Tuesday, December 31, 2013

New Years Eve



The house is quiet, the night is still
only a few more hours until the
end of another year, I celebrate
with no loud reverie or
dancing on the table, but our
family tradition,  Chinese food to go.
My husband and I
play a game of Cribbage and
listen to Johnny Mathis sing
"Auld Lang Syne".  I watch
 shadow flames from the
wood burning stove move
across the wall, and reflect
on the miracle of life
in each passing day - days
quickly passing by, like
a passing parade.  The blessing
of family and cherished friend,
of love and laughter and
happy times. And long days
laden with sorrow and fear -
death. Like winter; cold and
gray, bringing a heavy heart,
and tears.  But  the days
carry on, until Spring again,
bringing new life and birth, and hope.
And so it is, the New Year comes.
 

Friday, November 22, 2013

Fifty Years Ago/John F. Kennedy rip+



    Fifty years have passed since President John F. Kennedy was killed. It hardly seems possible so many of us, who were so young when the President was shot on November 22, 1963 , are now older than he was when he died, and yet we remember that horrific day and where we were like it was yesterday.  Several 'friends' on Facebook  posted memories :

*    I remember the day like it was yesterday! I was in choir and Mr. Salter talked to us after the PA announcement. Then we gathered in the cafeteria. No one was eating, and you could hear a pin drop.

* I was standing in the East Quad when I heard the news on the PA system. No one spoke, many shed tears, and most of us held our breath hoping it wasn't true.

* I was in P.E. and walked into the gym and saw Mr. Taschner sitting in the bleachers with his head in his hands, crying. I don't think I had ever seen a grown man cry before.

* I remember being in science class. It was such a sad day. I remember going home watching TV, and crying for days. I still have the newspapers from that horrible time. No matter the politics, everybody loved Kennedy.

   Yes ! I remember too, I  was in 8th grade  at St. Rose of Lima school in Maywood, California,  and  can see in memories eye,  an obviously sad, teary eyed  Sister Mary Agnesine tell the class the President had been shot, and feel  the solemn silence that followed like a darkened room after the lights are turned off. Then we prayed.

    That following Monday school was closed so students could be at home to watch the coverage of the Presidents funeral procession. Perhaps the image of Mrs. Kennedy and her two children standing in front of the White House, and little John-John's sweet salute as his fathers caisson passed by has left the most lasting impression on us. So tragic, yet so tender.  If the bombing of Pearl Harbor joined our  parents generation together , the assassination of President Kennedy certainly bound ours. And television played a big part. For the first time as a nation we not only grieved singularly , or within our own community , but collectively as a nation, witnessing together on live TV the killing of a president, his funeral and burial, then the murder of his assassin.

                                                                                               

     In a recent New York Times Book Review article titled Kennedy, the Elusive President,  Jill Abramson, executive editor of the Times wrote , An estimated 40,000 books about him (JFK) have been published since his death, and this anniversary year has loosed another vast outpouring. Yet to explore the enormous literature is to be struck not by what's there but by what's missing. Readers can choose from many books but surprisingly few good ones, and not one really outstanding one.

  Whoa! That 40,000 books have been written about President Kennedy is amazing to think about, but what strikes me more is Abramson's contention that none are worthy, that not one is really outstanding. She sites biographer Robert Dallek as saying historians are not really impressed with him , they see him more as a celebrity who didn't accomplish very much.

    In  the scheme of things , I suppose  a thousand days isn't all that long to accomplish goals set out in campaign promises.  But I would submit Kennedy's mark isn't necessarily his political imprint, but the imprint he left on the American psyche, and how his glow, and positive outlook  attracted young and old alike. And today, let  his  words sound loud and true,  Ask not what your country can do for you, but what can you do for your country.

   


 

 





Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Cast Your Cares

When the dark of night seems long
and sleep escapes me
because thoughts unwelcome
replay again and again
in my head - I try to
divert worries about
my mothers health,
my fathers health,
my husbands well being,
my sons well being
about present day finances,
and future concerns;
Wars, and rumors of war;
 and the sad state
of world affairs by thinking
of a  movie I saw, a
song I heard or book
I read. Sometimes I practice
a method dear Grandma Cooney
used when she had trouble
falling asleep - to mentally name all the
presidents of the United States in
proper order. This night,  I find
by the  time I get to
Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan
I'm more awake than ever.  It's
only when I open my eyes to
see soft colored moonlight
stream through an opening
in the slated shade
opposite the king size bed
my husband and I share
that I'm reminded
of the perfect Light , Jesus Christ
and how I can cast all
my cares on Him, because
He careth  for me, and  for all (1 Peter 5:7)
The worrisome thoughts once
twirling and swirling around
like an enemy wanting to
deprive  me of sleep
are quieted now. The peace of
The Lord fills my soul, and sweetly,
sleep comes


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

September 4 - Blogs, Self-Help Books & My Brother, Walt

    Writing a blog has become quite popular over the past years, and for a variety of reasons. I believe many of us, including me, like to express ourselves via of the written word and pictures. Some write a blog to document their  family life, others to expound political views. Some as a pulpit to share religious faith, or  to promote a recently published book. Or perhaps tell about a hobby, recipes or game. All have their place, and shed light on topics that meet someones interest.

    I write 2 lane highway, my own personal blog of One woman's reflections of past and present - people, places and things that contribute to the joy and sweetness; the sorrow and hurt of an everyday, ordinary life. Every six weeks, I also blog   for Writing North Idaho , a web retreat for writers, news, opportunities, and knowledge sharing. 

      I posted a blog  this morning  on  WNI about self help books. While  its purpose was to share about  a genre  different from fiction, non-fiction, mystery and romance,  it  was  also to  honor my brother, Walt as it would have been his 59th birthday today, September 4.  If you click onto link below, I think you'll see the connection between the two;  Self-help books and my brother, and why the memory of what we shared will always be with me. 


           

Friday, August 9, 2013

The Lake,Water Skiing & Uncle Lloyd




I put away my iphone and ipad today
and sat on the old log swing
in peaceful reverie
looking out over the bluff
at Lake Coeur d Alene
watching boats stream
by like a slow passing
parade. I heard the sweet
sound of joyful laughter
echo through the trees
of family and friends
sailing and skiing and
swimming in the
cool, deep blue water.
In memories eye I  turned
 to another summer
 and another lake a
long time ago  - 1963. I
was 12 years old,  visiting
my Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Betty
and cousins, Shauna, Kevin and
Kim. We were at  Bear Lake
in Utah, and my uncle was determined
I would learn to water ski  - and indeed
I did, but only after his persistence and
patience in teaching  me how, and calm
reassurance not to be afraid, that  I could.
For many summers after, I skied  a lot,
now that I'm old, not so much. But ever am
I grateful for an  uncle's loving guidance
to broaden my world to include
the joy of water sport,  and help  build
my self-confidence. Back in the present
I study the lake  and watch
those on the water, hoping
another uncle is  with his niece
doing the same for her
as my uncle did for me



Wednesday, July 31, 2013

The View



  A few weeks ago a visitor to my home asked if I ever grew tired of the view from our deck. I honestly answered, "No, not ever".  One reason , the view is never really the same - but ever changing and different, not only with each season, but day to day, sometimes hour to hour.

   In early morning  the lake glistens in the rising sun,  as though covered with a million billion  jewels. By  late afternoon,  the cool blue water is  more  like a mirror reflecting a perfect image of curvy  mountains and majestic  trees  bordering  the shore.   This evening,    the sky,  so  vast and wide is clouded in blueish gray, the   mountains  underneath  shaded with a   muted , purplish  hue. The scene  seems  other worldly and surreal, making it easy for me to envision   a land of make believe - a  distant place far, far away where dreams come true, and loved ones dance and sing through wooded land, greeting each other with  joyful embrace.    Yet, what I see isn't make believe,  but  up close and personal, very  real and nearby. It's as though nature's beauty  wraps around me,   like a cape keeping one warm in winter .

     All  is quiet, the air is still. A ray of light peeks through the heavenly sky, and  a moment of grace  engulfs my soul.  I am roused  from my reverie , and grateful for the view I see every day , close to home where family and friends come and go, building sweet  memories for us to grow.

 



    

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Sundays in Summer




    One of my favorite things to do on Sunday in summer is to sit outside on our back deck  in the early morning, before my corner of the world is awake and rustling about.  I drink a cup of coffee and read my devotional; I give thanks to God for the gift of nature, and the beauty that surrounds me.  All is peaceful. Calm.  Flowers are full of color.  Evergreen trees, like royal stewards of the forest, provide cool shade for birds taking rest, and deer in the meadow. 

    Looking up at the  pale blue sky,   lightly clouded over with strands of wispy white adds to the  serene way I feel. The lake glimmers under the first bright rays of sunlight, and I'm  reminded of diamonds and glittering jewels , but that comparison  seems too cliche. While  diamonds can be beautiful to behold, and have monetary value - or can be the cherished keepsake of a beloved family member,  looking at one  doesn't help   elevate the soul, or draw us to consider ways  of the spirit or   ponder the  wonder of life  like the splendor we find in  being still,  contemplating God's glorious creation.

   A soft movement of air brushes against  my arm, I look up at the sky once more,  and smile. 





Monday, June 24, 2013

Summer Rain





No warm  sunshine
this summer day
only rain, like heavenly dew
falling from a cloudy sky
to wet the fields,
and help keep our forest
green; to splash the birds 
and bathe the deer, 
giving drink to a 
thirsty garden
like waters of baptism
refreshing  the soul

Thursday, May 30, 2013

May 30 - In Memory of My Brother Walt Cooney

   May 30, 2013.  My brother passed away three years ago today. It's not the kind of anniversary one marks on the calendar and looks forward to with anticipation and glee, but   melancholy that a life is no more , gone too soon from his mother and dad, and  family and friends who loved him

    I choose not to wallow in grief, but to commemorate the life of  my beloved brother, and life long friend. I remember his walk and the way he stood straight and tall, the color of his eyes and happy smile, the sound of his voice, and how he laughed  when he got really tickled over something silly  someone did or said.

   Walt  died and left this earth to be with our Lord on the other side,  but he also lives in my heart and memory. And I know , come what may,  some things can never change. He will  forever be his mothers only son, and my little brother.

   Posted below , a  memory of Walt titled Lil' Cowboy, a poem I wrote three years before his passing. It was published in Write On ! Poetry Magazette   February 2007.   The verses  came to me as I   had been thinking of a time when Walt and I were kids, visiting our Grandmother's house in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Walt loved everything cowboy. Clothes, hats, boots.   His favorite was Roy Rogers.  Mother enjoys telling  the story, and I remember it, too when a neighborhood boy knocked on Grandma's front door. When  mom opened the door the little boy asked if Roy could come out to play. Mother replied,  "Honey, There isn't anybody named Roy  here". The boy  answered with a  definite  "Huh-huh ! My new friend, he said his name is Roy Rogers!"




                                                                       Lil' Cowboy

                                                               When my brother Walt
                                                                was just a boy
                                                                he dressed like his hero
                                                                a cowboy named Roy
                                                                in his cowboy shirt
                                                                and cowboy pants,
                                                                cowboy boots and
                                                                cowboy hat.
                                                                A holstered six-shooter
                                                                at his side,
                                                                he walked around
                                                                with cowboy pride
                                                                Eating cowboy cookies,
                                                                singing cowboy songs
                                                                his cowboy cat
                                                                tagging along
                                                                He aimed to please
                                                                and do only good
                                                                just like his hero
                                                                Roy Rogers would


                                                          

    

Monday, May 27, 2013

Memorial Day


A day  of remembrance
for the fallen brave,
those that died on the battlefield
in a land not their own, far away
from family and home - Oh!
the anguish, the tragedy of war

We decorate their graves
with flower and flag, sing
patriotic song and march in parades
And with somber thought
remember, freedom isn't free
the cost is high, 
the lives of beloved
sons and husbands
no longer here


                   *** My great-great Uncle Andy Norton
                           died in France World War I  (RIP+)



Monday, May 20, 2013

Diana , Mary Kay and Clouds

     It is a perfect May day. I  water the potted  Geraniums, then  sit down and  stretch my legs on the chaise lounge. So   peaceful and restful. For the longest time  I  look up and stare  at the vast , voluminous sky,  like I didn't have a care in the world. Its   brilliant blue draws me in like a cool pool on a hot summer day.

     I try to penetrate its depth with my constant gaze, but  it remains distant and mysterious. Majestic.  Only known to  angels on wing.


    Clouds drift slowly by until they gather together like friends at an afternoon social. I study each one  and notice their different shapes and sizes.  All look beautiful to me.  I wonder, are there silly clouds? Serious clouds?   Is one trying to lord it over the other ? To be more important and popular ? Then I notice a new  cloud roll in, all puffed up with its ego and self perceived charm, proclaiming judgement on what's best for the other clouds,  and what kind of clouds  they should be. A few  of the clouds scatter and are gone, no longer welcomed,   and lost forever  to their fellow clouds - all because of  bias   spoken by puffed up, self important  cloud. 

    Still staring up at the sky, and looking at the clouds I reflect  on the song Both Sides Now, popularized by both Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins and wonder about Mitchell's lyrics,  and what she meant by clouds. 

I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
from up and down, and still somehow
it's cloud illusions I recall. 
I really don't know clouds at all

    From the earliest days of listening to this favorite song, I  interpreted clouds meaning life - life as in friends. 

    Then,  looking more and more at the clouds, I recalled another long ago  May when I  lay in a hospital bed, my body broken and nearly left for dead after suffering an auto accident, along with dearly  beloved others,  and how two very special  clouds (friends) were ever present by my side. I had a  serious head injury. At first the doctors told my mother they didn't expect me to live, and if I did I may suffer  brain damage, and at the least I  may never walk again.   For three months I was in traction, my lung collapsed, my back broken, my femur crushed , and nearly every bone on the right side of my body broken.  Other than my  mother, brother and grandmother,  Diana and Mary Kay visited me nearly every day. They decorated my hospital bed, hung a  Robert Redford poster on the  wall, and sneaked pizza in for me to eat on Friday nights.


     While our other friends were sunning  at the beach, busy with their lives,  finding new loves and getting engaged (all in right order),   Diana and Mary Kay helped  cheer  me with  their colorful  stories  and constant encouragement.  They brought laughter to a broken spirit, and joy to a broken heart.   After being released from the hospital I  spent another two and a half months in a full body cast. When at home,   Diana came to live with my family and me, to help provide for my needs while my mother was at work, and   Mary Kay brought  over  her parents cool car and  removed  the front seat  so I could fit my plastered  body  into the back,  to  cruise the boulevard with the girls.

    At  19 years old, I don't know what I would have done without them. I  doubt I  ever  let  Diana and Mary Kay  know how much their friendship meant, how important they were to my getting well, how their example of friendship is  one I hold today  in high esteem, and strive to emulate.  To be there for my friend,  whenever in need. Not to judge, condemn or ridicule, but to listen and love.

    And looking  once again , up  at the clouds,  I think how important it is to  speak  the best of  our  friends, whether  in our presence ,  or far away.

 

   

   
  


 

     

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Promise Fullfilled






As I walk around

the grounds of 
my  rural home, I feel
renewed, reborn
in seeing new growth
of  moutain greenery,
and spring flowers  
covering the hill
and across the field
How different from
the cold, grey days
of winter when only
the promise of light
carries us trough,
and our hope
the sun will rise

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Let It Go





Days seem short,
the night so long 
for the troubled heart
and wearied soul
Words that hurt, 
carelessly spoken by 
'faithful friend' festers
like a boil,  and lingers 
on,  deflating the spirit
and severing the bond
of what once was. 
Which is better - to ignore 
the slight of those 
so admired?  To release
the mockery of those 
held dear? Or  hold 
forever the pain they
impart by their lofty,
haughty ridicule and 
lack of respect ? I say
goodbye to that, let 
it go and forget,  for
surely,  in another
ten year no one 
will remember


Wednesday, April 24, 2013

MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY - Her 80th

  

 Today is my Mother’s 80th  birthday. I celebrate this special day, and all her days,  and  how she has chosen to  live her life.  Full of joy and gladness. Gracious, generous and kind to family and friends; To strangers in the store or someone in need, Mama   offers  an encouraging word or some good deed. 

  Our Mother’s unconditional love was a safe haven for my brother, Walt and me. Mom often told us we were God's precious gifts to her, and  made us feel like we were the most  important people in the world.  Walt and I  knew we could always count on Mom. No matter what.  She laughed with us, cried with us,  and gave us confidence to pursue our dreams.  Her  example of walking in faith, and trusting in the Lord that all will be well continues to be a good guide for me,  and  her grandsons Gavin and Garrett.

  One of mom's endearing traits  is the way she always makes  time to listen to others, and seems so interested in what we have to say,  no matter if it interrupts something she is doing; working on some project, doing chores, relaxing. Recently,  she  reminisced   how for years  she never saw the end of a TV show  because either my brother or I, along with one of our friends,  would  run into the house  to share  some  exciting event  with her.  Always  10 minutes before the movie was over!  Never once did mom say to us, “No, not now" or  "I'm busy, come back later".  Mom always gave us her undivided  attention and seemed to gladly  listen  to whatever we had to share . 

   I celebrate my darling  Mother and her birthday, but know  there is no gift I can give  her to match  the precious   gift she has given me my entire  life, the sweet  gift of herself.  How blessed both Walt and I are to be our Mother’s children.  

 Happy Birthday, Mother ! With love and gratitude. 

   

   


  



Friday, April 19, 2013

Grandma Cooney's Recipe Box

    I baked cookies today, and thought of my Grandma Cooney.  In my memory there isn't anyone  who made  better tasting cookies than Grandma ! I'm fortunate to have many of her recipes. That's because one year for Christmas, when I was 13 years old, one of Grandma's gifts to me was a  small metal recipe box , so reminiscent  from the early  1960's, filled with a variety of  recipe's  - Biscuits, Bread, Cakes, Cookies,  Pastry/Pies, Meats, Vegetables, Sauces  and Salad Dressings, each one  carefully handwritten on a
 3"  x 5"   card.   On top of the box it says,  "Favorite Recipes From My Grandma Cooney".  



   That box still sits on my kitchen counter, and Grandma's favorite recipes have become my favorite recipes, especially Thumb Print cookies.   This morning while I was adding  1/2 cup  brown sugar to 1/2 pound butter, and rolling the dough into the shape of a wagon wheel, I couldn't help but smile feeling Grandma's presence very near, and the hope she  was smiling too.

 

   
    But perhaps the most important recipe Grandma put in the box is this one, the  recipe  for living  life:

"Remember, petite, to find some way to be happy. For when you are sad you grow plain - when you are plain, you grow bitter, when you are bitter, then you are very disagreeable and a disagreeable woman has nothing, neither friends, nor love nor contentment"

   Thank you , Grandma,  for your long reaching guidance, and everlasting love.



   

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Greer Garson, Grandma Viv & Her Dishes

    I  worked hard yesterday around the house, taking care of chores  and cooking , and painting the front room. So when evening fell, and and the sky grew dark  I was ready to relax, and watch one of my favorite actresses from the golden age of Hollywood ,  Greer Garson starring in a movie on TCM. To me the roles she played were always women to be admired,   full of spunk, and loyal. The first thing I noted about    the movie,  Her Twelve Men  was it was filmed  in 1954, the year my brother, Walt  was born. Reading the credits I also learned Tim Considine and David Stollery  - from  Mickey Mouse Club fame also starred. A much younger Tim and Dave than I remember seeing in Disney's Spin &  Marty series.

   Her Twelve Men is a sweet , lighthearted comedy, perfect for a viewing after a busy day, one to lift one's  spirit , and make one smile.  I   remember reading   it  was Greer Garson's last movie for MGM , and  was thinking of other great MGM movies she starred in  (Mrs. Miniver, Valley of Decision, That Forthsyte Woman) when a scene with her and another young actor appeared  on  screen.They were drinking tea , or maybe  it was hot chocolate.  No matter, what caught my attention was the cups and saucers they were drinking from - the very same VernonWare  Organdie pattern my Grandmother Vivian used every day !  The same cups and saucers that graced the table whenever we had a meal at grandma's house. The same cups and saucers I helped wash and dry after dinner.  




   The movie ended on a happy note, and I was ready for bed. As I closed my eyes, I thought   how  sweet  movies used to be, and more especially  of my grandmother, and her dishes, and the dear  memories they invoke.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

In Memory Of


When  I was very young
a long time ago, I had
no worries or cares. The 
world was  bright, and 
all was good. The future 
seemed a distant place, far
from where I stood. Family 
and friends filled my home
with merriment and cheer,
where we  laughed and played , 
and knew each other well.
But years have passed ,
and we grow old, some
no longer here,only the memory
of their sweet song 
softly lingers still


Saturday, March 2, 2013

Between Husband & Wife

As I lay down to sleep
to night, memories
of this day swirl around 
my head; First, my husband 
greeting me with a good 
morning hug, then outside
to split some wood, while 
I make pancakes on an electric
grill, the two of us eating
our fill,and discussing the
news of  the world. 
Our voices unheard
but to the two of us, our 
concerns , and worries, 
and hopes , and fears
no one will ever hear.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Longing for Spring


 I was fooled . Thought spring had arrived. Even put my snow shoes away. But today  I awoke to snow, and a cold winter day. We kept our wood burning stove blazing bright, helping to keep the household warm. Tonight the wind continues to howl,  and  bang  against the door. I shiver and sigh, my old bones ache; I sit in the chair with my book , but think of  blue skies and warmer days.

Monday, February 18, 2013

We Remember When... Friends From Long Ago

   I'm 62 years old.  Life, or the end of life  seems to be creeping in more and more.   Of late I hear of so many I have known  who have passed from this earth to their Heavenly home, or suffering with terminal disease.  Dear ones  that helped shape my life , and will always bring sweet memories to times past.   Just  a few hours ago,  I learned about another  from my youthful days who is suffering so, and about to part from this world. I , along with his family and many friends, pray for Dave Weldon, trusting our Lord is ever present with him.





     I  remember those early days of our childhood when we attended St. Rose of Lima school  together,  learning the foundations of our Catholic faith, and giving the nuns a run for their money. We were lively children. During our grade school days, Dave played on the basketball team, was an altar boy and  the first boy I kissed  playing Spin the Bottle at our eighth grade party. After St. Rose , we were classmates at Bell High , and in later years   neighbors living across the street from one another on the modest street ,  Flora Avenue.  Our  younger brothers, Walt and Mike were pals.

    For many years Dave and I shared the same friends, including his high school girlfriend, Pam .  Eventually, we all moved on and our lives took different turns; careers, marriage, family, and we  lived  lives happily ever after.  Yet,  we  still recall that time long ago when we knew each other when., and how sweet it was.

    God Bless you, David Weldon , the boy you were, and the man you grew to be.


   

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Who am i?

Who am i ?
To  think my 
thoughts are so 
lofty , and worthy
to share with others 
i am nobody, 
except for those 
i know and love - 
they are the best
part of who
i am

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Snowshoeing at Twilight





     It was late , twilight, when I went out snowshoeing today. The landscape,  with its soft shadows and shaded hues was especially lovely. I made several tracks across smooth white snow before I stopped to take in the magnificence of the trees all about me. They stood  perfectly still, not even  the slightest breeze brushing their piney branches. All was  quiet, peaceful,  not a sound could be heard, except my own breathing in and out.  I couldn't seem to move, like I was  locked in place,   as though the silence held me captive. My thoughts slowly  shifted from the challenges of my day to something more lofty and grand. A prayer of thanksgiving escaped my lips, grateful for God's creation so wonderfully displayed in nature 




Monday, January 28, 2013

A Ray of Light





 A ray  of sunlight
breaks  through the
cold, gray sky
to shine on
snow-covered trees,
the frozen ground,
and bird in flight;
Bringing  hope 
for the morrow
before  dark of night

Sunday, January 27, 2013

January 27



The cold of winter
with its icy roads and
snow covered ground,
and colorless days 
of muted gray 
no longer seems
like the welcome
visitor one is 
happy to see,
but a tiresome quest
who has exhausted
her stay




Sunday, January 20, 2013

The Turntable





i sit alone
(my husband has gone to bed)
and listen to music;
Favorite vinyl albums
played on a Pioneer
turntable from the
late 1970's
Considered an antique
to youth of today,
for me a sweet
gem from long 
ago yesterday -
the  familiar sound  of 
Peter, Paul and Mary,
Neil Diamond, and
The Carpenter's
make me smile
remembering those
days gone by

Friday, January 18, 2013

January Days


My beautiful north Idaho
even in January
with its cold , winter days
and the earth and trees
covered in snow
lifts my soul
to praise  God's  grandeur 
and splendor of 
nature in every season
and all ways

Friday, January 11, 2013

Victor Hugo & the Musical Les Miserables

    Yesterday was a grey, snowy day in north Idaho. A good day for staying in the house to read, write letters  or go to a movie.  My friend Patty and I chose the later. We met in town at noon -   the weather didn't seem to bother the many folks  milling about, most  in  coats, many  with the identifiable North Face logo,  and colorful scarfs and knit hat. Patty and I  looked the same, all bundled up  when we  walked into Riverstone Theater to see  Les Miserables., the much talked about movie musical adapted from the stage and based on Victor Hugo's timeless novel of the same name. It was a  perfect movie to see on a cold January day. I would say  a near perfect movie in every way, to see  any day.

    This movie was wonderfully cast - from Anne Hathaway's Fantaine and hearing her sing the  hauntingly lovely I Dreamed a Dream to Samantha Bank's Eponine to Daniel Huttlestone as the child Gavroche.

    While some critics bemoaned the singing voices of Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe, I thought their voices were strong and steady, filled with just the right emotion, and  natural for the way  Jean Valjean and Javert might sound. Listening to Valjean (Jackman) prayerfully sing

God on high
hear my prayer
In my need you have always been there

He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed
Bring him home,
Bring him home,
Bring him home

 was only one of many times   I was moved to tears and  held out my left  hand for Patty to give me a tissue to wipe my eyes.  I thought of all the sons, including my own, and the fathers and mothers who passionately pray that same kind of prayer when their child has gone through struggles or in harms way.

    After learning his friends - the friends he  talked and laughed with, dreamed dreams with and were so full of hope   have all been killed , Marius (portrayed by the charming Eddie Redmayne) touches our hearts with his sad, lilting voice when he sings these lines from Empty Chairs, Empty Tables 

That I live, and you are gone.
There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain that goes on and on

and we think of our friends, the ones we laugh and talk with - so very dear to us.

    On the inside cover of the Broadway album   from 1986 is written, Les Miserables is a great blazing pageant of life and death at the barricades of political and social revolution in Victor Hugo's nineteenth century France. Yes.  But  also  so much more than that, as  Hugo himself wrote in his letter to M. Daelli, publisher of the Italian translation of LM

    "YOU ARE RIGHT, SIR, WHEN you tell that Les Miserables  is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers. The sores of the human race, those great sores which cover the globe, do not halt at the red or blue lines traced upon the map. In every place where man is ignorant and despairing, in every place where woman is sold for bread, wherever the child suffers for lack of the book which should instruct him and the hearth which should warm him, the book of Les Miserables knocks at the door and says: "Open to me, I come for you."

    It is a story of love, and loss, of sin and redemption, of hope and  moral courage; A story of friendship and faith.  Never give up. Press on. Hold to the high road. Choose the better part. Freedom .

    The blending of Hugo's novel with lyrics of Herbert Kretzmer and music by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schonberg is brilliant, elevating  the tale of Jean Valjean and his question  Who Am I  to new heights.














Monday, January 7, 2013

SNOW





White and fluffy and soft, 
i  first think  of cotton
falling from the sky; 
 Then of prisms
 that  glisten in the light
covering the field  
like a blanket
on a king-size bed,  and
draping evergreens in
 winter cold.  Snow.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

NEW YEAR'S DAY 2013

 For me, New Year's Day  2013 starts   with  homemade huckleberry pancakes and basted eggs breakfast,  the Rose Parade and college football games, then  quiet moments sitting  in front of the fire resting and relaxing,  reading Flannery O'Connor,  and Russell Janney's Miracle of the Bells. Gary and I play Cribbage, and watch deer just outside the window as they nibble at each other's muzzle.





It's cold and grey outside, the trees  flocked with snow, but this day, like every New Year's Day brings a feeling of excitement;  An anticipation something fresh and beautiful lays ahead. It allows us to shed the mistakes and missteps of the past year, and a freedom  to renew the failed resolutions we didn't quite meet in 2012. To strive again to be more generous and kind; to forgive. To lift the spirit of family and friend. To hold a hand, to understand.

How many of us don't long for peace in our families, communities, our nation; our world? With this  first day of the new year, I have hope  peace, and love  can be found.