Preparing for Easter
Knocked me on my keester!
I'll keep this brief
And save you the grief
Of all the details
The rants and rails
Short and sweet
'til next we meet
May your Wester be better
(Differs by one li'l letter)
When do we celebrate it?
Oh, we already ate it?
Was it good
In your neighborhood?
Celebrate the rising
It isn't surprising
When Spring is seen, All is green,
May this be your best yet,
That's my request, yet...
It's possible that others,
Like sisters and brothers
May come to mind, too
From Easters behind you
But this I will wager
You'll remember your age when yer
Gifts from the Bunny began
And cherish the mem'ry again
Sweet dreams and g'night
May your troubles take flight
And your sweetest of wishes come true
Some Bunny Loves you, eSPECIALly you!
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Monday, March 21, 2016
Is it True Happiness, or is it the Coffee?
I am so incredibly hyped up on Caffeine that I can hardly sit still.
Why does my body CRAVE coffee?
This afternoon, I’m drinking DE-caffeinated Earl Grey tea. Probably filled with terrible chemical residue, but it sure tastes good. I feel my heart thrumming.
Years ago, friend Linda Dare sent me a post card I still keep visible: Line drawing of a wiry gal with angular features holding a huge cup & saucer. Here's the caption:
She thought for the first time in her life she was truly happy, but it was only the coffee.
I do get so much more done in a day that includes at least one cup. I cannot sleep soundly if I have more than one or ANY past noon.
Do I learn? Nope.
What cranks me, though is this: the hyper nature doesn’t necessarily make good choices regarding HOW to use the energy my innards seem to generate when high on a cuppa. More hours go into answering email and the black hole of FaceBook than into writing - which is what I proclaimed I came to Oakland to do… and being with the Grandie… which is also more fun when my caffeinated self can match her seemingly boundless energy.
The other night, she seemed to have had an IV of double shot dark roast. She asked for lullabies then bounced on my supine form giggling maniacally at my inability to sing while her fingers pressed up against my Adam’s apple. Actually, we both giggled like mad! There was LOTS of vibrato in that night’s rendition of the Beatles, “Now it’s time to say good night…”
Then, today, I met with a mentor over the telephone (and over a cup of coffee). She is such a gem, and is guiding me to sharpen my determination to write, helping me to sift and sort through pieces I’ve already written, and to see which pieces hang together well. I had the image of a great gal pal standing next to me with the pieces spread out on the floor - like articles of clothing - and the two of us holding each one up, and squinting, to see which pieces go well together. Soothing image.
Perhaps, the coffee may be useful, when I neeeeeeed to stay up late to meet a publisher’s deadline. Until then, may I have enough wisdom to discern: Does this day call for mediCation or for mediTation?
Why does my body CRAVE coffee?
This afternoon, I’m drinking DE-caffeinated Earl Grey tea. Probably filled with terrible chemical residue, but it sure tastes good. I feel my heart thrumming.
Years ago, friend Linda Dare sent me a post card I still keep visible: Line drawing of a wiry gal with angular features holding a huge cup & saucer. Here's the caption:
She thought for the first time in her life she was truly happy, but it was only the coffee.
I do get so much more done in a day that includes at least one cup. I cannot sleep soundly if I have more than one or ANY past noon.
Do I learn? Nope.
What cranks me, though is this: the hyper nature doesn’t necessarily make good choices regarding HOW to use the energy my innards seem to generate when high on a cuppa. More hours go into answering email and the black hole of FaceBook than into writing - which is what I proclaimed I came to Oakland to do… and being with the Grandie… which is also more fun when my caffeinated self can match her seemingly boundless energy.
The other night, she seemed to have had an IV of double shot dark roast. She asked for lullabies then bounced on my supine form giggling maniacally at my inability to sing while her fingers pressed up against my Adam’s apple. Actually, we both giggled like mad! There was LOTS of vibrato in that night’s rendition of the Beatles, “Now it’s time to say good night…”
Then, today, I met with a mentor over the telephone (and over a cup of coffee). She is such a gem, and is guiding me to sharpen my determination to write, helping me to sift and sort through pieces I’ve already written, and to see which pieces hang together well. I had the image of a great gal pal standing next to me with the pieces spread out on the floor - like articles of clothing - and the two of us holding each one up, and squinting, to see which pieces go well together. Soothing image.
Perhaps, the coffee may be useful, when I neeeeeeed to stay up late to meet a publisher’s deadline. Until then, may I have enough wisdom to discern: Does this day call for mediCation or for mediTation?
Sunday, March 13, 2016
(On the first day of time change) Riffin', Missin' Plain Old Time
At sixty seven, close to heaven
time is fleeting faster
death’s round the bend, life has an end
a small miss step could mean disaster
Standing proudly, speaking loudly
seem a distant memory
epidemics and pandemics
friends’ lives but ephemery
murmurings of losing love
sift down from the eaves
cooing, chewing mourning dove
builds with rotting leaves
it is not as if rot
can support a nurturing nest
hatchlings, snatchlings
fitful rest, under mother’s breast
She is still, but her skill
at architecture pales
wind has flung her dear young
ones, unfeathered wing fails
hungry cat craving fat
finds the appetizer
base of tree, soul flung free
to the Great Realizer
to big nest fly in the best sky
with your soul wings spread
There, you’ll find, all are kind
Only problem is you’re dead!
Is writing like fighting?
who wins in the end?
coffee brews and toffee chews
brain jitters, days blend
into night’s fading lights
into the dark mystery
sip your gruel, life is cruel
all you lived is history
slime mold burbles, slithery gerbils,
leaping for the light
quivering masses, lads and lasses
live through drought and blight
what’s the story, Morning Glory?
why so down and blue?
Sun comes up, cat and pup
show that they love you
tails un curling, wings unfurling
take flight to your kin
fear not, tear not, drink your beer not
unconsciousness a sin
time is fleeting faster
death’s round the bend, life has an end
a small miss step could mean disaster
Standing proudly, speaking loudly
seem a distant memory
epidemics and pandemics
friends’ lives but ephemery
murmurings of losing love
sift down from the eaves
cooing, chewing mourning dove
builds with rotting leaves
it is not as if rot
can support a nurturing nest
hatchlings, snatchlings
fitful rest, under mother’s breast
She is still, but her skill
at architecture pales
wind has flung her dear young
ones, unfeathered wing fails
hungry cat craving fat
finds the appetizer
base of tree, soul flung free
to the Great Realizer
to big nest fly in the best sky
with your soul wings spread
There, you’ll find, all are kind
Only problem is you’re dead!
Is writing like fighting?
who wins in the end?
coffee brews and toffee chews
brain jitters, days blend
into night’s fading lights
into the dark mystery
sip your gruel, life is cruel
all you lived is history
slime mold burbles, slithery gerbils,
leaping for the light
quivering masses, lads and lasses
live through drought and blight
what’s the story, Morning Glory?
why so down and blue?
Sun comes up, cat and pup
show that they love you
tails un curling, wings unfurling
take flight to your kin
fear not, tear not, drink your beer not
unconsciousness a sin
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Anniversary of a Conversation Overheard...
“Grandma, does dead really mean Daddy’s never coming back?”
“That’s right, sweet heart. He’s up in heaven with Grandma Joan – your mommy’s mother - who never got to meet you.
“Are you and grandpa going to die soon too, Grandma?”
“No, darling. Grandpa and I are very healthy. What happened to your daddy happens sometimes. His heart wasn’t healthy… that’s why he died. He’s so happy where he is up in heaven watching over you, your brother, sister, and mommy. We miss him… but he’s in a place where he can cheer for you in all that you do in your life. What he can't do is be here to hold you and hug you, or play ball with you, or read to you anymore. Mommy and Grandpa and I are here to hug you and hold you tight and take care of you. We will always make sure that you are well taken care of. You are safe and we love you and your brother and sister so much, we’ll make sure you stay safe.”
“Hey, Max… Do you remember how your sister found that little silver cross right after her gymnastics meet on Sunday? And how she put it up on her dresser with her medals because she was sure it was your daddy’s way of showing her he was proud of her? Well, we can be on the look-out for signs from your daddy too… it might be the comfort of a cool breeze on a hot day or a butterfly or humming bird coming close… anything you think might be your dad coming to comfort you or just his way of saying, ‘Hi I’m thinking about you and I love you,’ just might really be his spirit essence.”
“How do we know?”
“Well… we can’t know for sure, Max. Death is such a mysterious thing and not a lot of people talk about it. But we can make it up as we go along… comfort is comfort. I’m so glad you and I are talking about it now… and I hope we can talk about it anytime you have questions or want to talk about your daddy… or about anything really. Your daddy was my younger son and I’m always going to think of him as my baby. It’s hard to think I’ll never see him again. I know it’s hard for you too thinking you’ll never see him again. This is the sad part about death. We really miss the people we love so much that it hurts awfully bad some days. Yesterday when I woke up my tummy hurt…”
“Me too, Grandma! Mommy wanted me to eat breakfast with her and Al and Ellie but my tummy hurt too bad to eat so she just gave me extra toast in my lunch. I ate it at recess when I felt better.”
“How smart of you to listen to your body that way, darlin’. Your body knows what’s right. I wish I’d have listened to my body yesterday and NOT eaten breakfast until my tummy felt better. I’m glad you listened, Max! I’ll try to remember that one. I think we’re going to find a “new normal” together. Everything is going to feel topsy turvy for a while… but over time I know we’ll get used to it.”
“I love you grandma.”
“And I love you, Max.”
“That’s right, sweet heart. He’s up in heaven with Grandma Joan – your mommy’s mother - who never got to meet you.
“Are you and grandpa going to die soon too, Grandma?”
“No, darling. Grandpa and I are very healthy. What happened to your daddy happens sometimes. His heart wasn’t healthy… that’s why he died. He’s so happy where he is up in heaven watching over you, your brother, sister, and mommy. We miss him… but he’s in a place where he can cheer for you in all that you do in your life. What he can't do is be here to hold you and hug you, or play ball with you, or read to you anymore. Mommy and Grandpa and I are here to hug you and hold you tight and take care of you. We will always make sure that you are well taken care of. You are safe and we love you and your brother and sister so much, we’ll make sure you stay safe.”
“Hey, Max… Do you remember how your sister found that little silver cross right after her gymnastics meet on Sunday? And how she put it up on her dresser with her medals because she was sure it was your daddy’s way of showing her he was proud of her? Well, we can be on the look-out for signs from your daddy too… it might be the comfort of a cool breeze on a hot day or a butterfly or humming bird coming close… anything you think might be your dad coming to comfort you or just his way of saying, ‘Hi I’m thinking about you and I love you,’ just might really be his spirit essence.”
“How do we know?”
“Well… we can’t know for sure, Max. Death is such a mysterious thing and not a lot of people talk about it. But we can make it up as we go along… comfort is comfort. I’m so glad you and I are talking about it now… and I hope we can talk about it anytime you have questions or want to talk about your daddy… or about anything really. Your daddy was my younger son and I’m always going to think of him as my baby. It’s hard to think I’ll never see him again. I know it’s hard for you too thinking you’ll never see him again. This is the sad part about death. We really miss the people we love so much that it hurts awfully bad some days. Yesterday when I woke up my tummy hurt…”
“Me too, Grandma! Mommy wanted me to eat breakfast with her and Al and Ellie but my tummy hurt too bad to eat so she just gave me extra toast in my lunch. I ate it at recess when I felt better.”
“How smart of you to listen to your body that way, darlin’. Your body knows what’s right. I wish I’d have listened to my body yesterday and NOT eaten breakfast until my tummy felt better. I’m glad you listened, Max! I’ll try to remember that one. I think we’re going to find a “new normal” together. Everything is going to feel topsy turvy for a while… but over time I know we’ll get used to it.”
“I love you grandma.”
“And I love you, Max.”
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