MEMORIAL DAY, 2010

MEMORIAL DAY, 2010

When I think of Memorial Day, of course, I think of war, and the sadness war has brought to all man-kind since the beginning of time. I have often thought that we should, by now, be beyond war; that the evolution of man would have placed us just below the angels (as many believe) rather than just above the apes which seems to be the reality. Our ancestors of ape-land are extremely teritorial, protecting to the death, with war-like intensity, their "place" on earth, just as we do the same. I so want to live in a more perfect world, but I think, even though we continue to evolve (and we have made progress), we will not arrive at a place of shared tranquility for a very long, long time (certainly not in my lifetime!). And sadly, it may never happen before we destroy ourselves, each other and all living things. A sad thought indeed! In the meantime, soldiers of every place on earth must die protecting their spot, and we must go on, sadly, remembering our soldiers and their families for their heroic efforts in protecting our spot. As I sat on my porch this morning looking out at my lush, green yard, I thought of all the war-torn places around the world, and wrote this poem.

THOUGHTS IN MID-MAY

I sit quietly on my porch in early morn
the end of the month of May
And look out to the distant field
Where prairie grass is beginning to sway
With the morning breeze

And, I see wildflowers starting to grow
In colors not yet defined
But which will be varied and brilliant
In time

The chickadees, finches and meadow larks
Warble and sing their song
And just below my open window
The purple, fragrant lilacs grow
From their hedges, row upon row

Our birdfeeder is busy too this a.m.
Yellow finches hanging upside down
Eating their morning breakfast down
While robins hop around the yard
In need of fresh worms to pull

Colors of green fill up the trees
Their different shaped leaves
Fluttering and flapping
In the morning breeze

But then I pause
And my thought begin to wander
To war-torn areas around the globe
Where nothing,
Not even a leaf can grow

Where nothing grows among the rubble
But more and more
War-torn trouble

A place where flowers won't bloom
And birds won't sing
And no grasses will grow

And I think of all of those
Who would wish to take my place
To be here in my space
Where flowers and grasses grow
And yellow birds sing

What is it about going to highschool with a class of 24 girls that makes you friends for life? I am guessing that without the distraction of boys in class with you, we had more time to knit true friendships and enjoy each other more fully. I also think that the small class of just 24 girls provided more opportunity to know and appreciate each other as individuals. That we wore uniforms and no jewelry (nuns would not allow this) contibuted to our not competing with each other except in field hocky, basketball and vollyball. We seem to have grown as a kind of family who cares about each other, and we are still a very close, caring group of women today. This past week, many of us were together in Cincinnati to celebrate a birthday of note for all of us, and we enjoyed dining together at the beautiful home of one of our classmates. We blew out the candles together on a lovely birthday cake and sang happy birthday to ourselves afterwards. We have all come a long way individually, but are still a close family of friends. I am so grateful for these wonderful women in my life.

My Mother

Sunday is Mother's Day and I would like to honor my mother with this beautiful orchid I wish I could give to her, and with this poem that I wrote about her. I loved my mom very much, and admired how she kept "it" all together, even when the seas were rough; she never was "at sea," herself, rather she kept our ship afloat, and all of her seven children moving along with good manners, good morals and good times. Here's to you Mom.

MOTHER

I remember my mother

in the basement

In front of the washing machine

with loads of wash

Darks, whites, and in-betweens

For seven children

And one very meticulous husband

Who wanted everything neat and clean

I remember my Mother

behind the ironing board

Pressing Peter Pan blouses

for brown school uniforms

And sewing on lost buttons

My Mother could work miricles

with leftovers

and create a delicious mystery stew

I remember my Mother

behind the wheel of our old station-wagon

Seven kids packed in tight

day or night

Driving us to art museums, skating rinks,

horse-back riding and tennis lessons

We were a captive audience to her plan

To have our fingers

In every piece of pie

in life

And to live large and full

But mostly.......

I remeber my Mother

telling a story

And laughing heartily at her own joke

My Mother loved a party

and reasons to celebrate

She seemed always to be happy

She would often say,

"Life is what you make it

It is really up to you"

Mother is gone now

But her laughter lives in me

I hear her still

Along with the thumping rumble

Of the old station-wagon.

Springtime, 2010

LET ME GO IN SPRINGTIME

Let me go in springtime

When I go

So that the long winter will not

Seem in vain

And I can hear again

The birds chirping one more time

Before I go

And I will want to see

The row of day lilies

That grow each spring

Along the hedge

And smell the lilacs below

My window pane

I will want to greet one more time

Hank and Henrietta, our doves

That come back each year

To nest in our Evergreen tree

And with my last breaths

I will, once again

Wish to enjoy the rabbits and their offspring

Hopping about and eating the new green shoots

From our garden

And see the ducks waddle by in pairs

Male chasing female

On their way to the lake nearby

I will want to hear the geese honk

Once again

Their message of delight

In flight overhead

As the robins jump about the yard

Finding worms in the wet spring earth

And if I am very lucky

A yellow chickadee will alight

Followed by the redbird

That finds our feeder every year

And the sun will warm my soul

Before I go

And I will be happy then.