Wanna join me?
we tread this earth, green and brown
finite years of life’s countdown
crawl, walk, run, and play
skip, hop, swoon, and sway
egg to fetus; baby to child
adolescence, puberty, teens gone wild
twenties, thirties, forties, and more
the time clock ticks and keeps the score
we laugh and cry in joy and sorrow
always thinking there is tomorrow
killing, dying, violence, abuse
intolerance, slander, what’s the use?
our finite time we waste with hate
malice, gossip, lies that bait
i am right; you are wrong
you don’t matter; move along
look to the right, look to the left
pick a side or better yet
just put on the blinders; through that tunnel gaze
where peripheral’s just a word in books these days
open wide; be sure to swallow
what’s left un-sown from minds gone fallow
what’s wrong with us?? we’re going back
to when right was white and wrong was black
to fists and rocks and shoot to kill
our ‘sticks & stones’ now break things at will
when did debate become the place
to harass, harangue, inflame the base?
so trump’s a troll and cruz a liar?
clinton, sanders; fantasy cryers?
no proof – just say it -the same thing, right?
who cares for truth, it’s about the fight
well I am sorry for my nation
we’ll reap what we’re sow, this fear, our creation
we live in a country where anything goes
our music and tv; our poetry and prose
clothing, vehicles, make up, and hair
tattoos and nose rings everywhere
why not the same for politics and life choices?
why now are fear and hate the loud voices?
not just of the people; too those that govern
bottom to top, we act like a coven
of witches and bitches and wizards and dicks
if you believe it, we’re screwed, no matter the pick
I’m not naive – nothing I do matters
I’ll be just as covered as you with blood spatters
but for me, it’s the end of all this hate speech
I have my opinions and they’re not there to preach
you do what you want to or have to, for sure
but stop at MY threshold and knock on my door
if I let you in, then I’m saying I’ll listen
I may not agree, but a friend you’ll be christened
up and until or IF you decide
that I need a lesson in choosing sides
do you remember that threshold you crossed?
then just head back that way…you’re outta here ol’ hoss!
Karate Kid Anyone?
Peter Piper Pix…
Apologies to my FB friends as you’ve already seen these…but I thought my WP friends would enjoy a bit of a beach break too!
Peter Piper Patrols
Home is where you learn to walk
Like riding a bike…once you learn how…you don’t forget.
Choose not to, sure. But you don’t forget.
When I was a girl I used to walk everywhere. I would stomp with purpose in my Wonder Bread bag covered shoes to school in the winters, hoping to get the bags off and stowed before the LL Bean boot-wearing kids could see them.
I’d march, like a good little soldier, the kiddie version of a 50 yard mile to church on Sunday, fiddling with the all too popular, bang-holding, enormous, white, clip-on bow my mother insisted I wear. One that made my hair sit pregnant and waiting to pop its clip from atop my head, and in doing so, birthing my bangs back onto my forehead where they belonged! The post clip-on years saw my 9 to 14 year old self, stomp the yard the longest 1/4 mile known to adolescents…especially on Catechism Saturdays, where God’s own wicked witch of the north ruled with an iron fist!
The better walking days were when I was old enough to sashay and glide; take my time meandering and strolling, to the place where all good things happen. Overstreet. Which, for those who don’t know, is our far north yank-speak for Downtown. I could spend my fifty cent allowance buying nickle candy at the Economy Store, making sure to save the quarter I needed for the Sat’dy matinee a couple doors down at the Savoy. And often times, I’d even have enough to stop at The Candy Kitchen for a creamie on the way home, if that’s what the gang wanted to do.
In the pre-bicycle summers, walking to the pool was the equivalent my now-self walking 5 miles on the huff and puff scale. I’ve actually checked since then and know now it was just a hair shy of a mile…but it was the last half that was a killer. Or so it seemed at the time. And looking back…having a bike didn’t improve that hill any…not one lick! I don’t think I managed to stay ON the bike the whole way up but once, and only then because I rode that hill like it was a Donkey Kong trail, without the ladders! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It was easier to push it (or leave it home). Besides, kids pushing bicycles up that hill was just the way of it…until the 10-speed arrived. YeeHaw…what an invention. Not that I ever had one, but boy could those kids ride that hill like it was nothing!
Our’s was a small town; a good, walking town for a kid when you come right down to it. Nestled in a little valley surrounded by the Green Mountains; a college town without acting like a college town because we didn’t really sport the kinds of places college kids like to hang. And those we did have, the cadets managed to get thrown out of more often than not, so it was really just us town folk most of the time.
I loved walking that town, and I know it’s from walking that town that I feel so drawn to the beauty in everyday things that I often take pictures of. Imagine walking down the street where you live, and everywhere you look, there’s a mountain, or a brook, or a river. Walk to the end of that street and you can chose to go straight over the footbridge, crossing the river towards downtown and what adventures lie there. Or left over the tracks towards one of your schools or a shortcut to your friend’s house, the side street tree lined and leaf covered. Or better yet, turn right and walk to where the pavement ends and the dirt begins. Fields full of wild flowers and cows; promises of swimming holes and tire swings, and mountains as far as the eye can see.
All the time looking up. All the time thinking…I want to live in those mountains. I want to hear the brooks run and the smell the spring mud; feel the snow tickle as it falls on my face, and crunch under my feet for as long as I live.
I no longer live in that town.
But that town lives in me. I take it with me everywhere, as I take all those things I fell in love with there too.
It’s the peace I reach for when I can find none where I am.
No matter where I hang my hat, my heart remains there…in my little town. Where walking the streets is not a profession…it’s a path to connection. To God, to community, to nature, but most importantly, to oneself.
When I need it, I put on my boots and hit the road and remember. I remember to keep my ears open, my eyes wide, and my mind quiet. I remember to be thankful for some of the absolute best memories of my life…and more so, to be thankful for giving me the mountains my mind ran away to; where I’d sit under a glorious burnt orange tree while it bathed in the red-gold light of a late fall sun…for the absolute worst of my life.
The little town where I learned to walk; to never take for granted the beauty in the simple things; to accept with gratitude, the gifts it gave me every day; and learned too, the true understanding of what it is…the power…to have a place to call home.
(photo by Carol of Carol’s View of New England on blogspot)
Mother and Child Reunion…
You hope and pray you’ll do it well – But only God and time will tell
their first breath – that moment when
your life begins all over again
completely blind and ignorant of
what lay in store – except the love
such love not imagined – all encompassing
one day you’re you – now they’re the thing
that wakes you, feeds you, and fills your dreams
the good ones, great ones – in others you scream
you give them all you have to give
and though you know better – for them you live
the minutes to hours to days just fly
they coo and giggle and laugh and cry
the months and years show on your face
“please don’t go” – now – “give me my space”
you gently fade from their day to day
you open the door – you show the way
for them to taste and see anew
the world once filtered – made safe by you
you know it’s time – they feel it too
to let go of the strings – the both of you
and as they pushed and pulled away
your heart wished, once, for yesterday
when you helped them climb – watched them fall
saw them rise and push through it all
you’d let their lives envelope yours
you were the keeper – you kept the scores
of their battles won – challenges met
their struggles to come – those not met yet
you know it’s perspective and balance you need
to nourish the tree – not just the seed
you understand and search for the middle
the line that answers motherhood’s riddle
but the balance you missed – was in not knowing
it was your duty too – to keep on growing
into the woman – not just the mother
you could be both – not one or t’other
you were just a girl when they came to be
but womanhood stalled for the mother, you see
the trusses you built from that balance not found
kept the woman at bay – shadow bound
so focused were you on their little lives
you forgot to sing – to keep alive
that woman in you you’d set aside
so mother shined while the woman tried
to remake the bed already laid
the woman you could be – the mother you made
in the wings she’ll stay – that much is clear
the woman’s hidden for the mother’s fear
that this bed of weeks – without a word
is that woman’s fault – their wants unheard
but it’s mother who pays this price so daunting
you’ve been weighed and measured – and found wanting
now silent tears drop to mommy’s breast
’cause good’s not enough – your best not best
your youth – a down payment – not the sum
and that number will rise for years to come
the life you gave matters not on the whole
now’s what’s important – their happiness you stole
by not staying that mother to them and to theirs
trying to figure it out – but no one cares
You’ve seen women do it – be both – not just one
that mom of the year – and – that woman so fun
but you are found wanting – and that must be the truth
for you allowed her to die – that woman of your youth
in favor of the mother you thought you should be
now the mom-ster you created shall not be free
to live the life that you once placed on hold
so that others could flourish – in happiness you molded
so – woman repent – to the shadows you go
and the mother you are must pay penance to show
that as long as you live – as long as you breathe
your life is for them – it’s what they believe
You hoped and prayed you did it well – but only God and time will tell
On this, the one year anniversary of the loss of my father, my Superman, I cannot help but reflect on the relationships I have and have had, in my life.
As humans, we embody the word dichotomy in so many ways….but the number one in my book is…we are as simple as we are complicated.
We all begin the same way…simply…we are born. Yet the simplicity ends there and the complications begin.
Our relationships. Simple yet complicated.
We love simply, yet that same love, complicates everything.
This post: A simple plea for an end to the silence…and a look at the complicated life of a woman as mother and mother as woman, and where you go from here…
If you don’t know…you’re in good company, for I don’t either.
To be a mother is a lifelong commitment, of this I have no doubt. But at what point can the woman come out from behind the curtain with the expectation that the child will see her, know her, for the woman she could be underneath the mother she is?
At what point in her life of being daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother…can a woman who mistakenly set herself aside, reasonably expect to fix that mistake of self-denial, with their blessing instead of their resentment for putting herself first?
My guess would be…not today.
At what point in a child’s life did they forget all she did…so as to remind her of what she’s not doing now?
My guess would be…today
So…it is time to say what I want to say and hope it’s heard and felt:
They say there is a reason
They say that time will heal
But neither time nor reason
Will change the way I feel
For no one knows the heartache
That lies behind my smiles
No one knows how many times
I’ve broken down and cried
I want to tell you something
So there won’t be any doubt
You’re so wonderful to think of
But so hard to be without
No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away…
(header photo credit:galleryhip.com)
More or Less is More of Less…only MoreSo
Civilization at the end of 2015
• Our Phones – Wireless
• Cooking – Fireless
• Cars – Keyless
• Food – Fatless
• Tires –Tubeless
• Dress – Sleeveless
• Youth – Jobless
• Leaders – Shameless
• Relationships – Meaningless
• Attitudes – Careless
• Babies – Fatherless
• Feelings – Heartless
• Education – Valueless
• Children – Mannerless
• Country – Godless
We are – SPEECHLESS
Government is – CLUELESS
And our Politicians are – WORTHLESS
I am scared – Shitless!
Ain’t it just – PRICELESS?
I’ll go out on a limb here and say for most of us, being a parent is, quite literally, the hardest job we’ve ever had or ever will. And, at the same time, it’s the richest, most fulfilling, most rewarding contribution to our own lives and always will be.
One of the most surprising aspects of parenthood’s lifelong journey is finding out that one split second is all it takes for you to come to know the best and worst of being a parent…the span of that second is the distance between loving another being so much it hurts, to wishing you’d gotten a dog instead! True dat 🙂
But in looking at this most difficult / most rewarding dichotomy, it’s not so hard to understand when you consider first, our tendency to place the highest value on that which was hardest won, and second, our amazing capacity for forgiveness (as parents at least).
But what is it that takes parents to the depths of the difficult to the heights of reward when it comes to loving our children? How do we survive the splintering of our brains in a thousand directions trying to figure them out, yet tarnishes the love in our hearts never?
I don’t question the reward; I think it’s obvious. I do, however, ponder the difficult. Is it because we love too much? Is it that even possible?
I don’t believe so…
However, could it be that we love too much for too long? Is that it? Does parental love need to be doled out in stages or degrees? Or fit into categories in order to not overload these little overlords once they come into their own?
So what (you ask) are these stages/degrees/categories you ask?
I’m a little cuss who can’t (and don’t want to) function without you so love me, love me more, love me most!
I’m a teenager so love me lots, and with patience, but for God’s sake, don’t let my friends see it!
I’m a young adult now so love me from a distance, but not too far ’cause I may need the car!
I’ve met someone and we’re going to get married. Can ya help, can ya pay, can we have it there? (ps Mom and Dad…you’re gonna love him/her!)
I’m going to have a baby so love me, love me most, and love me now ’cause we’re going to need babysitters! (ps Mom and Dad…you’re gonna love it!)
Mom? Dad? I’ve never felt this way before…I love this kid so much my heart hurts!
(ps honey…we know!)
And so on…..
The short answer to the too much / too long question is…yes, okay, maybe, a little bit. But we parents come to this conclusion naturally I think. We instinctively know (or learn soon enough if our instincts are not as honed as they will be), which stage or category we’re dealing with or which degree of parental love to douse them with, simply by living it. Organic knowledge. We just have to choose to go with it.
Does that stop us from loving the same soul-deep way we did when they were newborn?
No. Perhaps it does in theirs though. For a time.
I know that they love us the same way we do them…in the beginning. Outside of themselves, we are their world. Their universe. Their moon and their stars, and they are ours.
Parents and kids grow up together. That’s a given. No matter if you’re 18 or 45 when you have your children, you have to grow up with them to be able to give and receive all that these little selves need, and later, need to share.
We may grow up more with our first. Then again, it may just be that we grow up differently with the next one or two or three.
But…if we’ve played our hands well, we are love. All of it. Every stage, every degree, every category is of the love, by the love, for the love. And they are right there with us.
Completely (in the beginning)
Mostly (in the middle)
Until (still in the middle but getting further towards the…the…well shit…not the end, but you know what I mean right?)
Until…they find out there are more people to love and to be loved by; more stars to shine the light of love on their heads and in their hearts; more room in their world for other loves.
As it has always been. As it was with our own parents to be sure. Just another way of experiencing the circle of life.
Our children are loved as only a child can be loved and they in turn, love as only a child can love. The universe is secure.
As time goes on, they thrive and grow in that forever, universe-spanning, parental love and love them right back. But as they continue to grow, they s l o w l y recognize that their world is expanding to include the many, many different kinds of love; each addition a glimmering star to their universe thus far.
But their recognition is as single-minded as their love for us was in the beginning. When they venture out from underneath the love-cloaked expanse of their parental universe, they don’t at once realize that their hearts are big enough to add new loves without setting aside old ones.
Our time will come again (usually around the time the grand-kids show up!), but as parents, it’s only natural that we do feel the initial loss of that connection when our love is no longer the moon and the stars in our child’s heart.
Facing this fact head-on is hard, but absolutely necessary.
For our own well-being as well as theirs.
If we don’t, we run the risk of pushing them further out into the expanse by clinging too close, depending too much on their always being there, pining away for their childhood days when they aren’t there, regretting what we didn’t do, or forgetting what we did. Even romanticizing the harder times and not counting our blessings.
We all can probably think of a parent in our experience who has done, or does, this. Think back to the last time you witnessed a parent who cannot let go and re-live what you felt. It’s a very uncomfortable feeling.
I’m certainly not completely innocent of it still. I sometimes catch myself feeling guilty for not being ‘that mother’. The one who always can, always will, never says no, never says can’t. Who wouldn’t want to be considered ‘the perfect mom’? But that’s not perfection. It’s limiting to both your life and those of your children.
However, even knowing I am not (and never could be) that mother…(nor is their Dad ‘that guy’) it nevertheless hurts (and in the dark of night, makes me wonder if they’ll still love me enough to ask again- I know, just silly ) to know that we are the ones disappointing our children.
But we get over it because we know we are good parents who have raised good people. We all deal with disappointments in our relationships. We have difficult conversations followed by deafening silences. But we’ve loved each other long enough and well enough to know what’s really important.
So there is hope. Once we’ve matured enough in our parenthood to realize this fact of life, we can recapture that sense of oneness, specialness, absolute love not felt anywhere but in your parents’ heart of hearts. It is, after all, our hearts that need to make preparations for the day when our children learn there is a love flow-chart. This will fluctuate during their life spans, but it will always show a solid heart-red line for us. Mom and Dad. Steady as she goes. What more could we hope for?
And an added benefit to this stage of parental maturity is…we can (and hopefully do) look back at our own parents with a new appreciation for all they’ve done, all they’ve been through, and all we’ve learned from them without even knowing it. Score!
Cheers and happy parenting (and I mean that!)
Dedicated to my Mother and Father and to my Sons
I’m proud to be one of your stars
Is there a Q in Creation?
And Happy New Year!
It’s been almost 3 months since I last laid fingers on this spot and quite frankly, I’m stumped as to why. It’s not as though nothing has been going on in my life; not like I couldn’t have found something to regale you with. But I didn’t, so there it is. What to do, what to do?
It’s me and not what’s going on in my life, that is the…
queller of quills that once quivered in quickness as they quilted quality quarters in the quest of her quair; chock-full of the queenly and quintessentially queer, the quacky and quaggy and quixotically quaint.
It is me and me alone who can say…
quiescence remains in this quaffer’s quaich. What’s quashing that quorum of quarrels, quibs, and quips that querimoniously queue up in the quar of my gray- matter quag; quit of its quant?
As it is also me, the once…
quartermaster, now turned querulous quester, who is lost in quassation. A quat, a quidam, a word-quean, bereft of her quean-dom; whose quiritation quickens toward quotidian.
Hence the exercise in the little used and under appreciated
A little warm up to get the juices flowing.
For if this does not work…
I’m off to the Zees
Is there a Z word for HELLA-NO?
[I looked it up]
Z I P
Wish me luck 🙂
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