Day # 334: One more month

# 334

November comes to a close and neither Grace nor I have written a poem today.  I wrote one, but it is really forced, so I am not posting it.   

A collage of all my 365 Day project photos from November.  We left those cinnamon and amber colors and moved into gray and white.  Light is a rare commodity and although the temperatures have not been as cold as normal, they have been cooler.  

Tomorrow I will start my final month of this project..  I am hoping that I will actually finish the text of my book this month, too.  I will focus on pulling together the different threads I have weaved into this blog over the year.  

If anyone wants greeting cards from any of the images in this blog, please leave me a message.  They are $3.75 a piece or 5 for $15.    

I also wanted to thank Grace for participating in my November poem idea.  It was really interesting and helpful to share poems and I enjoyed the collaboration.  

11/30/2010

Day # 333: One third of 1000 days.

# 333

Sculpting A New Life

My baby was lost in 1972

2 weeks before Christmas

Dug deep into myself

               armoured

walked the path

I was lead to believe

was the right path

the right direction

the way towards a grounded

life I was born to live.

I wandered in and out of classrooms

met teachers and students

read books, tried to drink

tried to pass as a young adult

tried to hold onto anyone

who seemed to want to

               hold me

               sing to me

               look up into my eyes.

Tried to move faster

than the growing heart pain.

Searching for acceptance

I moved up to  Vermont

away from

kisses that tangled themselves

around my knowing better

Mysterious love letters

mysterious love making to Neil Young

He and I made love just before I

drove to Vermont early in September.

just before I began to

carve my life to fit my own

               heart's

               curiosity.

carve my life to be the woman

I wanted

to carve my life to embrace

me; the me I wanted to know.

It took more time

to untangle he(s) from me

to let go of the common trap

that if a man loved me

               only me

than I was accepted

worthy of acceptance

               could define me.

Could define me

in another's mirror.

The he(s) kept lining up

               until

               Everything crashed

And I was given you

not to straddle or kiss

but to lay out rawness

to wrestle with me

wrestle with the real me

not to swim in a moonlit pond

not to discover new songs

not to hold me into sunrise

but to find me

travel next to me in that

journey to me.

You were placed in my life

to bring me tools

special hammers

sand paper and chisels

to help me carve

the life of me

Our time to let go has come

If you are no longer by my side,

does that change the carving

I have grown to believe is me?

Have I chiseled you into

               my sculpture

               so your leaving

               breaks a piece of me off?

11/29/2010

Think this was the last pint of ice cream I ever bought myself.  LOL

Day # 332: I love to sing

# 332

Company

These old barren oaks

are the best of company,

as are the footprints

in the sidewalk.

Someone had the same size

shoe as me.

The sunset wishes me 

good evening.

My neighbor's dog 

follows me home.

I guess she doesn't want 

to be alone tonight either.

     c GRACE

Story Corps link.   How to collect family stories and other such stuff.

http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/11/23/this-thanksgiving-sit-down-and-listen-and-record/?smid  =tw-share

Emma and I went to a pub sing today.  It was fun.  I really love all that singing in a community stuff.  There was some research done on how good it is for one's heart.  You can feel it when you are doing it.  There is a great sense of belonging.

11/28/2010

Day # 331: Ducks, Geese, Crow and Blue Jay

#331

 Grace's centerpiece described in yesterday's poem.
photo by Grace

I smell the ocean.  Geese are flying above, not yet towards a Southern destination.  That maybe due to the fact that this is the destination for Canada Geese.  But this is 100 miles from any ocean and I thought the storm trend was going Northeast not southwest?  What ocean are we smelling on this late November morning?

Something is high in the tree branches across on the other side of the river.  Something is swinging.  I would think it was a monkey if it weren't so chilly, but literally it appears as though it is swinging in the branches.

OK, so I am smelling ocean and seeing monkeys.

11/27/2010

5k Mallard Race

Day # 330: Happy Thanksgiving

# 330

One of my Thanksgiving duties

is to make the centerpiece.

As with so many traditions,

I don't remember how

it started.

I always scrounge my materials 

from inside and outside

my parents' house

while the turkey transforms

in the oven.

This year,

I went for cornucopia meets terrarium.

I found a dusty, over-sized glass vase 

in the kitchen,

wiped it out with an old dishrag. 

I filled the bottom with oranges, 

a red apple,

and golden pears.

In the yard, I picked 

bunches of berries,

yellow-green maple leaves,

and the few heads of marigolds 

still hanging on after the frosts.

I placed them methodically

in the vase,

arranging and rearranging

til I felt like each specimen 

found its home 

in this little world.

It was a statement of things

I'm grateful for-

the simple,

the natural,

the beautiful.

For so often,

the best things in life

are waiting 

quietly and patiently

beside us

all the time

     c GRACE

It is Thanksgiving Day.  I just spoke to my brother, Paul, to tell him I was not coming to Thanksgiving.  I don't feel well this morning and I want to be able to actually spend some time with the family instead of rushing in and out and being in the car with arthritis and not feeling well.  I know it disappointed him.  I know that the family has shrunk and is spread out again and we don't come back home on the holidays like we used to when Mom was alive.  But Paul and Molly continue to host a really beautiful and tasty dinner and we get to focus on the fact that we do have each other.  We do have each other; we have multiple generous, smart and kind siblings.  We are lucky.  I am sorry I am not going to Connecticut to do this one annual act; take stock in having family.  But for the first time in 62 years I am feeling as though I need to take stock alone.  I need to truly acknowledge the things I have to be grateful for, me, Lindy.  So that is what I am doing today.

My life has not always been easy, but it has always been interesting and abundant.  My being is abundant.  There have been times when I have not been grateful for the physicality of this but I know now that my abundance is not only reflected by how large I am but by how large my capacity to be present is.

I am grateful for music and the abundance of it in my life.  Music dominated in the first 21 years, but even after that it is amazing to look back and see how much music fills my life.

I am grateful for the abundance of friends.  Friends who have come and gone and who have touched me in so many ways.

In my mind's eye sits one of my favorite photographs.  I do not own a copy of it, but I see it often.  It is of 2 close old friends who I went to college with, their family; brother, mom and dad, and each of their then partners.  One of the partners is my very good friend, Annie; the other I still hear from time to time.  And last, but never least is Tristan, who was four at the time, in my charge, but had gone off with these college friends to visit their parents for the weekend.  The eight of them sit in the living room all with big smiles on their faces, obviously all happy to be together.

 That picture was probably taken in 1975 or 76.  It is a photo of bright, alive people.  Today, 40 years later, their father passed away.  It never occurred to me anyone in that picture could be old enough to die.  They all are framed in this very alive image for me.  They all have passionate lives and do interesting things, even Tristan who at 44 is a Vermont state representative, a warrior for the good.  But their Dad lived a good long life and 40 Thanksgivings have gone by since that photo was taken.  40 births, and 40 deaths and life changes, job changes and the reconvening of priorities.  Time passing is so hard to take in, especially when sorrow is tied to it.  Take care you all, Godspeed. 

Thanksgiving 2010

                                                                                                        11/26/2010

I am grateful for words that sometimes spill out of me like rainfall from a hurricane and other times take such huge effort to softly slip from my tongue,

I am grateful for the thousands of images that adorn my home; the images I have taken and that others have painted, drawn, photographed, printed.  Images made by 1 year olds, 5 year olds, and 35 years olds.  There are tons of beautiful pictures in my home.  I love them.

I am grateful for water, the sea, Puffers, Green River, DAR, and the hundreds of other spots I can meditate next to and swim in. 

  

Day # 329: Thank you

# 329

 Turkey in Ct. 11/25/2010
That was our first Thanksgiving without Mom.  In spite of the fact we were all missing her, the food and kinship was wonderful.  The turkey is always good at Molly's house.

Pumpkin pie is probably my favorite,

but when I looked at mashed potatoes

gravy and turkey lined up on the shelf

 I was hard pressed to decide

which food was actually my favorite.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday

I want a day to appreciate all that I

have been given, count all the blessings.

I want to thank the greater spirits

for the abundance I enjoy.

Day #328: Reasons To Celebrate

# 328

To celebrate 

my thirty and a half birthday,

I treated myself to a gourmet lunch.

I walked the cracked sidewalks

to Sweetbreads

in the quintessential autumn Sun,

breathing the clean, cool air

an extra bounce in my step,

laughing at all the little dogs

acting tough.

I ordered the Croque Monsieur,

or fancy ham 'n cheese

as Rachel calls it.

I ate slowly

deliberately,

savoring each bite

how it was crafted to be,

appreciating taste and texture

aroma and aesthetic,

and was moved 

to close my eyes at times.

And Otis sang over the radio,

"It's been a long, long time coming,

but I know

a change gonna come.

Yes it is."

Yes 

it 

is.

We turned the corner and a fox strolled by.

We turned the corner and something in the breeze

high up in the trees caught our eyes.

An eagle perched himself above.

Again we came around that corner and you said,

"Stop" and photographed that eagle

taking off over the green field.

That corner is our lucky corner.

Filled today with white bales of straw

winters feed for the sheep

We know that corner is abundance

We know of one place where abundance rules.

We know where to go to smile after a fight.

Day # 327: Poetry on a cold night

# 327

Puzzling

My mom and three
of her grandsons
work on a puzzle
of construction trucks
I bought for a quarter
in a thrift store yesterday.
I watch and listen
to the dynamic.

"Here's a wheel piece, Zebby!"
"I think this one goes here, Gramma."
"Try turning it this way, Liam."
"Can I have that one, Niah?"

Fifty-eight year old synapses
fire off with three and two year old synapses.
Worn dirt roads
meet with brand new foot paths,
constructing concepts
of space and reasoning,
of communication
and cooperation,
all around my coffee table.

      c GRACE  11/22/15

 Baby with a Cold

I watched you sleep beside me

in the new morning light,

your tummy rising and falling

beneath red fire-truck pajamas

with each heavy breath.

I stared at your cherub face,

and wondered 

what you were dreaming of

and what your first words

of the day would be.

I wondered what kind of man

you might grow up to ber

and who else might watch you sleep

and think you are beautiful.

Then you awoke

and mumbled,

"Mommy, can I please have a cough drop?"

and I remembered 

that you are still 

my baby with a cold 

who needs his mommy

at least for today.

          c GRACE 11/23/15

Cold air, crisp and clean

wraps itself like strong arms

around my shoulders

Cold air triggers

memories of other nights

sweaters were worn

Cold air, go inside

find velvet warmth to subdue

embrace the winter's edge

11/23/2010

Day # 326: A Touch of Divine

# 326

found an old worry stone
in my winter coat.
It was a polished, black
river rock
smooth to the touch
with a perfect
thumb indentation.

I imagine I really needed it
last winter.
It was a cold one.

I gave it to a friend
who seemed to need it,
possibly not more than me,
but maybe.

For how
in our humane ingenuity
will
we ever
decipher
who needs a worry stone
more than another?

                 c GRACE 11/21/15 (revised)

Red

sometimes I cannot photograph

the red in the sky, the yellow

dominates and the blues wash out

other times

red spreads over all pinks and lavenders

splashing like flames at sea.

There’s been some heavy shit going down, as we used to say.  In fact, these last few weeks the air feels thick with grief and rage, sorrow and vitriol.   People are angry and frightened, even here in my small Western MA town where we are really safe, really, we are comparatively safe unless some person who has chosen the dark decides to pick us as an example of smug small town America on which to unleash mayhem.  Even here we are asking in anger, frustration, slapping back at anyone we can.  When I thought about writing a post today, I could barely make myself sit down at my desk.

I wanted to weep, just sit in a chair and let the tears slide down my face.   I felt overwhelmed by the anguish that is swirling around the planet.  I thought: ‘I just want to write about something happy.  I’m tired of the deep and meaningful, tired of trying to stay strong, to hold the center of my small corner of the world.  I know there’s beauty out there, but I just can’tsee it.’

I was longing for, trying to choose, dammit, I wanted the comfort that is there for me when I can touch the Divine, and it was like trying to find a string in a fog, a wisp of light just glittering there for me and I couldn’t see it.

And then I looked out my window.  I looked out of the window by my desk and I saw one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve ever seen.  It was like God had poured molten metal all over the sky.  It was shining, golden and deep rose and royal blue.  It had cloud texture unimaginable.  It just exploded across the horizon.  I could keep writing like this for hours and never find the words to fully explain the wonder, the glory of it all.  It was amazing, all the hyperbole you can think of, every shining color ever, light and contrast, and I felt myself just soaring into it.  Hope.  I saw hope.

By Karen Adams in MindBodyJoy

http://mindbodyjoy.com/

Day # 325: Happy Birthday, Emma Jean!

# 325

 I found an old worry stone

in my winter coat.

I gave it to a friend

who seemed to need it,

possibly not more than me,

but maybe.

For how 

in our humane ingenuity 

will 

we ever 

decipher

who needs a worry stone

more?

             c GRACE 11/20/2015

Best friends on birthdays

don't need translation, don't need

anything but their love.

For many years Emma and I have gone and bought her a new party dress or outfit on her birthday.  Sometimes we got our nails done or she got her haircut a couple of times.  It's always a fun time for us.  Then we meet some friends who are family and family for dinner at China Gourmet.  Today was no exception.  It was a great day.  Happy 15th!

11/21/2010

Day # 324: Moon Haiku

# 324

half moon sets slowly

bright, open, crisp expansive sky

I am still quite small

what was PTSD

appeared to be a personal

Pandora's Box with the 

potential of rolling me over flat

it's burden too mystical

too heavy

confusing

felt like the waves

got taller and taller

the back pull, the water

dragging back out to sea

got stronger and stronger

with no way to talk about it

nothing to grab on to

no way to save myself from drowning.

Day #323: My Big Brother's Birthday

# 323

Here is a writing prompt from ALLPOETRY fb page: What was the first poem you recall reading (or writing!)

I don't remember, but I do remember the first collection of my own poems that I put in a black file folder and my Dad edited it.  He bought me my first typewriter so I would write more when I was probably 12, but later on, when I put this collection together, he bought me an electric typewriter which went to college with me. It was a blue Smith Corona.  I actually think I typed my Masters thesis on that typewriter.  My doctorate was written on an Apple IIc.   I think I still have that collection of poems in a box upstairs.  It may even still have some of his editing on it.  

What was your's?

It is brother Paul's birthday today.  He is 66. I will get to see him next week, but I still wish I could blink myself down south and wish him a happy birthday in person.

11/19/2010

I don't think this plant has bloomed much since this picture was taken 5 years ago.  It loses its leaves in the winter and the grows bushy and green in the summer.  It may establish one bloom and then it lets go of all its leaves again.  AHHH Hibiscus, am I doing something wrong?

Tomorrow Grace and I will post poems once again, and once again I would like to encourage you to join us.  There is something helpful about intentionally writing a poem per day.  Try it.