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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

TODAY

                                                       
Read a book
sing a song
dance a jig
carry on

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