she will silence the critic.  With this Grandmother Great’s blessing,  I assure you.

8

Emma E . . .the best of blends. . . .

She said wait and I will get my hat on and be ready to go!  And her hat is on and she has her bag and is ready for fun!  For our little one who is the best of blends. . . like good coffee or fine wine, she is a sparkler.  Weighing in early last Thanksgiving time at one pound 12 ounces, she is holding her own bottle and her grandfather said that driver training is next!

I am fortunate to be her grandmother great though I have not seen her in this world.  I need escorts to the car in the driveway because my legs are as wobbly as Emma E.’s are yet.  Her legs will grow sturdier and mine not, to be sure.  Her life will be filled with awe, as mine continues to be.  Her complaints will loom large in irritation to restriction, as surely mine do.  Both of our heads know what we desire to accomplish, though the surroundings differ.  We both will do what we need to do for the greater good.

Thank you all for your good wishes, thoughts and prayers.  Good has no boundaries and we have been grateful to see our Emma E. responding magnificently.  Your wishes have been a salve for our hearts.

 

photo by Merideth,  mom
of Emma E.

2

Dear Emma E. . .

Dear Emma E.. . .

We know each other although we haven’t put our arms around each other yet.  But we know the shape of our hearts.  And that is most important no matter what world we are in.

I am a big person,  but if I were little like you,  I would want a teddy bear  who sings from her heart.  I would put the bear nearby and before I would go to sleep,  I would wind up her tummy and listen to the music that came from her heart.  And in the music, my heart would answer and we both would be happy.

It would be a party in my most secret place and when I was lonely or unhappy,  I would remember this music.  That would make me happy again.

I hope you get to know this teddy bear as a warm friend.  She is sent with much love and a happy heart.  We are never too big for a heart that sings.  We both know that.

I have loved you since before the world ever was and will continue to love you forever.

Your Grandmother Great. . . . .

6

Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes