The River Walk

                                                 

                                                         

I walk the path down by the river and marvel how each day there is something different to see. One day billowy white clouds, another day dark gray blustery clouds, or maybe no clouds at all, just pale blue sky.  Ducks and geese and white pelicans all very much at home on the shores of their domain. Squirrels scampering through the trees and dogs on leashes excited and happy to be out and about. Young people and old people. Men and women. Some in a group or twosome, but most walk alone. Some leisurely stroll along, others walking as if they’re in a foot race. Most nod or give a cheerful greeting when passing by, adding to the pleasant experience of the walk. If it’s windy I stop to watch the whitecaps on the river and listen to movement of the water slapping the shoreline. It has a steady rhythm, like ocean waves I find peaceful. Some days the river is smooth and calm. No movement at all. Glassy.  Like a mirror reflecting nearby images.  Or an artist’s painting with its shaded hues.  And depending on the time of day, the hills take on varied colors. Sunlit or shadowy. In spring a grassy green highlights the angles and slopes. In summer stark and brown. And in winter it’s not unusual to see the white of snow.  No matter the season, the hills looming over the river have a unique beauty all their own.

Today I pondered what it would be like to walk a longer distance than the two miles I usually do. If I were to go on a spiritual trek and walk miles and miles. What would be my destination? Some far off place or unknown shore?  What would I think of along the way?  Would I observe what was about me and reflect on the greatness of God’s creation. Meditate and pray. Grateful for my feet, my legs, my good health that allows me to be on such a walk? To pray for those God has given me to love, for those who love me? For those who have no one to pray for them; for those who don’t know how to pray.  Maybe I wouldn’t think of anything but be like an empty vessel ready to take in new sights and sounds. Or maybe like the Psalmist instructs, to just be still and know; and grow

                                                     

                           

My daydreaming interrupted by a Canada Goose leading her cute goslings across the trail.  For a few minutes I just stand and watch them.  Each gosling following their mama one after the other.  The mama strutting forward (with posture I wish I had), yet completely aware where her babies are, safe in her care.  I give thanks for my eyes to see, and ears to hear the loveliness of nature, and wildlife.  Perhaps someday I will take that longer spiritual trek, walking miles and miles seeking a special destination.  Until then I’ll continue to walk closer to home taking in the sights and sounds of the river and all it brings: beauty, serenity, quiet.  And awesome wonderment.

                                                       

                                                         

* The Snake River flows between Clarkston, WA and Lewiston, ID - the confluence with the Clearwater River and Snake join at Lewiston.  The Snake River was historically used by the Nez Perce people for travel, trade, and fishing. The Snake River also used by Lewis and Clark on their great Northwest expedition. Today the Snake is a waterway for barge traffic and river cruise ships. Especially at the Port of Clarkston 

 

 

 

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

 Silent Night

O Holy Night

Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Jingle Bells

Silver Bells

Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer

and Frosty the Snowman

White Christmas 

and Handel’s great Hallelujah Chorus lifting spirits to the reaches

of the Heavenly realm. 

Each song so familiar at Christmas; on the radio, television specials, in shopping malls, stores, churches. Universal and special  to the holiday season. Songs that signal that special time when people everywhere promote fellowship and  good cheer. Preparing  to celebrate the birth of Jesus. 

The earliest were written as hymns. Songs of prayer and praise. Many recognize the first Christmas carol to be Angels Hymn dating  back 

to 129 AD, while others attribute St. Hilary of Poitiers composing the first Christmas carol Jesus, Refulsit Omnium (Latin) Jesus Light of All Nations in the 4th century.  

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen is mentioned in Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol. Bing Crosby’s White Christmas is the best selling single of all time (according to the Guinness Book of World Records),  and Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You is the most played Christmas song.  I like Christmas music. I listen to the Holiday channel whenever in my car, and Christmas albums (Andy Williams and Amy Grant) on the turntable at home. I play  Christmas songs on the piano, and watch my three favorite Christmas movie musicals, Going My Way, White Christmas and Meet Me in St. Louis over and over. I’m sure I’ve seen Meet Me in St. Louis over 100 times!

The great classic song, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas with its  lilting melody and meaningful lyrics has become a Christmas standard - 

Faithful friends who were dear to us will be near to us once more. Someday soon we all will be together if the fates allow. Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow 

When we’re missing our loved ones not near, it does seem

like we’re muddling through. Without them. Waiting. Wanting 

them here. We remember those happy days shared. The laughter  

and fun. The warmth and love.  

It seemed like it would last forever.

Those days of yore when 

faithful friends gather together once more.

 Then it comes to me. 

It’s not just days of yore, but it’s today and next year and  year after year. Family and  friends will forever gather together. 

Heartfelt and true. Throughout  time. New stories told.

And always there will be the sweet memory of loved 

ones so dear…..

So hang a shining star upon the highest bough 

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now 

TO GIVE THANKS

Thanksgiving Day. A day set apart 

to give thanks in a favored way 

proclaimed a national holiday 

by President Abraham Lincoln 

October 3rd, 1863

To the Creator for His creation;

the earth,  the sea, the sky

For our country and its magnificent bounty;

for freedom to do, and prosper

For opportunity to push a head,

and excel in whatever we deem 

our goal to be. To disagree if we

choose, but always hopeful for 

peace and unity

To worship God. Knowing it is to 

His plan and purpose we live, 

and have our being; to learn and grow  

For family, and friends 

To tell one another i’m grateful 

for you, and your special place in my life

I hold you dear, close to my heart 

Deep Rooted

 

Familiar faces etched with time

Familiar voices retelling stories 

from years gone by

Familiar eyes that see beyond 

the facade, seeing what’s stored 

inside; knowing who i am 

Accepting. Forgiving. Loving.

 Outstretched arms with warm 

embraces. It is friendship tested,

and primed since early youth. 

Of mirth and merriment; trials 

and travail. Life and death.

Shared experiences. One with 

the other; and all together 

Once we were young. Now we’re 

old. Bodies age and memories 

fade, but the bond of deep

rooted friendship carries on. 

A beginning without end 

(written in Lake Chelan on my 

 74th birthday October 25, 2024

* inspired by my dear Bell Gal pals)

The Two Walt’s

What’s in a name you might ask. 

I’d say identification, reputation, recognition. Character.

 There are Biblical names like Abraham, Issac, Ruth and Esther. And names of Kings and Presidents; William, Henry, Theodore, Dwight.  There’s Elvis, the King of Rock and Roll. And the Beatles John, Paul, Ringo and George. When we hear those names in regard to their person we form an image of who they were (are), and what they represent. 

                                                    

Since today, September 4 would be my brother’s 70th birthday I started my morning thinking of him, as I know our Dad did, and perhaps other friends and family members.  Walt was named for our Mother’s beloved grandfather, Walt Thorson. Mom adored her grandfather. She was raised by him and her grandmother, Blanche. From our earliest age, Walt my brother and I heard wonderful, loving stories about Walt, our great-grandfather. 

He was of Norwegian decent, born and raised in South Dakota. On his family’s farm in Vermilion. Mama said while Walt Thorson never wanted to be a farmer, but to find his place in the city, he and Grandma Blanche, and Mom would make the drive every year from their home in Council Bluffs, Iowa to Vermillion to help with the harvest. Walt Thorson was a convert to the  Catholic faith. He served as usher at their parish church, and was  an active member in Knights of Columbus. He started his career as a salesman for Harding Ice Cream, later to become Sealtest, and earned awards for being the company’s top salesman year after year. Maybe that’s one reason whenever Mom wasn’t feeling well he’d tell her ice cream would make it better. Something my Mother believed all her life! 

                                                     

An endearing ritual Mother and Walt Thorson shared every night before bedtime was their  having a glass of milk and eating crackers together. A ritual my brother Walt Cooney and our Mom also shared. In thinking about the two Walt’s I try to imagine what kind of relationship they would have had. From the things Mom told us about Walt Thorson, of the twinkle in his blue eyes when greeting someone, his encouraging word to others, his kindness and good humor are all things I  saw in my brother Walt. And I think they may have had some other similarities. Both wore clothes well, and dressed stylishly. Both enjoyed playing cards and games. And for a time my brother Walt was active with Knights of Columbus, like his great grandfather. Mother gifted Walt her son with the Knights of Columbus ring and cuff links that once belonged to Walt, her grandfather. And very sadly,  both passed away in their mid 50’s of a massive heart attack. Both leaving behind a huge void in the lives of those who loved them.

                                                          

My brother always knew he was named for his great grandfather, and I believe took pride in that, feeling a certain kinship with him; Knowing  he was named for someone so beloved and special to our Mother. 

Though I do remember when Walt Cooney was about five years old and hero worshipped the iconic TV cowboy,  Roy Rogers. When any new acquaintance would ask his name, Walt would tell them Roy. Roy Rogers. But that’s a name for a different time, and a different story. 

***Happy (Heavenly) Birthday, my dear brother.