most silently

Good morning.
  
Sigh.


Another deep sigh...


The sun is shining, yes- I see it. 
 The bright-glow moon out last night- will I convey where it found me?
  No...


I hear the guineas
knee deep in cold-white,frozen fluffy powder- still calling, still alive.  The one leader always taking the first treacherous risks/steps so that the others might follow.  Ah, yes- I see that too. 


In time, I get it.


I see where someone plowed our drive as we were a bit unable for awhile.  All the hopeless moments I spent seething, wondering "where is the kindness, where are the friends, the others, the..." just like me, they take a bit to catch on maybe.  And then- there they were...helping; silently sweetly anonymously- lending a hand.
And we worry about so much, his job.  Our savings.  But we wonder too, more than worry- we wonder.


About:
 The folks back home who struggle too, who lose too- their sure footing because someone hurt them in word or deed, right when they most needed assurance, a gentle strong kindness to see them through....
And then we see this morning, in the form of green carnations and bowed heads came griefs shared, sorrows carried for a time so the family who lost more than any of them can ever say, at least, at least they know that many have risen so that they do not have to. For now- the hearts of mankind are thawed, open, beating one tick at a time together, as the black limo passes.


  A kind act in snow removal, or a tiny, green tinged petal of a flower that lands at one's window at least, at least!  I can finally see what my eyes have painfully adjusted to- love bears all.


When others reveal to the one's who are suffering an out and out down-in-the-dirt-too raw empathy- that is compassion; the necessary ingredient in healing.  Without it, scars form over wounds that will not heal.  


And so it is at this time of year, the darkest days soon revealing more light- I pray for you and I pray for me, that we may find within ourselves deep wells of compassion. 
 And if you think it is not within you, I pray you think again- for even the most lowly among us have it there in that invisible dimension although no one ever knows this until it is shared.


 That's how it works and many, many times- most silently.  No words are necessary- green carnations, a bowed head, tears,sobs, a hand upon a shoulder, a nod of understanding, a squeeze of fingers... 
  A freshly plowed drive, by a black truck that no one seems to know who it's owner is.... 

Peace to you and yours.  And snow bright joy...take care-

same light

Winter Solstice 2009 occurs at 9:47 am PST, 5:04 pm GMT on December 21, 2009 (22 Dec. in Thailand and points east.) This is the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, and from now on the Solar force will get longer and stronger, a welcome relief for those of us who need lots of sunshine to keep our dispositions equally sunny.
by Robert Wilkinson of Aquarius Papers

Good morning.


Today is the shortest lit, darkest day of the year.  It is a time for  many- to let go of old influences, differences- to say or write of the things you wish to relinquish- to see leave your life.  This is where, in times past- the yule log came in.  The ritual began many years back to ignite a log and to burn in it's flame- messages on parchment, bark or some kind of medium that one might write on or draw pictures to symbolize the intention.  And then, the same exercise would begin again with drawing or writing of what you wished to see come into your life.  Again, the intentions would go into the flame, one at a time or all in a list or perhaps upon a pine bow, one might  say, "Joy please come back into my life, I wish for happiness to fill the spaces left open by all the things I do so intend to let go."  


History tells us of pagans (who were really just poor peasants, many of them country people- not heretics or heathens as the church back in the day would have all believe because of their odd tendencies to worship nature- the sun, moon and stars,)  just plain and simple folks who cherished the divine in every living thing... and in each other.   The herbs the good earth gave them thereby curing many of their ailments were gifts treasured and often spoke of in ceremonies.   And to this day, we still use the old ways to cure many common ills.


 These days when people speak of pagan or being a pagan- to me that just means they choose to believe as their freedom dictates.  Nothing scary, or evil....isn't it funny how we often give the unknown, the misunderstood a cloak and dagger of sorts, declaring them unchristlike or even worse, devil worshipper?!  That always tickles me in a way, and sometimes when an actual pagan declares to me that they are pagan, I say- Good for you, I'm Terry!  Almost always I am then met with a very quizzical look, then  kindness- that agreeing to disagree thing, willing to uphold the divine in each and every one of us- regardless of the little tag dangling from our character!  Usually brings about an understanding, an acceptance- clarity then rears it's bright and shiny face and in that same light- we all dance.


To believe in one's personal God or Goddess or Baby or King or Candles or ???? To each his own- Every one of those beliefs have the one thing in common that this day  lacks- Light.  In the following days...in longer lit, lesser dark times- may we all begin again to truly live in the Light that is the Divine in the all and everything.


Joy to all-

white woman jello-shot flashback

Good morning. Mathew, my big man/boy youngest son and I just returned from a whirlwind trip to Ohio. It was a Semper Fi kind of thing. Stoke just got himself hitched and we got to share in all the festivities and let me just warn you, there were jello shots involved. Completely harmless looking little things, really. It's like a rainbow of gooey jellied yum-yum treats, especially when they are all stacked up on one another. And then the floor, the surface of trust and solidness, just comes right up and smacks you when you least expect it and the little cuckoo birds turn a bright black and blue as they swirl around your head. Sounds like an acid trip somehow, not that I have ever taken one of those, that's just seventies talk I have heard from my older brother. Not where I really wanted to go at all this morning, on a jello-shot flashback...

We had a beautiful time, we drove for six hours, got lost in Indianapolis because that's a limbo like area, probably closer to hell than heaven- I even got called a white woman. Never been called that before, but I was not offended, oh no! The man who said that used it in a sentence like this:

"White women, look at me! Forget thees map and listen what I tell you, get out of here, you are not safe. Take right at stop light, take right again and keep on going unteel you get out...you understand me?!" "Do not look at thee effing map unteel you do what I say, just get out of here soon now!"

"Uh, thanks..."

I had left the protective big 6' 2" man boy out in the engine-running-locked-truck while I approached this man, I found myself sprinting back, banging on the windows (now I'm sure I looked like a crazy white woman, drawing all kinds of attention to myself by banging and yelling- "wake up, let me in!") The young man does not wake easily or perhaps took this opportunity to make a joke, either way he wasn't much of a security guard. We did get out of there, I won't even go into how we got so turned around and ended up in a place where perhaps, because of our extreme Irish/Swedish glaring whiteness, we might not have been welcomed without an Uzi...

But as usual, that is not my story, this is-

Big Stoke- Marine made man from Ohio, St. Marys to be exact. Met my Marine(Beau) there in North Caroline-y several years back, fell in love like men sometimes do with a buddy- a brother from another mother. They were inseparable, went to war together, made plans to travel the wide world, or at least the extreme southern states after their tour- picking and grinning and driving the Stang, that's Mustang to you and me. Turbo charged and fortified with blow-out-the-windows-and-your-ear-drums stereo. (I'm behind the times there, most folks don't call it stereo anymore, but you get the gist...)

Well you know in this turbulent world, some things happen that no one for sees and lives and plans get rearranged, hearts get broken and journeys never get taken. Sometimes, even big old Marines lose their heart and drop their pack- for too long. And then one wondrous day, after going back, over and over the reasons of why and the question that never gets a good answer, a lovely lady enters in with a bigger heart than a big old Marine. And she looked inside of Stoke, went deeper than most I suspect, lifted that man's pack up higher than it had ever been before and he decided it was time to take a new trip. (Although incidentally, they still went south on their honeymoon...redneck!)





Ahhh...now I'm getting to the good part. Stoke is one tough hombre, but kind of soft in the middle, you know- like a good chocolate chip cookie. We met him at a time when no joy could be found, when packs dragged the ground and it really didn't matter after all- anything. Still, he was a Marine and was made to escort "Dirt's" family around the base before and after the memorial service. In a later telling, he said though it was heart wrenching, he was honored to aid us. He was so tender with my children,truly the first soul who treated them like they were not little pillars of strength, not made of stone- and so kind to them that we all kind of clung to him. We trusted his guidance and strength, really relied on this young man to see us through. The service was somber, ever been in a room full of Marines filling the pews, trying to act all Marine-like, trying to not cry, trying to brave it out? Silent whispering tears, that's what it was. But those are the kind that are heard and felt most of all, those are the kind that ache even after they've been wiped away. So there we sat, trying to live up to the examples being set all around us- honoring not my son, but a brother who served- a Marine.

As the service came to a slow salute conclusion, Stoke stood at the end of our pew and offered his arm as an escort. I was easily led, as were my children. Unbeknownst to us, we were not made to wade through the river of Marines- we were to exit via the parson's door, in full view of the congregation of military men and women. As these doors were opened, all eyes behind us were upon us. A large hall was presented, again open to all eyes and Stoke led us through, beyond the alter, through the doors and straight into... the parson's bathroom. I remember looking down to see a toilet just at my right knee, holy as that little place was, we had taken a wrong turn. Stoke was facing a wall, still extending his arm for me to be led. The kids and Beau's "K." followed right into the little room, actually burrowing right in there like a pack of gophers. Stoke simply turned an about face, shrugged his shoulders, took my arm and out we filed- to the actual exit.

Stoke, in the midst of all the sadness, on a day when no joy could be found- made us laugh and giggle and snort. Oh we cried, doubling over outside where the parson was waiting, wondering- just where had we gone?! To this day, we give Stoke all kinds of grief over that incident. Matter of fact- I was handed the mic at the reception there in Ohio, and told just that story. Jello shots make you do the darndest things...


(And am I the only one to notice how bathrooms and privies and um, well...toilets, have kind of brought about epiphanys as of late??!)


Take care-

living proof

Me and The Eagle

A whole lot can come from nothing

I was living proof-

you're doing good if you've got your self

four walls and a roof.

If you give up the time

your soul will play the song,

do what you feel is right

and don't do nobody wrong.

Don't pay no mind to critics

they'll say what they'll say.

You need to care more about your work

than you do about your pay.

Be careful where you tread

'cause you'll always leave some tracks,

but if you take some wrong roads

ain't no sense in looking back.

Watch the name you live up to

you may have to live it down-

cause once you start to fly

it's hard to see the ground.

Don't let anyone tell you

who you are, or what you'll be.

Be your own man

and live your life accordingly.

Don't burn all your bridges

you might have to cross them again.

Make sure you know the people

and the crowd you're hanging in.

Anything worth doing

is worth doing right-

including causing trouble

and picking out your fights.

There are only two things for sure-

one is life and then there's death.

Make your dreams come true

and YOU decide the rest.

CPL Beau "Dirt" Robbins, USMC

7/14/82-7/26/03

between the joy

""Sorrowful joy" sums up my feelings after last night. There is so much joy in celebrating and honoring our sons in what ever way we can. The joy of watching shells burst to their favorite music is, to me, awe inspiring. So much joy, so much beauty. It is, unfortunately, joy born of great sorrow. You are so right when you say love never dies but goes on forever. It is just so tough that there is so tight a connection between the joy and sorrow.

We have met so many wonderful people that we would not have "IF" things were the "old normal" and John and Beau were just a phone call away. But (yes, there is that cursed "but") we know that is not possible. All we "members of the club" can do is help each other in what ever way possible. Be it fireworks, beautiful prose, a supportive look, a hug or all of the above, it is what we must do so we are able to continue our lifelong journey of surviving and moving on." L. and V.

I think that we are born to bear both joy and sorrow, to recognize that each is on a level plane-that there is a balance there, a tight rope walk.
When one rises higher or lower- I misstep and fall. Beneath me is a net, held together by the strings of friendship- threads woven together by family, friends, kind strangers, strong words, kind gestures, hope, hugs and kisses and embraces- a tapestry that never frays, it's strength capable of catching me in my many tumbles, so resilient and strong, though ever expanding and flexible- it bounces me back up there, on that tight rope walk.

My joy and sorrow last week was like a lost sock in the washer, caught up in many blankets in the spin cycle, agitated, stretched, lost in the load. I was so weepy yet so thankful that once again my son's name would be on many tongues, his memory alive once again for many, not just me...I miss him. I miss hearing his name. I miss seeing the reactions of the faces when they recall the stories of Beau. I miss the laughter connected with those stories. I yearn for him, his story, his connection here...every moment of every day.

I stood below a thundering display Saturday night. I held my hands to my face- an act of awe and vulnerability that I tried to contain. I do not let others down easily, I do not like to affect anyone negatively- there is enough of that in this world. But I realized, as of a weepy Saturday morning...that I am not a pillar of strength, I am a mom, a human person with a great spirit that mostly soars. I am a person who often is humbled harder down, because I am (reluctantly) aware of the lowest of lows and so my highs are equal in their heights- it's hard to see the ground.

My friends, you have humbled me- gently, soothingly, lovingly- like a cannon ball, you came through the wall that sorrow has built and love secures with the mortar of memories...the one I could not climb, or go under or over...one must go through. Oh the wideness of the gap now...thank you, thank you. If you know not what you do...if all you do is out of that great love for John, it is more than enough sweet parents- that resilent ever increasing, never dying love. Scoop by scoop, we will move our mountains...

Take care-

exploding love

Has anyone ever done something for you, out of the blue- that is beyond kind and wondrous? I have had this experience, many times...often, I forget soon enough to say thank you. My post today will speak of a kindness born out of tragedy, out of despair- yet even though these people who are going out of their way for me and mine have been through the fire of the loss of a child- they reach out to me, for me- in joy. On Saturday, April 5th, at dusk, Petersburg fairgrounds- there will be a fireworks show in honor of my late son, Beau.

(Brief: Shattered lives, helpless hearts- when the shock wears off, the journey's just begun.)

For Them
Seldom read the paper
so why did I today-
pick a piece of torment
on the obituary page

Another senseless tragedy-
twenty two and full of life
a local boy not quite a man,
he'll never take a wife

Oh his parents, numb struck parents
for them it's just begun
their questions in the multitudes
and answers they'll find- none.

I pray that those who reach to them
think of what they'll say
and only heal in time of need-
not hurt them more today

Small town folk will bustle
to the resting place
and offer tears and "I'll be here-"
and then just walk away-

They think they really mean it,
when offering everything
but they have reason to go on-
they just can't know the sting...

Oh the parents, poor sweet parents
it only has begun-
The road of grief, a million miles
they'll crawl through every one.

Them are the people who are holding the fireworks show, they lost their son tragically, too soon and I had just happened to be reading the paper, when I learned of their sorrow. I do not like to attend funerals (who does?!), but especially now- it is a difficult endeavor for me. John's wake was the first I had attended since my son's funeral- I did not want to go, knew I'd fall apart, but for them- I had to go. John and Beau attended school together, grew up together- different in personality and musical tastes, but good, uncommon unique individuals- I think they respected each other for those differences. After L. and V. lost John, I made sure they saw me, hoping they might come to realize this is what survivors look like, I was "a member of the club" a year longer than they. I needed to be there for them, had to see them through in any way I could, I knew the road they would have to travel. After reading the obituary, I wrote the above poem- I never shared it, I didn't think at the time that it would serve any purpose, didn't want them to know of the days to come...only hoped and prayed for them an awareness of taking each day, and only that day- as it came.

I saw them last year at my farmer's market- we hugged. They had told me of their lives intwinement with organ donation- how strongly they felt that something good should and could come from something so very tragic. They filled me in on their ever growing business in firework shows, how this too seemed to serve the purpose of a higher love, connection and joy given to countless others. I was offered a sincere loving gift- pick a few songs, Beau would be remembered in this year's vendor extravaganza- a major fireworks display in April. Six weeks ago, I received a letter telling me, showing me- that now the whole show would be dedicated in honor of my son. Many of his favorite songs and some USMC fight songs would be choreographed with the booming artillery. To say that I was touched does not scratch the surface of my feelings for this extreme, kind gesture. Turns out both John and Beau loved fireworks. Every year on my son's birthday, we celebrate-with fireworks. And now this ultimate gesture of honor, remembrance. It will be both a difficult display to watch and at the same time- a beautiful experience. In the dark, out of the dark- light and sparks and brightness- exploding love. Thank you friends, you know not what you do. Here I smile...

Semper Fi and a heavenly Marine

It is another one of those days that I should not be writing, should be letting the pups out of their kennel, should be heading out 'bout now to do my chores,but..I have a story to tell here. One that I can't quite believe, grasp with my head-but my heart says I received a gift yesterday, so I must share it-give it away.
I work in a local cafe in my off season- waitress, philosopher, server. I wasn't born to be wild or mild-I think my nature falls somewhere in between there, anyway-I love the gig of serving wonderful food in an environment of old ambiance and new perspectives. The day was slow, the customers laid back, except for one that I was rude to, had to be rude to, he was vermin with an agenda of ? He affected me like a black cloud with black oxygen, couldn't bear being around this individual-asking many personal questions and he just oozed negativity. So-I was assertive in my rudeness finally, and had there been no other customers around, I would have probably used stronger language with him, the type I speak when fishing or working on machinery. I needed to clearly assert that he was not welcome now or ever-but hey, he still tipped me, which I found even odder in his behavior. I can tell you I walked to my pickup after work with wide eyes in the back of my head, not trusting at all this eerie fellow. But..that is not my story-

A young man came in, a beautiful, sweet sorrowful young man. He was all "yes ma'am, and no ma'am and thank you ma'am", I knew right away- a Marine. His hair, his jawline, the way he dressed reminded me, made me suck my breath in and tell myself to breathe-toooooo familiar, this young man. He ordered lunch and ate with the gusto of a remembrance of food lines from an earlier time-the time when soldiers inhale food, double or single rations, to fill the stomach quick and get on with duty.
"Could I bring you dessert?" "Yes ma'am." "Cheesecake?" "Yes ma'am." "Did you enjoy it?" "YES MA'AM!" "What's your rank son?" "Sargent ma'am." "Where you from?" "Peoria ma'am."

Can I touch your jawline? Your beard stubble, your hair? Is that a new jacket? You were always so stylish. Are you OK? I haven't seen you in tooooooo long. Are you well? You look different, but I know it's you, isn't it? Such an angel.

Those were my thoughts, my reaction to a miracle? A resemblance? The hair, just like I remembered-the jaw, the chin-always having to shave twice a day, I had such a hard time controlling the hand that remembered too and wanted so badly to reach out...please don't think I've lost it here, I felt a remembrance of so many qualities that walked right in there to that restaurant and sat right down- and charm, the sweetest of charms-the quality of only one other I've known like that, sat like that, eyes like that. I felt like I was in a different orbit-removed for awhile from this world into another...amazing grace upon me.
The room came back, the noise, the background music played again, the Marine-my Marine seemed himself, the man/ boy from Peoria wanted his check. I smiled, thankfully -wholeheartedly still embracing the moment before-and said, "Son, your check is up front. Take care of yourself."
"Yes ma'am! and thank you, everything was so good."
 Of course I picked up his tab, not because of the memory or? He was a Marine, a fighter, a hero-the very least I could do in way of thanks was buy him lunch, and joyfully I did. Upon his leaving we exchanged "Semper Fi's-(forever true" and he wondered out loud how I knew he was a Marine? Not army,navy,air force?) I just smiled, and the hand, the largely uncontrollable one -reached out and patted his shoulder. He smiled...and left in his.....Mustang, his wine colored, turbo charged Mustang, with dual exhaust...Just like my son's.
Chills, huh????

Imagine me, peeking around the building trying to dissect this miracle coincidence, trying to hush my imagination, my hopeful vision-but I could not nor will I ever dismiss yesterday...the blessing, the miracle in disguise, the thinking
 "I just have to see what kind of car he drives, if it is a Mustang, stick-a-fork-in-me-I'm-done."
Blew me away...I do wonder, did I entertain an angel? I'd bet the farm on it.
Take care-

To what is on the inside.

Holiday happenings here yesterday, preparations were massive in terms of cooking, cleaning, anxiety right before, wanting to cancel...snow accumulation requiring firing up the tractor to clear the way, kids came together in such a way that we pulled it all together just in time. The youngest daughter coming home from a sleep over, lane drifted shut, walked 3/4 of a mile to get home to help out- because she said she would. Lucky, bless-ed man who sees the heart there some far away day. Son took over tractor duty and cleared the drive and parking, even though he wasn't invited(girl party)-big man, good man there. Oldest daughter, goofy fun, had my ire up at first but made me laugh so hard with her "move" busting later, I almost peed my pants, joyful, joyful young woman. And then the party goers, the cookie bakers came-the table was piled high with goodies: We had cookie recipes from Sandy and Betty Crocker(hmmm, sisters?!) and a creme brulee' pie that was made for me but I was made to share it, can you imagine? Certain things aren't meant to be shared! And the zen like baker of that pie clicked away photo after photo while the zanyness was going on, frame after frame-we were jiving people! That's what she does though, brings the jive and jolly, thank goodness and Miss Aud. And the "really fast fudge" built by a gal from K.C originally, who loves organic and wants to give me money! Sure, anytime. And Meeechelle, my belle-Go buckeyes! Stimulated our conversation with her pure goodness, she does not contain her joy, ever- and we are all made the richer for it. Hey! Her chocolate chews seemed divine....she scares me sometimes, she has a direct line with YOU know who. Did I mention she's also a healer? Tis true, she massages people, and you won't be the same once she puts her hands on you. And our 3 day project girl who tusseled with the flour and cut outs and baking and decorating, not only did her cookies look bee-u-t-full, they tasted like heaven. And miss Kel and Deb from near came with their "stuff" and yes Maam, you do got the goods, don't you ever forget that, head high-walk it like you talk it-go shine. And miss aaaaah, dear sweet one to my heart, beautiful cookies shared baking with a little one related to the lovliest most generous man-the two of you bring so much to our table, I will have to take an entire lifetime to thank you, ok?! And the north side girl who has never let me forget that I am not alone, wonder if she knew how often I stumbled but was often picked up by her encouragement, she and her 4 redheads-the woman must be a saint! And my friend from long ago and always, my candle toting, ummmmm...let's just say always, the life of every party and sometimes every sadness. She brings life to life, even when one doesn't want to live much...the truest of the true, I pray she never changes, life would not be so darn orgy like if she did. HA!! All my love and thanks today-eat cookies, be happy! Take care-