Thursday, December 30, 2010

Kindle v.s. Print

The Kindle, Nook,and iPad are all the rage with readers today. In an on-line article dated December 28, 2010 the guardian.co.uk reported "Amazon e-book sales overtake print for the first time".  Wow !  That is  impressive.   In September when my friend Sandy C. and I traveled  to California ,   I thought I might want  one, too, and  even  considered putting it on my Christmas wish list, especially after a fellow passenger was gracious enough to show us her Kindle, allowing  us to  hold it up close and personal.   She  took great delight in telling us about the benefits of an e-reader - including free downloads -depending on author and story, and its many other fine features.  One of those attributes, the passenger pointed out, "No more stacks of books laying around the house."   After hearing so many positive things about the Kindle, I was ready to sign on.

But when I got home and walked into the study and saw all the books lining my shelves, I  began re- thinking  the e-reader vs print book .  I wondered  about city libraries and those row upon rows of titles and authors so carefully cataloged. What would happen to all those books?   Will our libraries now be changed to 'downloading' centers?    Then I thought  about inscriptions, and underlining and jacket covers.   Some folks , like me,   highlight  a sentence or phrase  with a marker because it touches our spirit in some particular way, and we want to find it again to read and re-read.   Not possible with an e-reader. And most importantly,  how does one inscribe something special  to another when giving an e-reader for a gift.  Can't be done.

Just this past Christmas my  son received a print book from his grandparents in Florida.   His Grandma Susie waited in line for six hours to purchase "Decision Points" and have it signed by the  former President of the United States, George W. Bush.  Gavin's Grandpa Cooney  took the time and effort to write a note describing the purchase of this book , where and when.  My  dad  wrote on the inside cover, " A piece of history, Grandpa Cooney".



I began looking at other books on my shelf.  Some with inscriptions from life long  friends, Susan and Phyllis. Others  from my mother, and grandmothers.  One book , " I've Got to Talk to Somebody, God"  by Marjorie Holmes dated 1974  is  from my brother, Walt. On the inside cover he wrote, " To my sis Kathy on her 1st Trip Abroad.  Luv Walt. Good Luck. hurry home.  As soon as possible, o.k. Sis.  Love Always .  The First of Many. (over)   Kathy, read 115 when you're on the airplane"

Walt knew I was afraid of flying, the words he chose to underline gave me great comfort then,  and  continue to  touch my heart deeply, especially now  since he passed away last May. The words he wrote to me in 1974 will continue to speak to me, as my dad's words will to Gavin - into the future.  One big advantage an e-reader doesn't have.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Advent - A New Beginning



Advent.  The four weeks prior to Christmas, now  once again  drawing to an end, but  leading to a  new beginning.   A season when we anxiously await, anticipate  something bright and beautiful.  Something bigger than ourselves. The birth  of our Lord and Savior. We plan  and prepare  with daily prayer for our hearts to be renewed , restored, reborn. We  decorate our homes with lights and  trim a tree and wrap packages for friends and family all in celebration of the one who is to come: "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Lord of Lords, King of Kings. Immanuel."  Christmas morn  we can  envision  and almost hear the choir of Angels  singing,  " Gloria, gloria  in Excelsis Deo".  Filled with awe,  we humble ourselves by  bending  a knee and  bow  our head  to praise God , giving   Him thanks  for His gift of perfect love.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Snowy Silence



Snow covered ground,
more snow falling from a
grey covered sky
i open the  door
and grab the Yukon Jack's
leaning against the
front porch wall
After snapping the strap
onto the heel of my Sorrel's
i'm ready to head across
the field and down the hill.
i criss cross back and forth;
The only sound i hear
my snowshoes stepping
across the snowy terrain.
 i stop and all is quiet -
Centered in a circle of trees
i watch small fluffy flakes
dress the pines and
feel their wetness tickle my nose
As though in a  trance
i become lost in thought
and contemplate the lack of sound
i appreciate the stillness ; No angry
voice or misspoken words - only
a sense of peace
seeing God's
earthly beauty surround.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

On Eagle's Wings



i've accepted
but don't  comprehend
i've acknowledged
but can't yet perceive
my brother now six
months dead
i only know my heart still aches
in wanting to hear his voice,
see his face
To remember together
our growing up years
the special bond of
friendship shared

As i pondered my sadness
at what i lost
and sorely bemoaned
other cares of the day
i looked out my window
to  see a pair of  bald eagles
majestic and beautiful
sweep  across the sky;
then pause mid air,  and back again
as beckoning me outside -
While on the deck i saw
more clearly their
feathered wings spread
wide,  high above
evergreen trees, their great
white head and golden eye.
Flying high, back and forth
hovering the earth  below - i was reminded
of my favorite sacred song,
 "On Eagle's Wings, " the
one cousin Kim sang at my
brother's funeral

 "And He will raise you up on eagle's wings
bear you on the breath of dawn,
make you shine like the sun,
and hold you in the palm of His hand"

i reflected further, and recalled a
prayer of several months ago
hearing the Lord speak to
the quiet of my heart:
"I am with your brother,
and he is with Me".
So i believe. i am  calm,
my spirit still. i don't see
my brother now, but trust
again i will.



ICICLES



Icicles hang from the roof
of our house
like stalactites in a cave
frozen ice, not cubed
tapering jagged
dagger sharp;
Their unique beauty
glistens like a
Swarovski crystal
in the cold glow
of the bright winter sun.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Frozen Snow




Snow today  isn't
the freshly fallen, fluffy stuff
fun for snowshoe treks
and building snowmen  like 'Frosty',
but  furrowed  and frozen
making it hard for even deer
to navigate their way
across the  white covered terrain.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

THANKSGIVING DAY


Thanksgiving.  When families travel across the country,
 across town, across the street  to  gather
together in fellowship and love
around a table laden with favorite food,                                                      
offering  a prayer of gratitude to our
Creator for blessings received                                    
and hope renewed. Then, stories
shared of other Thanksgiving Days
like passing a baton generation to
generation.  Always some are
missing, leaving an empty
chair forever in our heart.
Sometimes it's a parent or
grandparent, husband or wife;
Or maybe an aunt, uncle, or
brother. Their stories
become part of  the stories we
tell;  Keeping them close
holding them dear.

                                                                          

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A White Thanksgiving





Am I  dreaming of a white Christmas ?  Yes.  Just like the one Bing Crosby used to sing about . But a "white" Thanksgiving ?  No. Absolutely not. Yet, that's exactly what we're having this year in north Idaho - a very white and bitter cold Thanksgiving.

Instead of  warm autumn colors - red, soft yellow and   burnt orange  that so typically decorate the earth this time of year, and help bring to mind pilgrim's pride and Horn of Plenty,   the ground is frozen,  covered in snowy white. Trees flocked  like a picture on a  winter postcard, with  temps ranging   from minus 7 to 11.

Deer  come closer to the house looking for something green to nibble on; wild  turkey huddle together and take cover under low laying branches. Inside,  I bundle up in front of the fireplace  to  plan our  "white" Thanksgiving Day  dinner,  then pray a prayer of thanks for the beauty of   God's  creation (and long underwear and snowshoes) ,  and remember there's always much to be thankful   for.






Wednesday, November 17, 2010

TIME FLIES

How fast hours of the day pass by
like a bird flying
from one tree to another
perched for awhile
on a piny branch
then in a moments time
wings outstretched
he takes flight  again
and is gone


Friday, November 5, 2010

Beagle Sam

He wasn't Lassie or Rin Tin Tin
he couldn't do tricks
or fetch a stick
A bit overweight and
kind of slow;
Never did  win
"Best of Show"
Still, Sam E. Dobbs
was a "super star" dog,
(at least to us, who knew
him best)
Good  natured and
gentle, this beloved pet
captured our hearts
from early puppy-hood
Faithful and true,
he'd wait
at the door
happily wagging
his white tipped tail;
Those   naturally sad,
sweet Beagle eyes
like a beacon,
would  beckon us close
to hold his paw,  and
scratch his head.

On  afternoon  walks
he'd scamper through
piny woods, down
a thicket trail
with nose close
to the ground
following a
scent;  His long
floppy  ears
flying in the wind.
After a while, I'd whistle
and call his name.

We  miss  Beagle  Sam,
We miss him a lot.



Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Sam E. Beagle



Sam E. Dobbs is dying
a faithful and loving dog
he lays nestled in
familiar blankets
laboring for  breath.
When i come near
he doesn't move
except to lift his eyes
as if to call me closer
to scratch his ears
and let him know
i'm by his side.

Monday, October 25, 2010

BIRTHDAY MUSINGS

"Celebrate. Celebrate. Dance to the music"

Today is my birthday.  I sent my mother a bouquet of flowers with a note that says, "Congratulations, Mom !
60 years ago today you gave birth to a baby girl.  Thank you for the gift of life".
I think about my mother, and my father.  They were so young when I was born. I think of their love for me, their sacrifice, and am grateful.

Over the past several days, I've received many lovely cards and gifts  from family and friends - some silly, some serious, but in common they all express kind thoughts and happy wishes.  How  blessed I  am for their birthday remembrance. I think of them,  and all the people  who have been part of my life over the past 60 years, beginning with my mother - my first friend, my forever friend,  and  babyhood; I move through my toddler years, childhood, grade school, high school, college,newspaper work, church life, married life, motherhood. Beloved grand-parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, mentors and friends and how they made my life better with their presence.   I want  to give them  a gift on my birthday  - a gift  of gratitude, wrapped  with a ribbon of love.

I'm also reminded that several I've known and loved have passed away, not getting the chance to celebrate  a 60th birthday. A litany of names come to mind:

Grandfather Walt
Mike (Shirley) Marconi
Sister Mary Agnesine
Tony Moore
Tom
Bob
Grandma Vivian
Roy C.
Uncle Bob Breedlove
Al M.
Pat Sims
Patsy
Father Mike Smith
Denise
Brad
and my brother, Walt.

I celebrate their lives today, too, and  pray  they're rejoicing around Heaven's Table and eternal light shines upon them.

To some,  60 years might seem old, a long time on this earth, especially to a ten or 20 year old. It's only as we age, and each new birthday comes and goes, we recognize just how swiftly the years roll by.    Lyricist Sheldon Harnick,  in his great song from 'Fiddler on the Roof  writes:

"I don't remember growing older
 When did they?

When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?

Wasn't it yesterday when they were small?

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears"

 How important it is for us to embrace life with joy and merriment, to let those we care for know we care for them by the words we say and deeds we do.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

THIS DAY

Tonight I'm still 59 years old. Tomorrow  I won't  be.  Today I spent the day doing  everyday,   ordinary, extraordinary  things. Rising early to say morning prayers, smiling at the sound of my husband's voice, "Good morning, honey.  You stay in bed, I'll   make the coffee".   Later  we watch Fox News Sunday  and get ready for church.  I speak with my mother on the phone and read an email from my dad.  I start a fire in our wood burning stove. Gary goes to the garage and lets Missy dog out, then brings Sam E. Beagle upstairs.  A few days ago Sam suffered a seizure of some sort, so we want to keep him comfortable and quiet.

 After Mass  Gary and I  stop for breakfast at Elmer's  on Highway 95.   Gary orders  his usual basted eggs and ham; i tried something new -  a grilled chicken, white cheddar cheese  and pear wrap.  Yes, I know it sounds unusual, but trust me,   it's delicious !

We talk about our sons, and the grand-children.  The week before,  our youngest grand-daughter sent us 'Flat Stanley' with a note explaining 'Flat Stanley' is a visitor to our area and asked us if  we  would please take him to see some of the sights in Coeur d' Alene, then return him to her second grade glass in Apple Valley  with pictures and souvenirs.

We talk about  my birthday tomorrow.  60 years old.   We reminisce about our first date.  I was  only 25 then.  We marvel at how  fast the years have gone by.     Gary says he'd like to buy me a  'no-shed'  puppy.   i'm pleased and know  my husband is being  thoughtful, but am worried about our Beagle,  Sam and how he would react to a new puppy in the house... especially now when he  is so old and his physical health is on the decline. i tell Gary as much as i'd like a new puppy,  i think it best if we wait for awhile.

Instead of a puppy we decide a North Face fleece would be a  nice gift. Although my birthday isn't until tomorrow   we drive to Tri-State Outfitters.  This is a very sweet gesture on my husband's part as he absolutely hates shopping,  and anyone who knows me also knows it takes  a long time for me to make up my mind whenever i contemplate buying something new.  As it  turns out, my husbands gift isn't anything money can buy, but his  gift of  ' patience', and enduring love as he waits and watches me try on jacket after jacket.

  Although there were many fine North Face jackets at Tri- State ,  I couldn't decide on one (no surprise)  ,  and we left the store  empty handed.  At the recommendation of the Tri-State sales clerk we made  another stop at Finn - McDonald  in the Coeur d Alene Resort Mall.  There we hit the jackpot !  A perfect fit, (and color) North Face zipper fleece. Not only a zipper fleece, but a lovely multi-colored  scarf  to wear with the fleece.  The  sales clerk even took the time to show  me three or four different ways to tie the scarf.  i left the store  happy, and my husband was pleased about giving me a birthday gift he knew i liked a lot.

When we got back  home  our son, Gavin  greeted us saying,  "Hey, mom, Stacy and me are fixing the family dinner tonight.  How do taco's sound?"  

As in one voice, both Gary and I said, "Sounds great!".

I   couldn't wait to wear my 'birthday' fleece and take a walk down the hill.  Knowing Gavin and Stacy were in charge of dinner, off i went to trek through  Dobbs' Woods.    The wind was blowing, the air brisk and cool; Rays of sun streaked through broken clouds.  I stare  at the whitecaps swirling the lake, and watch two seagulls swoon high and low.  I contemplate the beauty surrounding  me,  and reflect on the day. An ordinary, extraordinary day like so many others.   I think about tonight when I go to bed I'll still be 59, but  upon waking  tomorrow I'll be 60 years old.   One decade will end, another to begin.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

A RAINY DAY

A rainy day. No sun.  No blue sky.
 The temp is cool, grey outside;
A good day for staying inside.
i make my bed and clean the  kitchen.
The warmth of the  fire in our wood burning stove
heats the house and feels good
against my aching, aged muscles.
Listening to the sweet sound
of an  old  "Peter, Paul & Mary"
vinyl album lifts my mood
and causes me to reflect
on life long friends
and days gone by.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Summer's End

The season is changing
from  hot, dry days of summer
to cooler, crisp autumn weather.
i no longer wear  knee-length shorts
and sleeveless tee's
on my morning walk
but long jeans and a  light weight
sweat shirt.
The tree leaves are  a bright yellow gold,
not the deep green of
June, July and August
 while the  sun rises  later
bringing first  light to
 beckon the  day;
and setting earlier
to darken the cloudy sky -  a reminder
winter is on the way.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

"BELL BEAUTIES" BIRTHDAY CRUISE

After two  long years of planning and preparation for our cruise on the Carnival Paradise, the big day finally arrived, and there the eight of us stood on the top deck - exuberant and excited, ready to set sail !  Because our first Port of Call was Catalina, it only seemed natural  we swayed  from side to side,  and started  singing the popular 1950's song, " 26 Miles Across the Sea, Santa Catalina is A-Waitin for Me".



Since all of us hailed from Bell (yes, the now infamous City of Bell, California), we tagged ourselves the "Bell Beauties", and  rarely separated ourselves from one another  for five days and  four nights, causing some to think we might be be members of an elite softball or bowling team, or some other tight knit women's group.  In fact, during dinner one night a lady approached our table telling us she had a bet with some of her fellow travelers suggesting the eight of us must be nurses !

We laughed out loud. No. Not nurses, just life long friends.  Some of us from early childhood.  All of us through high school days and college days; Weddings, divorce, kids and grand-kids.  We've known each other most  our lives, and share a deep bond of friendship - sometimes miles keeping us apart, but always close in heart. These past many months we've cheered the birth of Sandy's grand-daughter, Josie; Pauline's move to Bend, Susan's sky-diving adventure, Roberta's museum promotion and Sandy L's son safe return from Iraq.  We've mourned the loss of Manya's dad, and the unexpected death of Margaret's brother, Bill; and my brother, Walt. We continue to support each other with prayer and encouragement, to share both laughter and tears. When we say to one another, "I love you, friend", we know it has real meaning because our words  ring true and sincere.

To our amazement, we turn 60 this year!  All agreed we needed to do something really special for our annual get together.  A cruise was the perfect idea.

While the cruise was to celebrate all our birthdays,  September 23 -  the last full day of the cruise  was Margaret's actual birthday.   The gang  planned a surprise cocktail party for Marg in her cabin.  We could hardly wait to greet her, and loudly sing, "Happy Birthday" as she walked through the door.  We knew Margaret was downstairs  in the casino playing slots,  what we didn't know was she was being held captive by one !  As time passed and Margaret didn't show, we still wanted to sing "Happy Birthday" and cheer her, so designated an over sized coconut monkey head to take her place.  Even adding Margaret's bathing suit, her sandal's and sunglasses  making it  more Margaret like. It was a hoot ! As we posed for pictures and sang "Happy Birthday" to the monkey/Margaret, we got the giggles and  couldn't stop laughing. The whole thing kept getting more and more silly.  Then, like a magic poof ,  there she was - the real Margaret sauntering into the room. Each of us quickly rushed to give her a  big hug, lifted our glasses to toast her day, and started singing "Happy Birthday" again, this time even more loudly.

What a swell party it was.

Before departing the ship we discussed where we should meet next.  New York ?  Atlanta? Williamsburg?  Any of those places would be interesting and fun.  However, in the end it doesn't really matter  so much where we go.  What matters  is that  we'll  be together.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Walt and the F-Word (Edited)


September 4. My brother won't be here   to celebrate his birthday. At least not in the usual way. It will be left to us , his  family and friends -  those who hold him dear - to celebrate the day of his birth with flowers on his grave, and a  tiny Sealtest Ice Cream truck; and  special  Masses offered for  Walter Cooney RIP+

We  reminisce about his  life with  love and  laughter and  happy stories; and an occassional bittersweet tear, wishing we could hold him close and touch his hand just one more time.

 A couple years ago Walt told our mother he thought he inherited  her same easy  temperament; that his personality was a lot like hers. I think he was right.   I was the fiery one, more cautious about allowing someone new enter our sphere.

 Recalling Walt's words to mom  made me think back to when he was 15 years old  and  asked  me to   take him and his pal, Jimmy  to the store.  "Sure",  I said, "Let's go!"    We  climbed into my   red  '65  Volkswagen ,  and off we went.

I bet we didn't drive further than  two blocks, maybe three when Jimmy made what I precieved to be an uncouth , off colored, derogatory comment about Walt.  I immediately jerked the car to a stop and told Jimmy to get out, that I didn't appreciate his colorful language , especially in reference to my brother.   Poor  Walt, he  couldn't believe I was actually telling his best  friend  to get out of the car. I'm sure  Walt was mortified.    When Jimmy just sat there, I jumped out of the car, sprint  to the other side, opened the passenger door,  grabbed his arm, and told him  in no uncertain terms to get out.  Guess I shouldn't have been surprised,  not only did Jimmy get out of the car, so did my brother.

A short time later  Walt rushed through the front door  and  yelled  out , "Mom! Mom!  You've got to tell my sister she can't boss my friends!"  As our mother  walked in from the kitchen, he yelled again  "Mom",   then abruptly turned from mom to me,  and  with finger pointing at my nose loudly  roared,   "You! Ffff. Ffff. Ffff.  FROG! "

 There stood  my little brother,   so serious and  angry,   calling me a   'Frog'.   Although,  I was sorry I upset him ,  the whole scene   just made me laugh,  not a haughty, mean  kind of laugh - but a tickled, tears rolling down the cheeks  kind of laughter.   Walt's anger was  so out of character.  It was one of those  funny moments in family life.  Maybe the kind of moment   one   has to be there to appreciate  how silly it was,   because pretty soon Walt  stopped being mad, and  was laughing, too.  Then mom started in.  So there the three of of stood,   like we were a comedy team on stage, laughing out loud at our own joke.

While Walt  may   have  wanted  to let another F-word roll off  the tip of his teen-age  tongue, he exercised self control instead ,   knowing  that  F- word would never be appropriate to use in front of his mother or sister.    For many years  afterward  I would give Walt some kind of decorative frog  for his birthday.  It kept the frog  memory alive, and was always one F-word that made us smile.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Forever Lovely

Worley weather was much cooler today,  and for the first time this summer i wore long pants and a  hooded sweatshirt.  i trekked  down to our old log swing overlooking the bay. For a good thirty minutes i  sat  on the well worn  seat and swayed gently back and forth, keeping rythum to my own inner thoughts;  Thoughts not deep or profound, but by choice  carefree and loose.

The lake was slate like, the sky cloudy and grey. A slight breeze brushed against my face and moved the limbs of trees.   I watched as  several boats criss-crossed  across the water, some pulling skiers.  I could hear their  muted  voices and happy laughter, and felt glad for the good time they were  having.  

Across the lake , looking towards Harrison, i took notice of the  three layered mountain range,  and the depth of beauty it portrayed. I  wondered if i'd ever grow tired of sitting and starring at this scene,  and knew immediately i never would.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Sunflowers


It makes me smile to see
sunflowers in full bloom
like seeing happy faces
turn towards the
light of day;
Long, lanky
stems grow tall,
reaching high
basking in the heat
of hot August skies.
Yellow colored petals
open wide to
welcome birds and
bee's stopping by
for seeds of
nourishment
and a moment
of reprieve.

Friday, August 6, 2010

THESE SUMMER DAYS (and memories of my brother)

Summer days filled with love
and laughter; Happy visits
with aunts, uncles and cousins,
and very dear friends.
Just underneath all the chatter
and smiles
is the constant reminder
my brother is gone.
While  not my son, or beloved fair
he was my companion from early youth;
The one i grew up with, played with,
protected and loved.
i miss our merriment in being together,
 and how we reminisced about the past,
and doing silly things , like posing
for pictures on concrete deer.
i miss his voice, and his  chiding
me for being too serious; The twinkle
in his eye.
i mourn the loss of the 
deep, abiding bond we shared
and am sorrowed with the
final  understanding
no more birthdays to celebrate
or gifts for him to buy. No more
present or future plans to secure;
only the memory of a
gentle spirit; A kind hearted man
forever young, forever fifty-five.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, many years ago
the cities of Bell and Maywood
were quiet southern Califorina suburbs
of unknown fame
where neighborhood kids
rode their bikes, played at the park
and went to a Saturday matinee
at the Alcazar Theater.
No dissension or marches
in the streets, foreign flags
raised, or anti-American speech
Middle class moms and dads
worked at banks, and newspapers
and hamburger stands
provided their families a
sense of security
 with   love of God and
country and fellow man.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Process and Providence

The 4th of July.  The first holiday since my brother's death a little over a month ago. The emptyness, the void of his not being here looms large, like i'm  lost in the vast expanse of a dry, desolate desert.   i want to call  Walt  on the phone to hear his voice, to send him an email letting him know i'm thinking of him, to follow his Mafia game play on Facebook;  But it's not to be.   i want to look forward to being with him this month at our mother's home in Clarkston where we'd  visit the Pawn shops, share secret thoughts and  laugh at some silly thing while having  a beer together.   Walt promised mom he'd install gutters on the outside of her house.  A promise he won't be able to keep.  My mother is sad beyond belief, not because of gutters, but because her only son is gone from this earth , the one she brought into the world , nurtured and loved unconditionally. Her son who  is no longer here for her  to encourage  and  tenderly embrace .  My heart aches for her.

i think of Kerri, Walter's long time love,   her heart broken as she sits alone in the front room of the house she and Walt shared for so many years.    Weeping,  and wishing with all her might that this 4th of July was like last 4th of July when Walt grilled steaks outside and found joy setting off boxes of fireworks in their backyard. 

i want to be strong for both Mom and Kerri, but it's not easy as i still have a hard time grasping  my brother has died.  Looking for solace and trying to understand,   i read C.S. Lewis' ( the reknowned Christian apologetic)  book, " A Grief Observed".  Lewis describes so accurately the anguish of grief when a beloved one dies.  He says, "it's like an amputation".  And indeed it is.  Especially when it is one so close, so connected, so loved.

Somewhere in my being i know this total feeling of loss and separation is  a process we must endure.   Not easy , but hard. At once angry with God, questioning God, doubting God. Until finally accepting God's wisdom, and His Divine Providence ; Trusting in the end all will be well and Walt is laughing  with the Angels.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Chains of Sorrow

The shock
of his death; sorrow
deep, sorrow pervasive
sorrow not bitter,
just sad
over the loss
of this dearly
departed one
locks my heart
with grief
like chains
around the ankles of a prisoner.
Where is the hope?  of seeing
his face again, the joy
of his laughter, the sound
of his voice.
How long will i feel the pain ?
the void, the emptyness of his
not being here (little brother mine)
Only all the days
of my life.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Eulogy for Walt ( Sept. 4, 1954 - May 30, 2010)


Writing my brother's eulogy has proved to be the hardest thing i've ever had to do.  Not because i didn't know him well, or have a million jillion memories to share, but because his life on this earth ended so suddenly.  I still expect to see Walt, so full of life, hopeful, dreaming big dreams and endeavors walk through that door right now, saying "Hey, Kath are all these folks really here to celebrate me"?  He would be so pleased, so proud, so surprised  to know there were family and friends who love him so dearly.

Walt is my mom and dad's son, but when they brought him home from the hospital, i thought he belonged to me. i adored my baby brother from the very moment i saw him, and decided right then and there i would always be his champion, his protector.   Something he didn't always appreciate when he got older, and would say, "Sis, i can take care of my own battles". The truth is, Walt wasn't a batttler, or confrontational; He was sweet and forgiving by nature.

Looking back to his younger days, i can see my little brother and our next door neighbor, Richard pushing an over sized desert tortoise all around the  cul-de-sac  in my doll buggy, pretending they were on a hunting expedition. And how i'd make Walt be one of the students in my make believe classroom. And our sitting together on the front room floor eating Oreo cookies while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

Our mother instilled in us there wasn't to be any tattling - if there was, we'd both be in  trouble.  Mom taught from an early age we weren't just brother and sister, we were friends and needed to look after one another.

That doesn't mean we never had any tiffs or scuffs - we did.  Once when i was  15 and Walt 11, we were chasing through our small frame house on Palm Avenue - teasing each other about one thing or another.  At some point i stood inside the front door, pushing it shut while Walt stood outside the door trying to push it open, when slam-bam ! three of the panes cracked and broke.  After mom came home from work and inquired what happened, Walt and i just looked a blank, shrugged our shoulders  and said it must've been the hot weather. It  wasn't until many years later we told her the truth about the broken class. Somehow, i don't think she was surprised.

For a long time it was just Mom, Walt and me.  We called ourselves the 'Three Muskateers'   and made lots of memories together.  I remember one Saturday when the three of us got the idea to sing our conversation - like a movie musical:  "What are you doing, Wa-al-tt"?  His reply, "I'm sweeping the floo -o-or" .  So on and so on. It sounds silly, but it sure made weekend chores a lot more fun.

Our cousin, Kim shared how much he enjoyed hanging around with Walt when they were kids.  Today, they'd probably classify Walt  as A.D.D., said  Kim, "he was so energetic".

Walt did have an energy and enthusiam for life, including his passion for fishing, boating, riding his Harley and a variety of other things.  While visiting dad and his wife, Susie last summer, Walt said the fishing excursion he and dad went on was one of the best day trips ever. Not just becasue of the fish, but because of the quality time he got to spend with dad.

And his relationship with Kerri; so very dear to him. Kerri was Walt's sweetheart, his best friend, his faithful companion. Walt loved Kerri very much, they were like two peas in a pod, a perfect team; Working together, playing together, laughing together.

Our cousin Lynn in offering words of comfort said 55 years seems so young, but remember, many people at 85 years haven't made the positive impact on others that Walt has.  I then  thought about the true success of my brother's  life, and something his neighbor said the day before yesterday, " Walt, didn't have an enemy, he was good to everyone. He was a great man".

i dedicate this poem by e.e. cummings  to my little brother, Walt.

i carry your heart with me ( i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling) 
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart ( i carry it in my heart)

Friday, May 28, 2010

Portrait of Memories

Whenever I  reminesce about people I've known  and   places I've been,  it's not because I choose to live in the past, but to recall and remember an especially sweet moment, silly happening, sad event shared with family  or friends  - each one contributing to the fabric of my life, adding much  to the history of being  me. Every  individual has  their own unique history and story to tell. One that is often  marked with both  profound saddness and sublime joy.
  From the very start, my parents,grand-parents, and brother;  Aunts, uncles, cousins, school friends, neighborhood friends, church friends, work friends; my spouse and sons  - each on has colored my life with different hues of a glorious  rainbow, creating a portrait of memories I will always hold dear.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Life's Blessing

During a recent  weekend  visit with two  of my  long time friends,  we sat  for hours at our leisure,  talking about   many different things - something good friends are apt to do when getting together.  At one point,  one friend commented how she and her family were extremely blessed, and was grateful for the good life they had.
Some time later when I was alone with the quiet,  and my own silent thought , I reflected on what it means to be 'blessed' in life.  I considered my friends analogy that she and her family have been relatively free from strife, financially and personally so therefore 'blessed';  I certainly agree.   My whole life I have had  friends and relatives who are 'blessed' in just that way, due to good choices and circumstances,  and  pondered if that was the only criteria for consideration  of being blessed .
 I concluded not every one has the same opportunity to achieve wealth, or is  chosen for promotion  - regardless of how smart they are or how hard they work, nor is every parent  free from the hardships of daily living and raising upright kids, whether they are present to their children or not.  Why that is, I don't know.  What I do know is God has a purpose and plan for each of us. From the very beginning we are  'blessed' with the gift of life ;  Whether the road is smooth or full of potholes, His indwelling presence does not discriminate. It is up to us to receive His gift of faith and trust.  In doing so, we are truly blessed.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Thirty- Two

Thirty-two years of married life
thirty-two years being husband and wife
thirty-two years of  days well lived;
Building a business
raising children
making a home
Thirty-two years not all free
from strife; Challenges met, struggles
solved;  A marriage built on faith's foundation;
committment, friendship and love.

Gary and i celebrated our anniversary with early morning kisses and hugs,  reminisced  about the day we said, "I do", and marvelled  how quickly the years passed by.  Late afternoon our  young son, Gavin took us for a steak dinner;   When we protested the cost was too high  he said, "No, Mother and Dad, this is my   gift to the two of  you."

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Colors and Sounds

Colors of  early Spring:
Daffidil yellow
new grass green
purple croscus
and tulip red.
Sounds of Spring:
Baby birds singing in
early morn
Gentle rain falling
like a toe tap dancing
when touching ground;
An afternoon wind
blowing through leaves
nature's music;
Hope abound

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

My Dream

I had a dream last night I was on the basketball court,  like in the days of my  early youth - pivoting to the left, pivoting to the right,  doing lay ups and shooting baskets .  Not  being very tall, the coach called me "Little One",  but quick and agile I moved the ball  like I was tall , and helped our team to score.  It was so long ago I  first learned to play; Girls baskeball still had a  'roving' guard.  This would be my favorite sport, from  elementary days all through high school. I loved playing basketball and being a basketball star.

Just as season's change, the sport of my dream changed, too - no longer on the basketball court, I was now holding a volleyball , standing behind the line ready to serve.  Like basketball, I played on a Volleyball team from the age of 12 , living and breathing every minute of it.  If basketball was my favorite sport, volleyball was a close second.  Still considered  the same short player, I wasn't picked for the team because of my height or being a good spiker, but  because I was good setter and very good server, placing the ball where I wanted it to go.  My body  strong. Athletic. Competitive. I was a good team player.

Then came mornng. I woke from my dream to  aching feet, a bad back and sore knees.  Slow to climb out of bed, I smiled anyway, thinking of  my dream and remembering   the day ...............

Monday, April 12, 2010

My Husband's Hands

After saying good bye to early morning guests, my husband and I   finish  up with a few routine chores, then meet  in our front room to sit quietly; Peaceful  and serene.  No music or sounds from the T.V., just our own voices if we choose to talk,  and time to listen to one another.  No hurry, no rush.  Sharing years together and knowing each other well,  we're not compelled to speak, but comfortable with our silence. 

Some days we sit on the sofa next to each other , reading a book or sharing a Bible verse.  This day Gary sits on the sofa alone,  while I sit on the chair, closer to the fire  opposite him.  I can tell he's lost in thought looking at the wooded  view through the window.  While he's looking at   the lake and trees, contemplating their natural beauty,  I look  at him, contemplating  the good man he is.

I observe his hands still  steady and strong; hands that lifted his  sons, encouraging them with words of wisdom and unconditional love.  Hands that have  embraced me , his wife of 32 years,  giving me strength whenever I've been anxious and  afraid. Hands so willing to help another, whether  friend or stranger - whenever they're in need.

I think how much I  admire this man who  believes a man's word is his bond, and lives life following that creed ,who places  hands together and bends a knee , giving thanks  to God for the blessing of  our family.

Friday, April 2, 2010

GOOD FRIDAY

They gathered along the rugged hill
not wanting to stare,
yet unable to look away
Some wept and quietly prayed;
Some gawked and mocked
and taunted the man
-both human and Divine
nailed upon the cross
the one they called,
" King of the Jews".
Some bowed  their head
afraid and ashamed
at what they had done;
Recognizing too late the
Son of Mary,
Son of David,
Son of God
At that moment
the sky turned dark
like charcoal,
the air stagnant and still
A  mighty wind
swept across the land
the heavens lashed out
with a thunderous noise;
The earth trembled; The angels cried
at  the Crucifixation of our  Lord

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Sea Shell's and a Book

I was pleasantly surprised the other day when my friend Paula gave me a book and little bag of sea shells that once belonged to her mother, Dori. Dori passed away a year ago, making Paula's gift to me even more dear, especially since I know Paula and her mother were very close.

Paula suggested I read the book in one setting, periodically pausing to pick up one of the sea shells to observe and connect them with the author's life living comparison. My friend lifted me  futher by telling me Anne Morrow Lindbergh's memoir, "The Gift From the Sea" reminded her of my style of writing. Whoa ! I could hardly wait to open the book and start reading.

The original 1955 copyright was re-published in 1975 as a 'Twentieth Anniversary Edition'. Paula was right to have me read it in one setting; Once I started I couldn't put it down. I found Lindbergh's memoir both poignant and practical: Her words of wisdom aimed towards women, timely and timeless.

In Chapter III, titled, 'Moon Shell' Lindbergh writes, " Now, instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter,and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill a vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must re-learn to be alone. Actually, these are among the most important times in one's life - when one is alone. Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone. The artist knows he must be alone to create;the writer, to work out his thoughts; the musician, to compose; the saint to pray. But women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves;that firm strand which will be the indespensable center of a whole web of human relationships."

I believe Lindbergh is saying, we are daughters and wives; Mothers and grandmothers; Employees, entrepreneur's and faithful friends. But in order to be who we are, what we are, we must retain a place of solitude and quiet within ourselves. For without taking the time to renew and refresh our spirit, how can we continue giving all we have to give?

Concluding chapter VI, "Argonauta" ( a certain rare beach world creature), Lindbergh writes, "Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach living: simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid; each cycle of the wave is valid; each cycle of the relationship is valid. And my shells ? I can sweep them all into my pocket. They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally."

I pause now, as Paula wanted me to and pick up Dori's bag of shells, holding each one in my hand. I sit for several minutes studying the way they look, all different shapes, and sizes and colors; one round and smooth, another rough and prickly, one twisted and turned in, another wide open. For me they represent the the people and times of my life. I smile and better understand Lindbegh's words, "They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally." Not unlike the special people I have known throughout my life - those special ones who recede and return eternally. A very comforting thought.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Seasons Change

Winter cold , life is dormant;
Recessed , almost laid to rest
Dreary, dark days -
grey the only outside color;
The ground frost and ice.
But seasons change,
then spring; Like birth
the earth comes alive
Crocous  bloom, baby  birds sing
hope renewed , love renewed
hearts lifted , our spirit takes wing
and once again we fly high

Friday, March 19, 2010

The Answer

In saying my prayers tonight  , i wonder what my life has had to offer. Cousins and friends  so well to do -  talented  writers, artists,  and singers -  making  theirs a life of  glory and fame;  While mine so  plain and ordinary.  i pondered and thought more deeply, asking again, "what have i to give" ?  The answer  found in the quiet of my heart;  Fellowship, encourgement and  love - sharing with others the life they live.

A Lovely Irish Day

Drinking a Guinness with my friend Liz at  Kelly's  Pub on March 17,   and reading poems   our grandparents wrote long before either of us were born   made for a  memorable St. Patrick's Day and  happy celebration of all things Irish. 

With a wee bit of  the blarney,  Liz and I  discussed  other world  things -  faeries ,  leprechauns and the such and  how important we felt the connection to family is- to those both living and dead.

While my Irish ancestors came from County Cork and immigrated to America, Liz's family hailed from northern Ireland and immigrated to Canada.  Her great-grandfather, Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe published his book of poetry, "The Garden of the Sun" in 1923.   Although no longer in print, I highly recommend his work and encourage those interested in poetry to search for a copy in  used book stores or on line.  A fine example of Smythe's  writing  is the last stanza of  his poem,  "The Pilgrim's  Journey" where  that   longing for  new adventure  is felt; Until coming at last  to a place of solace and contentment.

"So the joys of the pilgrim's journey
are the summits that never cease
the crests of renewed endeavor
and the valleys of rest and peace"




The poems I chose to share with Liz are ones my Grandma Vera Cooney wrote in 1915  while she was still in high school.   The poems aren't published,  but hand written on a yellowed  old style notebook.  Grandma wrote poems on every subject - or so it seems - long verse, short verse, silly and serious.  I think " Log Cabin School" is one of her best during that period.   Seven stanza's in all,   this one  can stand alone in describing an early American log cabin school.

"In those days, no glass windows were found at all
just a hide or skin over a hole  in the wall,
The hard packed ground served as a floor
and the only opening was one little door"

Before leaving ,  Liz and I raised a  pint and clinked our mugs together  for one final toast;  To Vera  E. Cooney and   Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe. We cheered their poetry and their life, and   thanked them for sharing St. Patrick's Day with us.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

WEARIN' OF THE GREEN

Long before 'Wearing of the green' was proclaimed by environmental devotees,  'Wearin' of the Green'  was meant for the Irish , and the  wanna be Irish - at least for a day.  St. Patrick's Day brings happy thoughts of  leprechauns, shillelagh's, shammrocks  and a pot o' gold, but primarily it's a day  set aside by the church to   honor the man who  brought the faith to Ireland, and according to folklore rid the land of snakes.   The building up  of  the Christian communities which he found on his arrival, and the planting of the faith in new regions give him his place as the patron of Ireland.

St. Patrick's famous Lorica (meaning breastplate in Latin)  is one of my favorite prayers:

I arise today
Througth God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of the devils,
From tempations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through a confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

*************************

St. Patrick's Day (part 2)

I've always been proud of my Irish heritage and like  my Irish name. My son Gavin has a good Irish name, too - after my maternal great-grandmother whose maiden name was Gavin,  and Patrick for the Irish saint.  My husband likes to say he's Irish, but Dobbs' is really  an English name, but not Cooney.  Cooney  is all Irish, so is Norton on my mother's side - giving me a double dose of the Irish to celebrate. 

My dad loves music, especially an Irish tune. My grandpa Cooney  liked the Irish song, too and used to sing to my dad when he was little. Dad wrote the poem below telling of this sweet memory.


 MY IRISH SONG
 by Ron W. Cooney

I’m Irish heritage so I’m told,
But my mother, she was English.
Born and blessed with an Irish name,
Never had I another wish

As a boy, my dad, I’ll never forget –
Sang to me the Irish  song
I listened and learned and never forgot –
To me they’ll always belong

I always thought so Irish
I was raised to think in green
I liked all things of Erin –
All the Irish lore I’ve known and seen.

Finally I went to the emerald isle –
How long had I dreamed of this?
A personal experience that meant so much,
In my lifetime I would never miss

I visited the Ring of Kerry,
I kissed the blarney stone.
But never did  I find the poet Yeats;
Not even Molly Malone.

I walked by the river Liffey,
Went to Killarney too –
It’s a long, long way to Tipperary –
How to get there, I had no clue

Found Shamrocks and Guinness and Jameson –
Found pubs and the Book of Kells;
Found the history and culture and legends -
How I love the land of the Celts!

As I met the Irish people –
And listened to their music glad –
My heart went back to my boyhood,
To Irish songs sung by dad.

He now lives in my memories,
Where I sat upon his knee
A voice as sweet as an Irish lilt –
His singing folk songs just to me

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Mothers, Daughters, a Grand-Daughter and Friends

Friday was a fun and happy day.  My mom n' me  drove from her home in Clarkston to Pomeroy. The weather completely cooperated  as there was no wind, rain or fog - but  skies bright and sunny, with warmer  temperatures than the day before.

It's not unusual for mother and me to have a fun day together,  but this day was particularly special because we met Sandy, her  darling daughter Kristen and grand-daughter, Josie  - who could easily be mistaken for one of those picture perfect 'Gerber Babies'; That's no exaggeration.   With her big blue eyes, round rosy cheeks and sweet smile, Josie is a charmer.  She makes anyone standing near want to pick her up, hold her close to their heart and  simply love her.

Sandy and I have been friends since our early high school days  - dating the same boys, going to Friday afternoon  football games  , attending  school dances   and  part of the same clique.  While I have seen Sandy several times over the years, it's been 40 years since my mother and Sandy last saw each other. It was  a tender moment to hear Sandy squeal , " Mrs. Cooney ! ", and  as they embraced,  my mother's reply, " Sandy!, how happy I am to see you !"

As we lunched, shopped and enjoyed each others company, my mom said to Kristen, " I see so much  of your mother in you". Then turned to Sandy and me, " It's almost as time hasn't passed. Watching you two  laughing and talking  together warms my heart; It's like seeing you when you were teenagers having so much fun".

Time does pass, however,  and we have grown older - much closer to 60 not 16,  but we're blessed in the connections that bind us, the memories that keep us together,  and the present we still share.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

THE WOMEN



I know one woman  who is celebrating her 95th birthday today and another who will celebrate her 94th  on Saturday.  If my maternal grandmother was still alive, she'd  be celebrating her 94th birthday this year,  too - in July.  In remembering  Mrs. Wagner, Gladys and Grandma Viv I'm drawn to think about all the women  who have touched my life; Each leaving their imprint, their impact, their influence with me.




The first, and most important is my mother.  From the moment I entered the world I  knew her unconditional love and have always been guided by her words of wisdom and understanding heart. Also near were my  grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and aunts imparting to me  in  their light hearted, good natured way the lessons of joyful living.  Each of these women were courageous, persevering, kind, and easy to laugh. Traits I admire and wish I practiced more.




 After my great Aunt Nor was diagnosed with Glaucoma and her sight was dimming, yet not totally gone, she  went shopping at Brandeis's - a  department store in Omaha, the city of my birth.   As she told the story , I could picture  my slim and trim, well manicured,  classy  aunt    approach  the escalator then suddenly stop;  Frozen like an ice sculpture, unable to move and  gripped with fear  that if she stepped onto the escalator 'going up'  she would  stumble and fall. 

 After a few minutes, Aunt Nor  chided herself, " If I don't use this  escalator now,  I'll never  use  it again".  At that moment my great aunt  made a  life changing decision. She  mustered her courage,  made the effort and took the step onto the escalator.  Not a 'giant step for mankind', but certainly a giant step for my aunt,  and one for her niece as I recall my aunt's tale of courage whenever I'm frozen with fear and afraid to take that step forward.

Women  love their  dads, husbands and brothers but what would we be without the women in our lives ?  Those who gave  us guidance, encouragement and example of  life experience well lived .   I'm ever grateful to the mothers of  girlfriends, mothers like Mrs. Wagner who remained  steadfast and true during our   growing up  years -  to  Sisters of Notre Dame, the order of nuns who selflessly gave me my  early education and helped foster  my Catholic faith,  to women coaches who saw in me something special,  pushing  me to  excel to the best of my ability;  To women work friends like Gladys,  and Doris Outz  who constantly reminded me not to take myself too seriously, just  to be myself and I'd find success ; To life long family female friends, both living and dead; Women I dearly love  - wonderful and whimsical women who made a definite  difference in my life, helping  me grow and  become the woman I am today.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

TODAY


                                                       
Read a book
sing a song
dance a jig
carry on

Write a letter
tell a tale
live life sweetly
let peace prevail                                                             

                                                                                                                          

Monday, February 22, 2010

ANTICIPATION

The light of day has been peeking through the bedroom window
earlier these past few days, and lingering longer before the
dark of night appears.
When I take my afternoon walk, I hear loud and clear a
chorus of birds chirping from their nests,
nestled in tall  pine trees -
and see a snow white rabbit hippity hop
across the thawing field; Each of us anticipating
the changing season and  warmth of Spring.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

IN THE END

For many Christians Ash Wednesday begins the first day of  Lent - a time set aside by the church  for the faithful to repent, and reflect on the passion of Christ  that ultimately leads  to His glorious resurrection on Easter morning.

From a  very young age I remember attending Ash Wednesday services and having  the parish priest  mark   my forehead   with blessed ashes   while he intoned the passage from scripture, " From ashes you came, to ashes you shall return".  I must admit, it wasnt't until I was older and gained spiritual maturity that I understood this practice was to remind us of our own  immortality.  A rather sobering thought.

 Perhaps that's one reason so many of us study geneology, Scrapbook, blog and journal; Even try to connect with others on Face Book, My Space and pursue certain long lasting  endeavors.  It's an effort to  be remembered, to leave something of ourselves on this earth after we're no longer here. But in the end,   it won't mean a thing what we leave behind,only how we've lived our life; Loving, sharing, caring. Believing in God, trusting in our Maker.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Glorious Handiwork

I sat on the old log swing today, gently swaying back and forth and  saw a different view of the lake from yesterday and the day before. It was a   calm, tranquil water,  deep gray  in color;  Shaded light to dark, a single  ray of pearly white  separating the two. The sky overhead , a lovely robin egg blue.

The ground all around was muddy and wet, not from melting snow like last year and the year before, but from every day February  rain .  The rocky , rounded terrain close to the rim is covered with  green moss. I've never walked the moors of  Scotland, but imagine this is what they might look like.

After a while, I stop the motion of the swing and sit  perfectly still.  I heard no sound, only the quiet all about me. Not a wisp of breeze, the tall trees stand silent, unmoving - like guardsmen at the  Queen's gate.

Beautiful. Serene. I ponder the natural artistry that surrounds me,  and am moved to pray out loud and joyously proclaim David's psalm from of old , " The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims His handiwork".

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

PERFECT RELECTION

 I started  off walking  at my leisure today, criss crossing down the hill to the old log swing. Once there  and seeing the view of the lake and how it  perfectly reflected  the clouded sky,  I was immediatley awed and    loudly inhaled, as one might gasp when pleasantly surprised.  I wanted to take a picture and was frustrated I left my camera at the house ; The best I could do was   turn around and  hurry back   as fast as I could towards home to grab  the Nikon. So that's what I did.  

A short time later , with sore knees and labored breath, I  returned  to the swing  to get my  picture; To capture forever the  natural beauty my eyes beheld.

The separation of earth and sky seemed to oblivate and melt into one.  Only the slow passage of a single  small boat seemed to differenciate where one ended and the other begun.  I couldn't help but ponder if the captain and his crew saw what I saw, and was reminded of  Field's  Dutch Lullaby " Wynken, Blynken, and Nod".

Friday, February 5, 2010

A WALK IN THE WOODS

Most  of  the morning, into early afternoon I sat at my PC placing  ads  on the Internet to help promote our HealthQuest Nutrition web site (www.healthquestnutrition.com); not a difficult task, but time consuming and tiring.

After spending two hours on one site writing copy , trying (unsuccessfully) to upload a picture and hitting a key to continue, only to lose the page due to some kind of input error,  I finally had enough. I  threw my hands up and  shouted  a few unsavory expletives.  In a few minutes I  turned my head towards the window to  see two deer standing near; The openness, the freedom of the outside calling me forward.

My response was immediate. I got up from my chair, slipped on my North Face fleece, grabbed my Patagonia light weight rain jacket and knit gloves then headed out the front door. The early days of February are still cool, but no mounds of snow like last year and the year before; Only soft, muddy ground from too much rain and no sun.

For me, whatever the weather, walking in Dobbs' Woods always cheers me and makes me glad. I think about the pilgrim wanderers of Walden's Pond and Muir Woods and wonder about their delight in seeing the breath and bounty of the land in all its natural grandeur. This day I traverse back and forth across the treed slope , forging my own path to the ragged rim overlooking Rockford Bay. The low laying clouds and pastel colors highlighting portions of the lake make it appear other worldly; Mystical. I breath in the cool, fresh air and am awed by its beauty.

Coppery looking pine needles and broken tree limbs from winter winds are scattered across the wet earth; tiny sprouts of green grass have started to push forth, hoping for spring.

A few days ago I observed what I thought were cougar tracks on the long rock road leading to our home, so I keep my eyes downward, searching the ground to see what I might find; Sometimes even kneeling to get a closer look. Nothing out of the ordinary,though. Only the usual deer and dog prints.

It is quiet. Still. The only sound , the clicking of my camera lens when I stop to take a picture. I'd like to linger, hike another trail, but it'll be getting dark soon so I turn and head back. No longer frustrated or feverish with angst, but refreshed and relaxed.






Wednesday, January 27, 2010

JACK

Memories of my youthful past came rushing forward today when I spoke with an old high school friend I hadn't heard from in years. Our chatter back and forth was at once familiar and knowing; Easy. Comfortable. Confiding. Ours a remembrance, a connection tightly wound of moments shared (clandestine, and otherwise) with another, we both held dear.

"How is she", he asked. "Just fine", I said.

In that second we were teenagers again, reliving the first time he asked me that question, and all it implied. Young love. First love. Secret love.

Recalling our long ago comraderie and Robbers Roost after school, we laughed at our revelry way back then and smiled kindly, remembering
who we were
what we were
where we were
thinking the world was ours to hold and mold; Seeing ourselves as hip and cool.

With his white hair and my wrinkled skin we're no longer young, but growing old. More mellow. Mature (though hopefully, still hip and cool). Grateful for our past, more grateful for what we've become, recognizing
who we are now
what we are now
where we are now
was all in God's plan.

Monday, January 25, 2010

GROWTH

Love
laughter
joy
care;
hurt
anger
sorrow
dispair
Changing emotions
twisted round
bring you up
then tear you down;
Stages of growth
out of chaos comes
like the planting
of seed; Then spring
colorful tulips and mums.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

WHAT TO WRITE

The yellow lined paper
and ballpoint pen
are waiting
and waiting
for a flow of
words to begin;
At my desk
i pause
and ponder
for what seems
forever
without a thought
in my head

what to write
what to write
what to write

My mind is blank
like an empty tank
ready to be filled
with something useful
to share

what to write
what to write
what to write

Stories of nature
or friendship old ?
Love and family
wealth untold.
Something lively
something bright
A Harrier hawk
taking flight, or
the soaring high
of a long tailed
kite; The cold
dark sky of
a starry, starry night ?

what to write
what to write
what to write

Saturday, January 16, 2010

COFFEE TASTE TEST

Saturday morning. I'm sitting at the PC with my cup of decaf - freshly brewed. A mixture of Kirkland's Dark Roast and Peet's Major Dickason's. A combination my husband, Gary came up with. A pretty good one, too. Not only is the full bodied flavor good , but by combining Kirkland and Major Dickason's , we save on the cost of coffee as it lasts much longer.

For years we were strictly Starbuck's coffee drinkers, but Gary never cared for what he called, "the bitter aftertaste" of Starbucks , so we finally agreed to find a specialty coffee we both could savor. Because we drink decaf, our choices were somewhat limited as most blends are caffineated. None the less, we pursued our coffee hunt , and for months partook in our own private 'coffee of the week' taste test. We drank cup after cup of varied coffee's , including Kona, Craven's , Tully's; Ultimately it was Peet's that met our criteria, "bold, but not bitter".

The irony in our choice of Peet's, is Peet's and Starbucks have a shared hisory. Alfred Peet introduced specialty coffee to Seattle; The founders of Starbucks worked at Peet's so they could learn all they could about how to roast, buy and sell specialty coffee, and Jerry Baldwin, an original founder of Starbucks is still director of Pete's.

According to the "Passion for Coffee" web site, Pete's coffee tends to be a little darker than Starbucks House Blend because it is roasted longer.

" That's okay", my husband would say, " I still choose Pete's. Roasted longer is fine. It's the bitter after taste (of Starbucks) that I don't like".

I'm reminded of the famous Coke vs Pepsi taste test and conclude taste, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder (or in this case, mouth of the partaker of drink).

Thursday, January 14, 2010

PATSY AND LINDA

Earlier this week while out taking my afternoon walk with Sam E. Beagle and Missy dog, I thought about a recent email from my childhood friend, Linda. She told me of her New Year's Eve trip to the neighborhood we grew up in ; A quiet, quaint cul de sac in the plain Jane suburb city of Bell. Hers was a bittersweet path to the past, not only because she revisited long gone days of youth, where we spent day after day roller skating, riding matching pink and white Schwinn bikes and playing with baby dolls, paper dolls and Barbie dolls , but because two days later it would mark the 21st anniversary of her mother's death.

We have a long history, Linda and me; Only 4 years old when we met, becoming instant play pals and life long friends.

From the start, our mothers were the very best of friends. In fact, I learned about the meaning of friendship from observing my mom and Patsy - their joy in being together, their faithfulness and fidelity one to the other: Good times and bad times, no matter what - they stuck like glue .

In her email Linda wrote about turning onto Southhall Court and Southhall Lane , and for just a moment envisioned her mom standing at the fence like she did so many years ago. I recall a similar image of Patsy. It was the late 1950's and my family didn't have a phone, so if someone needed to reach my parents they'd dial Patsy's number. I can still hear Patsy hollering from her driveway, " Lenore , the phone's for you". To some , it may seem quirky and unsophisticated, but in truth it was friendly and familar. Endearing and sweet.

It was sitting in Linda's driveway that her mom taught us how to play " Jacks", and the first time I ate a taco was at Linda's when her mom made homemade tacos - long before Taco Bell, Del Taco and a hundrend other taco stands on every southern California corner. To this day, Patsy's taco's are the best I've ever had.

Patsy also  taught me to crochet.  And my brother, Walt remembers she and her husband Lawrance bought him his first pair of cowboy boots when he was only six years old.  In later years Patsy  hosted my wedding shower and baby shower. It would be impossible to think about the highlights of my life without including Patsy. She loved us, and we loved her. It was heartbreaking, and seemed unreal when Patsy died at the young age of 55. Younger than Linda and I are now.

As I walked along the wooded trail , I continued to think about Linda and Patsy , wishing Linda was nearby so I could give her a hug . I wanted to tell her how special I think her mother was, and how proud I am of her for carrying on through the challenges of her own life in such a strong, positive way; knowing her mother would be proud of her, too.

No loss ever compares to the loss of a loved one. While it's true the sun will continue to rise each and every morning , just as its done for hundreds of years, nothing is never, ever quite the same after the death of one we loved so dear; A small part of us dies, too. It's only in the remembering we keep them near.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Something Good

January first , the sentiment "Out with the old, in with the new" repeats itself over and over again, as folks from all corners of the earth resolve to be
steady
steadfast
dauntless
daring;
Uncompromising
courageous
unflinching
unfailing
in the promise they've made to faithfully follow through with their
New Year's Day resolution
To retire
relinquish
and dispose
of bad habits, bad manners, bad food, bad relationships
To reshape
reform
restore
something good to better themselves, their family and the world.