4/10/23

Saving The Only Life I Could Save


 I love that there is a national focus on poetry each year in April. I love teaching students to read, apppreciate, and write poetry, I love immersing myself in the beauty of  poetry, and I love to remember the poetry my mother read me before I went to sleep at night. In celebrating poetry this month, this is one of my favorites. Why? In the last few years I have saved the only life I could save.

The Journey

by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver, from Dream Work

As I celebrate National Poetry Month for the next four weeks, what are some of your favorite poems?

8/16/22

Remembering Mom: The Land of Counterpane

 


I first wrote this piece to honor my mom in 2007. I shared it again at Mom's Celebration of Life in the fall of 2017. My mom died five years ago today. A lot has happened in my life since 2017. There are so many times I sit alone and wish Mom was still with us. She would tell me what to do about the bugs eating my flower stems. She would calm me before I go visit the tax guy today. She would also remember the questions we couldn't answer at Family Dinner because she wasn't there.

The Land of Counterpane

 Mom was there to comfort me numerous times during illness or injury. When I got a bloody nose rolling in the garbage can, she was there to help wipe up the blood. Before my surgery she sat there talking to me as if everything was normal and we did this once a week. When I cut my arm she used her “for guests only” white towels with the pink tulips to wrap my bleeding gash. When I had the bike wreck by the little park she put ice on my eye and put salve on my road rash.


I have a strong memory of being sick at 14 E. Portland in Kellogg. I was about five years old. Mom stayed home from teaching that day. For part of that year Dad was home babysitting me because Bunker Hill was on strike. I still remember feeling special having Mom all to myself for the day. I got to lie in Mom and Dad’s “big bed”. Mom arranged pillows behind my head to help me sit up. She had to give me a yellow liquid medicine that tasted awful, but was there with a glass of water. I spit some of the medicine back in the glass with the water. I think I was concerned about doing something wrong. Mom comforted me and went on as if nothing happened. I also have a memory of Mom reading A Child’s Garden of Verses . “The Land of Counterpane” and Stevenson’s words are still etched in my memory.
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
Actually that day the toys were oranges, scotch tape and a box of Kleenex. I must have become restless as the afternoon wore on. Mom allowed me to wrap the oranges like little gifts with Kleenex and scotch tape. I thought it was a marvelous way to spend an afternoon in bed. I think I even gave Dad a gift of wrapped oranges when he got home from work.

Looking back on my sick day I remember the softness of the pillows and bedspread in that big bed. I also remember the warm light from a lamp glowing on my tissue paper gifts. The most important part of that day was the gift of time spent with my mom. Touching my forehead with her cool hand helped erase my fears. Listening to her voice recite the words of “The Swing” and “The Land of Counterpane” as she sat by the bed made me feel better. Holding the little blue book of poems and recited poems she seemed to help take me to another time, a sunnier day.

That was an early experience with comfort. Mom provided a safe haven in that Land of Counterpane. I didn’t understand it as a young child. My life continued to be peppered
 with numerous illnesses, heartbreaks, and injuries. In different ways Mom has always provided that comfort and safe haven for me. I understand its significance now.

I miss you Mom.


6/28/22

A Sign of Hope


When I retired I moved back to my hometown and moved in the house next door to my mother. As I began building and designing gardens, she continued to tend her established gardens encircling her backyard.

My mom died in 2017 and my brother also moved back home into her house, our childhood home. I wanted to honor Mom in some way in my backyard. My husband came up with the idea of a memory garden. In the spring of 2018 my sister and I both chose plants from Mom's gardens and planted them in our respective gardens.

One favorite flower I moved was one of her peony plants. I have waited four years for it to bloom. In a time when the world has turned completely upside down, it bloomed. My heart was filled with hope as I cut that bloom yesterday and put it in a vase.






6/6/22

The House of Belonging

 Every Sunday I look forward to reading Maria Shriver's Sunday Paper. The purpose of this online newsletter is to " inspire hearts and minds, move humanity forward, live your wildly authentic life." Each week she writes an essay "I've Been Thinking" , which has been difficult for her in recent weeks because of all the heartbreaking events in our world. 

The newsletter also has interviews, book recommendations, recipes, and articles of interest. She always ends her newsletter with a poem. One poem she posted yesterday really resonated with me.



I love the last two lines. " There is no house like the house of belonging." I live in a house of belonging. I ask friends and family to come visit, I host dinners here, and I have surrounded myself with all the things I love. It is a small house, but it suits me just fine, It is my place of adult aloneness. 


I live with a dog and a cat.  I spend a lot of time alone and I find peace in the aloneness. Friends and family are close when I want companionship. I do miss my husband every day. I am blessed that he taught my how to embrace a well-lived life.


This is my house of belonging. I have worked diligently the last seven years to create a house that is surrounded inside and out with all the things I love in life. I definitely belong here.

You can find The Sunday Paper here.





6/1/22

Weeds Are Flowers Too!

 



I love this quote by A.A. Milne. It is late spring, we have had many rainy days, and the weeds are flourishing. It is certainly their season to shine.


Today I felt like I needed to get to know a whole bunch of weeds. I wish each and every one of those weeds was a flower. Weeding is just a part of the process of gardening. I try to break up weeding into smaller tasks as not to get overwhelmed. Today it worked.


When I weed I bring my favorite tools. I also have my water, iced coffee, and music. Today I had two dogs assisting. Riley is always with me, but today we were joined by his cousin Cleo. 


The weather was perfect. The weeds were plentiful. I discovered a bunch of new muscles. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I finished my first little section. Who could ask for more?



5/30/22

The Rain: A Silver Lining

"Rain, rain, go away
Come again some other day
We want to go outside and play
Come again some other day".

Yes, it continues to rain at 514. Today I am focusing on the silver linings rain has provided in my gardens.  There is much to appreciate around my place because of the rain.



We got to enjoy a double rainbow.


The tulips are lasting longer.


The columbine's color is more vivid.

The lily garden is exploding.


Bouquets are lasting longer.


The lilacs are also lasting longer. 

 “Colors shone with exceptional clarity in the rain. The ground was a deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, the people wrapped in yellow looking like special spirits that were allowed to wander over the earth on rainy mornings only.” – Haruki Murakami