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.

Springtime birds

Today I want to talk about birds, since there is quite a variety flying around my back yard, and meadow these days. I really love birds, plain and simple! Their beauty and sound just make me feel happy. I know there is a book out with all the sounds to go with the birds, and I would like to own it, but alas, too much for my budget, so I will just have to try and guess which bird is singing, and calling to other birds at any given moment. My favorites these days are the little yellow finches that alight onto our thistle bird feeder when the red winged blackbird gets out of the way. I love their lovely color, and the way they eat upside down on the feeder. The red cardinals are next on my "hit" list, but they are more rare along with the blue birds. Robins, of course, are everywhere and last year I had the joy of watching a robin right out my bathroom window, build its nest branch by branch, sit on the nest forever, it seemed, and then hear the peep, peep, peep of the newborns. I watched as Papa bird and Mama bird took turns flying from the nest to bring back food, and watched as the babies stretched up out of the nest to be fed, mouth to mouth from their parents. And then, sadly, one day they were all gone. I guess this is the way it should be, but darn, I wanted to watch those kids grow up! Isn't nature wonderful? So many of us don't take the time to watch it unfold right before our eyes, but when we do, what an interesting and lovely show it is! Of course I have written several poems about the birds I love and I will share two of them here.

The Chickadee
There is nothing happier for me
Than a chickadee
Alighting on my window pane
And singing his little song
So merrily.......
How much I delight in thee!
And when you fly away from here
There is naught for me to do
But wait til once again you come
To make of my day, a song.....

Red Bird
Every morning, the red bird comes
Stopping briefly
To perch on my backyard deck

I stop
And put down my coffee
Slowly and quietly
Not to disturb
Or cause the flight
Of this fleeting, crimson sight
Which so delights my senses

I feel a sacred moment then
His brilliance planted firmly in my soul
That will last and last
Throughout my day
As I recall this image of delight
Cemented clearly in my heart
Before my red feathered friend
Flies away.....

Thoughts on turning 70

Ah, today I am thinking about numbers.....and all that numbers represent. Sums, dates, amounts, addresses, but very important to most of us: age. Ah but, it's just a number, isn't it? Well, yes, but then again, maybe no. Upon thinking and pondering my recent birthday milestone, I was quick to remind myself and others that, well, it's just a number but maybe it is more than that. It certainly represents the yin and the yang of my life; the before and the after; what has been, and what will be, for me, 70 years lived upon this earth, and an unknown number of years to come. It represents other milestones in my life too, like my high school years at Summit Country Day School; my first real love; my college years at Marquette University in freezing Milwaukee, Wisconsin; my two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Tanzania, East Africa (quite warm); meeting and dating my one true love, my husband of 40 years, and our marriage in July, 1969; the birth of our two daughters and all the joyful years they brought to our lives; our eight year "party" in Colorado and then our return to the Midwest; and our happy landing in Normal, Illinois amidst the flatland of lovely farms, and the joys of living in a small Midwest town. In and among the areas and locations of my life are all the wonderful people I have met and the lasting friends I have made. I am abundantly blessed in this area of my life along with my Cincinnati family of six brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews and now, two wonderful grandchildren. So, no....70 is not just a number. It is the representation of a life lived, so far so good. The morning I turned 70, I woke up and said to my husband, "Well, I made it; the rest is gravy." Or as they say in New Orleans, the rest is "lagniappe-a little extra." I feel abundantly blessed, healthy and am continuing to charge ahead. Who could ask for more?? I love what Falstaff says in Shakespeare's play, Henry IV, Part One,
" If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned." I want to think of myself among that group.

Springtime At Last

Oh, those special signs of spring!!! How I love them; let me count the ways. A friend of mine once told me that I get so much joy from nature that it must truly be part of my spirituality. I agree. Nothing is more wonderful to me than a walk in the woods or a stroll around our farm, listening to the noises of nature or watching a bird build its nest which a Robin did last spring right outside my bathroom window, where I could watch him create it, twig by twig, stick by stick and branch by branch. What an incredible process to witness. An aside to this; I just saw a cartoon in the New Yorker where the mother bird is saying to Papa Bird as he is placing another piece of straw on the nest, "No, not there; put it over here." Hmmmm, even female birds may have that sense of design and decorating. Oh course, we know they don't; but wait, do we really know that??? Anyway, spring has once again come to the meadow outside my kitchen window and it does put an extra energetic step into my life. In celebration, I would like to share a poem I wrote another year at this same time called, SPRING AT LAST

SPRING AT LAST

Four long winter months have passed
Fourteen frigid weeks
One hundred twenty days
And now,
Out my kitchen window
Too long absent from my eye
Spring has come at last
Showing its face
And taking its spring-time place
In my backyard

No longer need I linger
lazily on my couch
Wrapped in blankets
to silence the chill
Thinking of this season to come
And anticipating its spring-time thrill

Soon I will go outside and lie down
on the tufts of soft green grass
beneath the oaks and sycamores
And see their buds appearing
And look upon a bring blue sky

And beyond my sights
In far distant fields
Where there are still patches
of winter snow
Just now, beginning to go
Spring-time is coming to the meadow too

Wrens and robins begin to sing
Their new season song
And call along
To other waking creatures of the fields
And from tree to tree
I see
A robin, a dove, a chickadee
Alight in the warm brignt sun
Male chasing female
Displaying bright bulging breasts
Enticing the females to their nests
To begin a family
In this heightened season of the senses
A time not to be alone

The rabbits too, shake their tails
And hale a new day dawning
Another season in which to romp
And stomp their rabbit feet

And now, I myself will go
Wherever nature leads my senses
Whirling winds
Animal movements
Woods running wild
Sunsets setting
Wherever cosmic energy leads me

And before it is over
I will wish that I could paint
And put upon a canvas
The colors and the forms
The emotions and the joys
That this season brings

For when melancholy moments
Come again in December
I will want to remember
All that this season has awakened in me
And the memory will serve me well.