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You are invited. Come, we eat. . . .

We become what we feed our mind.  
Become the person you want to meet coming down the street.
When you form the question, you already know the answer because you form the question.
Hopefully the added years bring thoughtful conclusions.  You feed your mind what?
It is not said that understanding behavior makes it easier to live with.
Sometimes the only faith you have is that you can do it whatever needs doing.
Maybe all that requires doing is you; nothing and no one else.
The world is a canvas to our memories.
Imagination is memory and memory to be executed and made manifest requires ‘hands on’ in this world.
Memory becomes knowledge in this world when it is faithfully executed and applied to enhance humanity’s evolution for good.  Not to argue the word ‘good’ when we use the word  ‘enhance’.
Kindness should automatically accompany action with our second breath without thought.
Self discipline shrinks or expands to the breadth of one’s Conscience. 


Is However Long We’ll Talk. . . Psalms of Love. . .


However long. . . .

Coming into a chosen family will be what someone will call a misfit.  And the label will stick.  This often is a child with a need to know everything and talk.   There will not be anyone to listen.  Because there will be other children, work to do, buses to catch, and excuses given on the spur of the moment.

I don’t have time to listen will be the mantra.  And the child grows to be adult with the need still unfulfilled.  Because in the course of life, there will be work and school, meetings and planes to catch and television.  Now of course we add hand held devices.

The need continues in those born with the desire to learn and talk but there is no matching soul with a similar need. The sweet hours of the night are filled with the best conversations, though silent they be.  No matter the fatigue of the soul, the mind conversations are filled with wonder and appreciation.

I awoke with the words, however long the night is,  and wondered perhaps I read them someplace.  Years of research never found them anywhere.  It proved to me again,  that we are not abandoned.    It is included in Psalms of Love. . .   get it for the one you love. . . .

However long. . . .

However long the night is,
is however long we’ll talk.
A tongue dismembered from its throat
is punishment too severe to be humane.

It has taken a life of silence
to filter through its members;
lessons enough for the toughest skin to break.

I have marched with your words
through endless tasks,
through nights not filled with magic.
And heard the harangue from compressed lips
tearing even the plea of forgiveness from Me.

Now I promise.
In the stillness of the life you know
I will come for you. In the light of the night
I will make my way
and no walls will bar my entry.

I will sit the night and across the table
a hand will clasp the one you call your own.
And in the magic of words spoken
I will listen to the story built
to house lives of wonder.

It has taken too long.

And we, the each, will speak and listen
and as the words flow like rivers
toward their delta, in ribbons of courage,
we will stay the night.

And however long the night is,
is however long we’ll talk.
July 1987


(photo by John Holmes)


We Make The Difference. . .

Passionate about learning and feeding my hunger,  I find so much written verified by study.  Kierkegaard says that the more one forgets, the more changes one can wrought in life.  The more one remembers, the more divine life becomes and the fewer options life contains.

I learned early on, that the stronger one’s Conscience, the stronger one’s responsibility to commitments, of course fewer options.  Eventually, the higher one reaches, the narrower the road becomes.  No option remains except straight on through.  It becomes the only way.

Everything is a Given by experience.  One learns or one expires.  Kierkegaard scribed and so do I and many authors do.  If one’s work has market value, one takes one’s profits to a bank.  I credit my desire to learn while trying not to make too much garbage for my progeny to shovel.

Kierkegaard gave meaning to the levels of heaven.  I have learned that the heaven of man’s creation is more a myth than an actuality.  I recreated worlds with memory giving glimpses remembered lovingly, and tried to duplicate.  I replicated to the extent I could but with no extra hands to help, the work eventually stopped my heart.

We come borning with the idea we can make a difference.  Let me go Father, I can make a difference we all say. And we do. Sometimes we jump start evolution.   It is the only way we can save our planet from going down the tube again.  Jesus tried.  He believed in evolution and tried to make man accountable by not blaming parents for the ills of progeny and to the child harbored in adult bodies, he became an intermediary.

This has been my knowledge for nearly 90 years.  Not the easiest way to live, especially when one sees one’s country struggling to grow up.   In the midst of turmoil groping,  yet with hope, there will be Light when the turmoil concludes.

You Are The Difference. . . .

Walking obscure, you catch a glimpse
of yourself in a storefront, not trendy
nor polished, a little unkempt,
not to be remembered.  Wondering why
must you always smell of baby powder.

So much to do with so many needs.
Why do you hear them crying?

It’s always the children, you think,
for whom you would do much,
but some of them are so big and so old. . .

You pass out treats to the little ones
and listen with your heart to the elderly. . . .

You wonder if your caring can make
any difference in lives that are so needy.

You are the difference,
you who take the time to blot teary faces
and listen to abandoned lives. . .Hazarding that.  . . .
some are too big to sit on your lap
but all the right size

to sit on your heart. . . .


Time To Love One Another. . .


Since the beginning of December, we have been on a fast track.  Upcoming was a family vacation away for the son and in law daughter  I live with and their family and me on the premises here in California having my elder son and in law daughter visiting, keeping watch.  They worked things out pretty neatly.  I am fortunate.

And the visiting watch keepers went home to Chicago and the vacationers returned for Grandson Josh and son John to tear out the kitchen to be remodeled.  Except it included building out a wall to the house and tearing down inside walls and ravaging.

I complicated matters by coming down with my yearly bronchial cough making me sound the ever coalminer.  I sought refuge in my room because truly the cough took whatever energy I had to care whether school kept.  I did not care one iota.

We are nearing departure for Josh with the end results of remodeling to be finished by son John.  I could not conceptualize the ending result because it was so outside my frame of reference.  I am more comfortable with worlds at large and their space in mind.  More comfortable also with yarn and fabric in a wall quilt and Scandia hat.  How I supervised the addition of rooms to a previous house we lived in I do not know.

It proves to me that if one by intention shows up for work, heaven takes that as a good to go sign and shows how.  Workers have always been scarce. Just remember the vineyards that lay waiting even with the promise of all the wine on the vine!

Now that the holidays are over and everyone can relax or recover their normality, or perhaps the time this year for your family was good, we simply begin again.  I take you back to a time before the devices starting eating up our time together.

Maybe we could try to bring back some of it by looking at each other whom we know and love and caring less about the likes of those we don’t even know!

I Take Your Hand. . .

Come, I take your hand.  We go to
places where our hearts share dreams.

Sometime back, in our histories
having no years, we trod places
where paths had not been worn.

It was a good time, seeing how
we formed lives with no lesson plans,
loved with no time and lived fully aware.

We remember now when the hands
of the clocks tell us we have only so much time;
only so much time to check emails, to see
bank statements, and to note how many Likes
from those we don’t know.

And only so much time before
the next commercial break and then

we might have time to love one another?


Peace. . . .

Many times for many, the comment is forget the past, the moment is all. Some even say too much time is spent in the past but rising thought is not enough is given to understanding the why of it and to rectify behavior which we have dressed cunningly in costumes for battle.

To protect the innocent in our midst from the burden of our unsolved issues is reason enough to pursue the past to its resolution. The weight of our unsolved wars can be devastating enough to stop the hearts in the ones who love us.

The average person thinks that today is born immaculate without the impact of yesterday. If one does not understand its lessons, today is sterile and we go blind into tomorrow as one with no memory who approaches members of family as strangers. The greeting would be good day and where are you from? From your yesterday sir/madam, from your yesterday.

We should gift ourselves with the only gift worth giving. It is to promise to give time to quicksand parts of us we close off. With gained courage we strengthen ourselves and find we even like and can forgive who WE are. And also find we don’t need to camouflage ourselves anymore. It may take a lifetime or two, but we are beings of second chances but who is counting?

No Yesterday . . .

We don’t even have a yesterday
when we forget the past.

And no use looking for a tomorrow
because today does not happen.
It takes a yesterday to make
a Now today.

We can costume our yesterday
and dress it up to be fashionable.
And then possibly you think,
we can walk together.

But I think the proper thing to do,
if not courageous, would be
to stare down yesterday and
suck the fear out of it.

Then perhaps we’ll have a today
as bed for tomorrow.
That assures a future only. . .

If you are okay with that?


A Midnight Adventure. . .

The noise started at 12:20 a.m. with a whirring.  And it rumbled through the concrete floors and affected my heart rhythm.  I fibrillated and became concerned.  It started when I was readying for bed and when I settled in bed and was comfortably placed, I tensed and the bed shivered.

It was with a vibration that affected my body’s whole system.  It was as if my blood flow reversed itself and had no idea what to do.  I then played musical beds.  I went to my sitting room and sat.  And then to the sofa.  Uncomfortable there.  Then went into the main living room and even Leroy looked askance.  I tried all the chairs.  Nothing worked.

I went back to bed twice and thought I settled but was so uncomfortable I got up.  Wobbly on legs unanchored I tried calling my son upstairs.   The call went to voicemail and I knew he was asleep.

I ended up in my chair again in the sitting room and with a pillow and throw, and new bottle of nitros because the older bottle had no bite,  I decided to wait for my heart to stop.  But over an hour had passed and I dozed.

The vibrations were softening and breathing became lighter and I thought, oh great I am on my way out. It was 2 a.m.  and then it was 2:50 a.m.  I lumbered to bed and went out like a light.

Awake at 7 a.m. son John said hi ma and I related my adventure in detail.  We went to my wing and checked every conceivable thing that could be turned on.  It truly felt like some heavy crane had idled outside the window.

When he came in from chores and said he talked to the water softener agent and she said considering the generator is attached to the side of the house and with our usage, the generator would  operate every 3 or 4 days,  at night.  I had spoken of this noise before.

With no basement, the generator sounds noisy at night with vibrations resonating through the concrete base.

We have always had water softened but in a house with a basement where I manually softened the water.  Because the setup is different here, the effect is different.

Having written of being bodily wired in Earth’s gravity like a violin and a kalaidoscopic  perspective,  I am grateful son John took the time to unravel this conundrum.  Sounds and emotions have rampaged my physical frame to leave me awash for almost a hundred years.

But I plan to stay till my name is called because no other world I love so much.



The Birthday Girl. . . and a happy two!


Two years ago we had word that Emma E. came to us at 1 lb 12 oz.   Over 30 years ago we had similar word of her father coming early too at a similar weight.  We have gone to our knees many times in these years begging for the best in all worlds.  And we have been blessed in all worlds.

With great gratitude celebration was held as Emma E. had her 2nd birthday.  It was appropriate that Thanksgiving was celebrated also.  She busies herself with her favorite books and talks a blue streak reciting her nursery rhymes.

What we miss in hugs we get to smile at her impish grin in photos.  With an appreciative audience she performs for laughs.  And in that laughter we have heard angels.

We would wish all children to have such welcoming and we work in what ways we can.



How High Up You Reach. . . .


What is hidden will surface and cannot be forever controlled.


Manipulation is the black boot sitting on the head.


A broader view is the fullness of a larger life.


How to teach Within is the treasure and without the Within there is no Without.


Trying to stay sane in an insane world is not easy.  Especially when you see what you see is a curse and a blessing.


Old beliefs are a security blanket.  But already they become bare when the nap has been plucked from them.  It is then time for new thought to cover old butts.


It is not the common lot of man to pursue learning what he only glimpses.  The extraordinary man who persists is the one the heavens pursue.


Given enough rope every man will hang himself.  They will also pull themselves up the mountain.


Race the night to its completion for the morning will arrive and demand something from you.


How high up you reach is how high up you jump.


Given By Grace. . . .



As long as you don’t mind. . . .


My mother and my sister would be saying now, there you go alibi-ing again.  Why don’t you just say that you make excuses or that someone is too lazy to try, whatever they are not doing?

Because I don’t want to think they are so shortsighted or so full of themselves they think there is nothing to learn.

Yet I have watched people who cannot put themselves at the feet of someone expert to learn something.  They simply cannot.  What that does to them I do not know.

Whether their self esteem is shaky or they are arrogant in thinking there is nothing to learn, is beyond me.  I am willing to strip the knowledge of everyone; even a newborn I ask from where did you come?  I want to know what they think or wonder but when they say they know something,  I want it also.

I was brought aghast when I was so excited to learn that a beloved did something I literally begged,  show me how to do that!  She looked at me with disdain and said but then you would know as much as I do. . .

And I recoiled with hurt.  My budding intelligence and fierce desire to learn was stepped on.  I was pushed outside the circle.  There was no embrace to lean against.

I have been aware when an idea or conclusion I reached has been used without assigning origin.  Once it bothered me greatly but even realizing that there is nothing new under the sun, I chafed.  Especially when my conclusions were met with derision but now being voiced and hailed as thinking outside the box.

A dear friend reiterated time and again that a lot of work could be done in this world if one does not mind who gets the credit.  True?  Very.  I still make excuses or alibis because I cannot make judgments on what I cannot know.  A red light or green light at the corner of Main street is easy to judge.  But to judge a perilous shaky self esteem could be tragic.

A lot is Given by Grace to each of us.  The source we cannot know for certain.  Yet we know when it is a Given.  It is by Grace, a benevolence bestowed I acknowledge often.  And my good friend is remembered often when I think. . .

yes,  a lot of good can be done in this world if we don’t mind who gets the credit.   Thank you Jan, for that gem.


Artwork by Claudia Hallissey


Straight on Through. . . .











Emile. . . . 

‘Do come in,’ she motioned to the visitor.
‘Things are not straightened, but they will be shortly.’

The large home had seen numbers of people
marching through the hall; booming voices, woman whispers,
babies’ tears baptizing the walls and christening the marble.

The gentle woman swished quietly to lead the way;
her skirt evenly hemmed and velvet ribbon
threaded through  the eyelet collar.
Her hair glistened with care and was piled
neatly in waves as gentle as she was.

‘Come this way,’ she said as they moved through
a group of people murmuring importantly.
‘They will be going shortly,’ she said.
‘These people won’t be here long.  We will take
the table in the corner.’

And they made their way to the table
and looked at each other for the first time.
In her eyes she hoped the pity would not be evident.
Within a moment the guest knew it was.  But Emile,
true to the cut of her coat, rejected and dismissed
what she saw.

‘The people here are not for long,’ Emile said.
‘The family has so many parties I cannot keep up.  The house
is hardly large enough anymore to hold them all.  But soon
it will be quiet.  It is getting late and time for them to go.’

The rest of the visit was not a replay of times long gone;
no memory of dreams dreamed or books discussed.  No
memory of philosophical turbulence enjoyed.
The guest in time stood up to leave.

‘Emile, it has been a wonderful visit.  But I must get home
and see to dinner.  We will do this more often.
With so much to do each day, we seldom have time to visit.’

And Emile led the way to the door, rounding the tables
like the lady of the house seeing to everyone’s comfort.

At the curb was a car waiting with a grey haired man
standing by.  ‘Hi, Emile!  Hope you and Mother
had a good visit.  Sure do miss Alan and John now
that they’re gone.  We were good buddies.’

Emile waved her hand and puzzled to her guest.
‘He looks familiar, but  who is that old man?  Is he
the grandfather of one of your children’s friends?’
The old friend took Emile’s hand and said,
‘he is my youngest son, Paul.  You remember Paul.’

Emile smiled blankly and withdrew her hand.

‘No ,’ she said.  ‘I only know you.’
And she thanked her friend for coming and
promised a neater home for the next visit.
She then firmly closed the door.
Her friend walked down the stairs.
Emile was right for the guests soon followed.

Paul took his mother’s hand and helped her to the car.
He looked at the imposing Home and whispered,
‘I wish we could afford such a place for you.
The Largess is the best retirement home in the state.
And we can only give you a room in our house.’
Sighing, ‘where to my lady?’

And in a clear voice allowing no nonsense, she roared,
‘home, Paul, home!  To where I am no guest and do not tire
from using energy to keep a dream alive.  Home, Paul, home.’

And the rest of the journey was straight on through.


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