Poetry in Sonoita

Divided

2012-03-12T15:28:00.000-07:00

two rivers converge --
one unhurried, serene,
focused on the steady course,
pliant, content to flow dreamlike,
a languid, idle stream.

the other careens over obstacles

frantic with angry curl, frothing white,
licks across rocks and tree limbs,
accelerating with each bend, each change
in direction manic, here, there, where

do I go for peace? the shallows tempt

but will not let me stay where I may stand
with ease; I am the keeper of the current,
the holder of the memories lost in watery
shadows, ephemeral but etched forever

on my heart where he would not think

to look; I turn to a distant downstream
where one bank is in shadow, one in sun,
and open my hand just below the surface
of the water to surrender my grasp.

NC

Facing Truth

2012-02-16T14:13:00.000-08:00

This dark night is winter chilled, smoke-scented air rising
from fires where families and lovers warm themselves,
assured of their immunity to ruin, hope the tirelessundercurrent.

This dark night I bind myself to memory of the time before,
when pain and grief fit within my palm, and songs of sorrow
lay unsuspecting on my lips, light as a whisper of silk.

Here, where no shadows fall, I thrust my hands into the nightspace
and reach for a thread of grace, something like a prayer,
without betrayal or abandonment, just to feel the groundsolid

and undeniable, breaking my fall in a gentle descent intotruth

where I face the weight of my solitude, and the audacity tobe
alone with fear, to know where and where not to put my trust.

Running Away From Home

2012-01-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

Call me crazy, but this week I am going to leave the persistently sunny, 70 degree southern Arizona winter to go where winter got its name! When last I checked, there are no mid-west blizzards expected in Chicago at this time, but in the few hours of flight time the temperature will descend about 50 degrees. Why would I risk leaving warmth and well-being behind? Oh, for so many reasons. Here are two of them: Claire and Jonah, son Scott's beautiful twins are now 14 months old, and I haven't seen them since they were red and wrinkled newborns!

Scott is a stay-at-home Dad who cares for them during the day while his beautiful wife, JoAnn, goes to her job. It is a plan that they have made work beautifully. Scott keeps me up-to-date on Facebook, as some of my faithful readers know, with photos and videos that are so vital to my mental health! I will only be there for five days, way too short from my perspective, but decidedly better than nothing.

Tom's sister, another Nancy, will be coming to stay with him while I'm gone. He's a little anxious about the change in his routine, bringing me many questions each day. But I know they will get along fine, so I am working on my own anxiety level! I am reflecting on the positive benefits for Tom to spend time with his sister, and for her to see the reality of who he is now. That is important.

Anyone who has ever had the sole care of a spouse or parent (or child, for that matter) knows the extraordinary level of emotion and conflicted feelings that go with the territory. As much as I adore this man and grieve for the losses we have experienced, I know that a brief separation from time to time will only serve to enhance the level of care I provide him. My days increasingly include trying to find ways to give him a higher quality of life, and frustration at the few ways there are left to us. I am, for him, the answer to everything he needs or wants. That's a lot of expectation to live with. So I will joyfully 'run away from home' for a few days and come back filled with tender and happy memories of playing Grandma to the hilt! I hope to inhale those babies and fill my lungs and heart with their smiles and giggles. What could be more therapeutic?

A Winter Mood

2012-01-16T07:59:00.000-08:00

It is a gray winter morning and my heart feels heavy as the clouds outside the window. Those of you who know us well know that Tom is slipping ever farther away from us. Though we have been fortunate in the pace of his disease, nearly six years after his diagnosis, the tempo is quickening and I can see where we are headed. I write to try to capture the essence of what it means to walk this journey. I write to survive.

Kaleidoscope

I wear a gown woven of rose gold and sapphire,
braided of threads stolen from the last rays of sunset
and the azure veil of dawn, a tapestry of open space.
You wear a gray mantel of gauze, an uninhabited landscape
my hand passes through as though it were the wind.
For you I turn the wheel and let the broken pieces of amber
and jade fall around us in our silent dome of glass.

I inscribe the story of our life around my garment’s hem,
the brocade skirt tattooed in chalk, seen in the violet sweep
of waning light, as if the plain fact of us were obvious
and could be read from a distance; our private language
deciphered, written in shades of emerald and pearl.
The pattern forms our missing memories, paints a tableau
as intricate as a geode, a frozen oasis of love and loss.

My eyes resist the vision, fearing you will vanish just as Itry
to embroider you upon my blouse, to fold you into the linen
of my skin but all that you were is now a moonbeam on thesea,
a rippled pale reflection, the tide repeating its rise andfall,
washing ashore sea glass and gems that have been herebefore.
They vow that everything returns, transforms even as theplanet
turns to the sunrise and casts its bronze glow on mydoorstep.

Hello, New Year! Please be kind to us all!

2011-12-30T15:54:00.000-08:00

So here we areagain. Another year has passed and another lies ahead. In between, I suspectwe've all had our share of good times and not so good. I hope for all of youthat there has been more good than bad. I also hope you have had abundant timeto be with those who are dearest to you, whether family or friends. We had anenjoyable visit with my children, grands and greats in California with the fun of eating anddrinking too much, and laughing a lot. (You cannot do that too much!)

We also got tospend an afternoon with long-time friends, Dave and Glenda. As a couple, thereis no one we have known longer and we love them dearly. We attended their 25thwedding anniversary party and their 50th, and that is very special. When we seethem, all too seldom these days, I always think that Tom is more his old self,which is wonderful to watch. Dave still cracks him up as he always has and theytalk about the 'good old days' as though they were both going back to work onMonday! Because they have not spent a lot of time with Tom since hisAlzheimer's was diagnosed, they remember him almost as he was before, and thatis a lovely thing. No matter what is going on in our lives, they have beenfriends we shared with, laughed and cried with and always look forward to seeingagain as soon as possible. Trips we took with them are some of our mostprecious memories. If you are lucky enough to have friends like that, you areblessed indeed.

When you sing"Auld Lang Syne" tomorrow night (and wonder what the heck that meansanyway) I hope you sing it with good friends and that you look forward to thenewness of discovery, learning and growing in the coming year. Health andhappiness, my friends.

Here's a poemfrom "Dance on a Dirt Road."

Endings

Like theslithery transition between

sleep andwaking, a year begins to slip
into history,taking with it those unpredictable
moments wheneverything was possible.

Endings bringsadness, finality, no more

chances to shapeevents, pull from
the distractionsin my head the jagged
start-stop ofbest intentions.

Leaves fall frommy tree of hope,
gather on theground dampness, slowly
decaying intonew life, but forever lost
to my mania forfixing what went wrong

with this year’splan – going for the dreams
and passionsthat I always knew would not
surviveloneliness or bring me comfort. I see them
dangling at mywindow, and once again

I believe inbeginnings.

Tidings

2011-12-16T15:57:00.000-08:00

If only it were as easy as that, to deck the hearth andmantle,

drape the archways with boughs of fragrant evergreen

and set the angels holding candles by the door.

I sleep with carols skimming my dreams, a speck

of glitter in my hair, a wisp of powdered sugar on my cheek.

If it is possible to will the glory into existence, I will

put my foot upon the threshold and drag this tableau

into tireless repetition – to celebrate in spite ofeverything.

For whom is the cedar wreath ribboned in silver? For whom

the bowls of ripe and shining fruit? I see the childhood

visions in my mind, and still I sing the midnight songalone.

It was simpler when there were no choices but tradition,

when one could copy from a picture in a book, a psalm,

a prophecy that seemed so true, a day for children to curl

into the warmth of indulgence. Here love is the motivation

for cherubim and magi, a star my hope, my nativity.

Driving Home on a Winter Night

2011-12-10T07:36:00.001-08:00

I’ve spent too long in the city,
weary of traffic and too much
of everything.

As I turn for home in the fading light

a cold mist whispers into the air,
descending like the dust of diamonds.

I thread through big rigs and pick-ups,
as the radio plays Barber’s Adagio,
steadying, calming, breathing.

I settle in for the hour’s drive.
Rain now lacquers the road, the dark
pierced by light sabers pointing the way.

The rhythm of the wipers dulls my attention

and I change the radio to an oldies station
I can sing to, memories filling the car.

On the rutted dirt road at last, my path home
draws me forward, where I live and belong
to feed on quiet, to feast on solitude.

A Poem and a Bit of Small-Town Whimsy

2011-12-04T09:37:00.001-08:00

Winter is definitely upon us. This morning, when the deep fog bank lifted, I saw that the snow is creeping ever lower down the mountain (we call it our mountain) and snow is in our forecast. This is a wonderful time of year for those of us in southern Arizona as we actually get to experience a change of seasons, though in a mild and wholly agreeable way. I don't long for deep snowdrifts or extended periods of sub-zero temps. I do dearly love the dusting of 3-4 inches of snow that coats the morning landscape and is gone by lunchtime. Yes, these Arizona winters are brutal, aren't they?

I wanted to share with you a short video that was made the day after Thanksgiving in Patagonia, AZ. I belong to the area's premier community chorus, Santa Cruz Singers, led by the talented Christina Wilhelm, and this year we decided to attract some attention to ourselves in the hope of encouraging more closet singers to come out and join us. I even got Tom to join us, though he protested some. Still he joined in and persisted even when a little bit lost in the music. For a guy with memory issues, who has never sung in a group before, he was impressive! Hope you will enjoy this clip.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1paU4XS4efc

Now for a short poem, to honor my beautiful sycamore tree, that let go of the last of her leaves in the wind that raced through a few days ago. I think she is still beautiful, though barren,

Cycle

having let go
her brittle autumn glitter
the sycamore shivers
in a winter dress
white bones bleak
as a ribcage
waiting in the void
for the turned-in earth
to waken and dress itself
once more

Greetings from Technology Hell!

2011-11-30T14:26:00.001-08:00

During their Thanksgiving visit, my daughter and her husband (both of them technology wizards) convinced me that I simply could not go on without an I-Phone. To the best of my knowledge, neither of them gets a kickback from Apple, but I trust their advice explicitly. So, yesterday, off I went to the Tucson Apple Store for an appointment at the Genius Bar...which might cause one to think that Apple has a monumental ego -- and why shouldn't they? (In the extreme mob scene, I was the only one with a Dell Laptop!) But I digress.

Some 2 hours later, the problem I have had with my I-Tunes account was too much for the genius and I was told I had to call APPLE! The "system" even disputed my birthday! The first half of the day was spent on the phone ("There are nine calls ahead of you...") and finally got to speak to a specialist, who just re-directed me back to emailing yet another specialist who will be able to fix the problem when he/she emails me within 24 hours. As you might imagine, I am beginning to suspect that the problem is unfixable.

You might also infer that I am angry with Apple or disillusioned with their products. Not at all. I am already falling in love with my phone and downloading tons of free apps. I can't buy any apps until my account mess is straightened out. But the capabilities of this phone are mind boggling. I'm beginning to develop a nice relationship with Siri, though she has failed to do a few of the things I have requested. I just don't understand why it takes so many layers of smart people to fix one account. Steve Jobs would not be happy...but then he often was not, according to his biographer.

I can't help thinking how relatively savvy I was technologically 5 years ago, which was an ice age ago. I had a Palm Pilot, used it constantly and rarely had a problem with setting it up or using it. That device was only slightly more sophisticated than a sharp rock as a tool compared to the power in my new phone. I'm pretty sure I'm smarter than a 5th grader, but maybe not a smart phone! I'm going to be visiting the aforementioned daughter and son-in-law at Christmas and you can be sure I am taking my laptop and phone. They got me into this -- they will have to get me out of it!

Thanksgiving Thoughts

2011-11-23T08:44:00.001-08:00

In the midst of pre-Thanksgiving dinner prep, I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have been such faithful readers of my blog. It amazes me that hits come from all around the world, and all I know about the reader is the country or the U.S. city. I always wish to know more...how did you find my blog? what do you like about it? what could you do without? why do you return again and again? I would love to know the answers to those questions, but because I don't I just want you to know that it means a great deal to me that you 'follow' me. It makes me feel connected to a much larger place than Sonoita when I see that someone in Finland, or Egypt, or the U.K. has visited my little blog! To them, and to all of you, many thanks!
For my U.S. friends, may your Thanksgiving Day, no matter how you celebrate it, connect you to your blessings and help you feel an attitude of gratitude. I shared this short poem last year and it seemed to resonate with some of you, so once again here is my Thanksgiving wish for you all.

Look Around the Room

The day is full, food and laughter,
music and games, richly laden tables
and flowing wine.

Before the day is gone, blessings
retired to the back of mind,
look around the room.

It is in the faces you see, hands
you grasp in love, that happiness
resides in the completeness of life.

Touch tenderly those who gather
this day, remind yourself that it is all
you need, you are rich

beyond your dreams.

Holiday Reflection

2011-11-21T07:18:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving, perhaps more than any other holiday, triggers memories from all periods of our lives. In my early childhood, I remember Thanksgiving as the time when I got to see aunts and uncles I never saw any other time. My two uncles, Lucian and Bernie, were rotund and jovial, with pockets full of balloons and other advertising specialties, their joint business. That is the sum total of my knowledge about who my mother's brothers were. Their wives are just vague shadows in my memory. We weren't a close family, as you may have gathered. I searched out a quiet corner to read until dinner was served, returning to my book immediately after.

Another Thanksgiving I remember with some angst, my first as a newly separated single Mom. It even generated a brief reflection, with tongue somewhat in cheek. Seems like someone else's life, some 30 years later.

Holiday Angst

He left days before Thanksgiving and I,

wanting to pretend for the children,
did the usual turkey and pumpkin pie.

I held it together until I made the gravy

and discovered I had lost custody
of the gravy boat.

NC

May you and yours enjoy each other's love and companionship in gratitude for all our many blessings

When it’s not the life you had in mind...

2011-11-15T10:00:00.001-08:00

It was with tear-filled eyes I watched Diane Sawyer’s interviewwith Gabby Giffords and husband Mark Kelly on 20/20. All the usual adjectives have beenused to describe her struggle to recover from the terrible trauma caused by thebullet that sliced through her brain last January...valiant, brave, fighter. Yes,she is all that. But what occurred to me as the videos of her progress playedis that she is now a teacher and a role model for all that the human being canbe.

Will she ever totally be the person she was. Probably not.She will most assuredly continue to improve, fighting tough battles to do thesmall things we all take so for granted and beating odds that would havedefeated most people – stopped them from dreaming of what they could stillaccomplish. But Gabby Giffords still has much to offer. Her smile and herspirit are glorious to behold! It is obvious that the poignant dedication and love that Mark brings her every day has been an enormous part of her recovery. But she will not be living the life she had inmind. She is not the same person she was when she married her astronaut husbandfour years ago. Whether she returns to Congress as Arizona’s representative still remains to beseen. It may seem like too easy a goal, after all she has been through. She mayhave something even more ambitious in mind. She knows she still has much workto do in her therapy and recovery.

What does one do when, in a heartbeat, life changes. Oneminute your dreams are on a fast track to being realized and a second later youare powerless to live the life you planned. That fast. It would leave manypeople devastated and defeated. Most of us have lived lives of privilege andease, no matter what we believe our problems to be. We’ve perhaps never beenasked to show such incredible strength. But when that moment comes when ourdreams are suddenly shattered and we must discover what we’re made of, that iswhen the human spirit is it’s most noble and inspiring. We are capable of somuch more than we know! So much more.

Gabby has accomplished as much as she has through sheerdetermination and hard work...really hardwork. That’s the secret word. It’s HARD. Whatever has changed our lives fromwhat we had in mind to what we have requires the effort to find new dreams, todiscover what is now possible. It is clearly far more than we could have imagined.

Gabby, you are teaching us about strength and courage andhow worthwhile is the struggle. Our hearts continue to be with you.

To All the Dogs We Have Loved

2011-11-08T08:26:00.000-08:00

Macho, Forrest and Jenny

Scott and JoAnn lost their beloved Whippet, Forrest, lastnight. He was part of their lives for 13 years, a long life for a big dog, butnot nearly enough. He will leave a hole that nothing will ever quite fill.That’s just the way it is when you give your heart to an animal. People whochoose not to have pets never quite understand the heartbreak or the way inwhich we choose to give them such a huge piece of our lives.

It’s not just sentimentality or emotion run amok. There justisn’t any way to explain how much love there is in the relationship between usand our dogs. Cats, I know, are dearly loved as well, but they don’t go ontrips with us, camp out in tents or take long walks. It’s just not their thing.Our dogs learn to fit in with whatever our life is at the moment. They thriveon adapting just to please us. We are more than master (and some of us neverget the hang of being alpha). They don’t ask us to quit our jobs. They justwait patiently at the window for a sign that you are returning and then rev upthe welcome so that by the time you reach the front door there will be no doubtin your mind how much they missed you. The same is true if you just walk to themailbox and back. No one in your life is ever as glad to see you, no matterwhat they say.

No relationship in your life will ever ask as little andgive as much. My thoughts, of course, have gone straight to the grief we felt,and still feel, over losing our dear Macho. He was with us for ten years, farshort of the 17-18 year life expectancy for a Havanese. But he gave us everythinghe had. When he was so sick, and we were living in a trailer awaiting thecompletion of our house, he valiantly jumped up the high steps and adapted to ourtiny living space – to be with us was all he wanted. Each morning he would walkthrough the construction with me, checking on what was new, even the doggy doorthat was being installed. He never got to use it. He died three weeks before wemoved in. No dog, no matter how appealing will ever fill that space or show us morelove.

Why do we put ourselves through this experience that isbound to end badly? Well, why do we love our human companions? Why ourchildren? Loss is part of life. Every living thing has an ending. But fewthings in our lives are really as uncomplicated as this. Our dear dogs are purelove, forgiving us when we forget to fill their water dishes, sensing when weare upset or ill, patient when we leave them for hours, and always, always believingin their hearts that we are the most noble, most excellent, most deservingcreatures that ever walked on two legs. If they know our flaws, they just don’tcare. Unconditional love, indeed.

Rest in peace, dear Forrest.

Perfect Moments

2011-11-04T15:10:00.000-07:00

I’m not a perfectionist. Believe me. I’ve often regrettedthat, feeling that I am sometimes entirely too casual about the details ofthings. Actually, most of the true perfectionists I have known would give almostanything to be a bit looser – a little less anal, shall we say? I also believethat the perpetual search for perfection is the road to disappointment, thoughwhen it occurs it is a joy indeed.

What I now pursue are perfectmoments. It can happen anywhere. And a moment is an inexact measure oftime...it can be a few seconds or a few hours, or more. The length of timeneither enhances nor diminishes its perfection.

A few mornings ago, the season abruptly changed from latefall to early winter. Feeling a chill in the house, I grabbed my sunglasses andmy Kindle and headed for the front porch where the morning sun was strong andbright. The metal chair was warm and as I sat down it seemed to envelope me inheat. It was completely quiet but for the thrum of a hummingbird and a lightbreeze ruffling the bushes. I drew in a deep breath and realized that I wasliving a perfect moment. From inside the house I could hear Vivaldi playingsoftly, and I felt all my senses sharpened. I noticed things I might havesimply brushed by. In the modest garden, the plants were pulling back toprepare for winter, the summer’s vibrant colors now gone to drab. The butterflybush now vacant and dry will be back in the spring. Those pink flowers whosename I can never remember are gone too, but I know they are still there,resting as they deserve to do. Gracie and Alfie sat quietly by me, content fora while to let the birds fly and the bugs crawl without feeling the need tochase or bark. I wanted to freeze the moment.

To be sure, there are life’s perfect dramas, such as thebirth of a child, a wedding, a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, a familyreconciliation -- precious and welcome when they occur, but rare. The perfectmoments can be as mundane as finishing a long put off project, baking a pie that,for once, looks like the picture in the cookbook, as deeply moving as anintimate conversation with a dearly loved friend or sitting in a darkenedconcert hall listening to a sublime performance of a favorite work.

Perhaps it has to do with adjusting one’s expectations. Tolive more consciously is to find many more moments to appreciate fully, or assomeone put it “it’s not about having what you want; it’s about wanting whatyou have.” Tom is a good example of that. His always cheerful spirit makes thebest of every day, happy with the small world he inhabits. I am learning muchfrom him. He seems to be unbothered by his lack of memory for the past, andfocused instead on the pleasures of the moment.

I say to life “surprise me!” (And I mean that in a goodway!) In the meantime, I think lifewants me to find the perfect, sacred moments that are all around just waitingto be fully embraced. I don’t want to miss a single one.

Journal Entry

2011-10-21T12:53:00.000-07:00

this is what happened

the wind changed

vertigo

freefall

gravity

suddenly

life is loss, dismal

barren landscape

blue-gray chill

angles my spine

secrets

unsung songs

the path vanished

blurred and distorted

sighs of regret

this is what happened

leaves swirled at dawn

counter-clockwise

consolation

weightless as a zephyr,

grace

Seeing Through the Poles

2011-10-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

When we decided to make our home in this rural paradise called Sonoita, we were very clear on a couple of things: 1) we were going to live a long way from everything – family, shopping, doctors, etc. and 2) the scenic beauty and unlimited views were well worth the disadvantages.

Soon after moving in, we learned that the electric cooperative to which we all belong was planning a major upgrade to service in this area which would involve placing 60’ tall poles to carry the necessary voltage directly in the line of sight of some of our most beautiful viewscapes. As a concerned citizen, I tried to inform myself of the facts, attend forums where the co-op presented their case and the residents of the targeted area spoke of their objections. It often became heated. There were options that would have greatly lessened the impact to our neighborhood but would have had drawbacks for the co-op. I also learned that I have limits to the degree in which I wish to be an activist. I watched some people spend tireless hours and energy trying to fight City Hall, county bureaucrats and corporate intransigence. I was never one of those warriors, though I admired them.

In the long run, the battle to preserve our beautiful views, pristine horizons and rural atmosphere was lost. As one of the long-time residents responded when I whined about the poles, “do you want electricity or don’t you?” She had a point.

The poles are now a fact of our lives. None of us realized that there would be so many of these concrete monoliths. I have not yet been able to drive to town without feeling a combination of sadness and anger at how they have changed our environment. So here is my challenge: how do I learn to see through the poles to still cherish the beauty of this place, free of the angst I now feel?

It is a excellent metaphor for life. Who doesn’t have obstructions that prevent life from being what was planned or desired? When you focus on the obstruction (whatever your “pole” is) you cannot see anything else. The negatives in our lives can make us joyless and despondent, and, worse, convince us that we are powerless to change our feelings.

So my lesson begins. I’ve been told, in various ways, to just let it go...get over it! I know I must. I must drive to town and smile as I always have at the longhorns grazing in the grass, the changing colors of the beautiful Santa Ritas, and the spectacular clouds I love so much. I can do this. I can choose my attitude as easily as I choose my clothes. I can sit on my patio and breathe in the beauty that cannot be negated by a bunch of poles.

What poles?

October Renaissance

2011-10-01T13:18:00.000-07:00

The morning is all color and shine,
a late summer having sighed
its farewell with a chill inflection,
slight but determined.

I envy autumn’s tenacity,
how it dresses the trees and hills
with fire and flash, if only for a blink
of the eye, bittersweet with promise.

Each season leaves its singular lesson;
I learn I can balance on the thinnest
beam of sun and draw nourishment
from the briefest moment of warmth.

Remind me, kind October, of brevity,
of precious passing time, and I shall breathe
your vibrant grace and drink the tender air,
guardian against shadows and cruel truths.

N.C.

The Song Goes On While the Lyrics Fade

2011-09-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

We’ve been lucky. Tom’s Alzheimer’s has been progressing slowly. It began with simple forgetfulness – at least we thought it was simple. Since his diagnosis in April of 2006, he has continued to function almost normally, except that events and conversations have a shelf life of only a few hours to a few minutes in his memory. He has stayed physically active, reads voraciously, and plays chess online. Most of all, he has been happy. I know that seems strange given that his life is so greatly effected, but he has always been a man of few needs and one who prefers quiet routine. He likes the daily predictability of knowing his surroundings and activities do not change. That's just about perfect for an Alzheimer's patient.

Every so often we hit a milestone, a place where I can identify that something has changed and needs to be addressed. Early on it was clear that he could not manage our financial affairs, as he grew very confused over using Quicken (a program that was second nature to him for many years). A few years ago I realized that his driving days needed to end. He never argued or resisted because he knew that driving required fast reactions and calm response to crises. He has lost his ability to make quick decisions – ok, he never was very good at that!

Now we have reached another ‘milestone’, though it seems more like a stumbling block. Our chief entertainment, given the size of the town and our predisposition to being homebodies anyway, has always been movies from Netflix. Reliable diversion just a mailbox away, with the universe from which to choose. Our after dinner activity has now become a major source of frustration for him...and for me. It may be because of the nature of new movies these days – complicated plots, fast action and rapid dialogue. But coupled with his declining ability to track and comprehend, it has just become too difficult for us both. He becomes bored and distracted but continues to ask me who this or that person is, what year was this made, etc. over and over until I eventually invoke my opera voice, leaving us both upset with me! True, there are old movies that are not so complex and favorites from our own library, which he likes to say seem new even if he knows the dialogue by heart. Those are our ‘go to’ choices now, that leave him smiling not frustrated. Tonight it might be “Casablanca” night again just like it was a week ago. Hey, Bogie is always good even if the words of “As Time Goes By” feel a bit ironic...you must remember this...

The main point has always been doing something together, spending time enjoying an activity. Sometimes it is sitting on the patio watching the sunset with a glass of wine. The dialogue we have shared over our nearly thirty years together has been the glue in our relationship. Talking, planning, debating, arguing – conversation has always been intimate and satisfying. Now we mostly banter because there is no context for an ongoing discussion. And he doesn’t miss it. He’s just happy. That is a very good thing. And I know it won’t last.

A steady stream of specialists has examined, prescribed and puzzled over him, none liking to admit that there is not much they can do medically. But one wise and caring doctor, a professor at U of A, said this: “Go home and do what you love, and be happy for as long as you can.” That’s what we are doing. I wish for more strength, more patience, more nobility, but I settle for just making it through another day. I don’t want to lose myself but I especially don’t want to lose him. Much of my poetry of the past few years has been written in the angst of watching him fade. There are no words to express how painful it is. Meanwhile, we play with the dogs, listen to great music and watch sunsets. There are worse ways to live.

Remembrance

2011-09-06T18:52:00.000-07:00

It has always been difficult to speak of 9/11. It is an event for which words seem completely inadequate. Recently, I have had conversations with several people who are dealing with deep grief. Thinking about the subject brought this poem to life, with the realization that each of us handles grief in our very personal way, and that, as the whole nation grieved ten years ago, we realized our bond with one another through this terrible event. Regardless of the cause for grief, it can be relieved, if not eliminated, over time with compassion and grace, through the warmth of human contact.

Fragments

(on the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001)

Grief lays heavy, splits the heart and sends a cry
upward to the spine of heaven, from where it descends
like indigo rain pummeling a tin roof of disbelief.

Hope falls in jigsaw shapes on vacant space,
recognized but not familiar, reminiscent of all things
broken beyond repair, where nothing fills the void.

Relief seems a hollow oath repeating wait, wait –
there is no healing, no reversal of fortune to sustain
while walls collapse; even the stars have forgotten

how to find peace, how to return to resilience.
Still, the resolute force of life demands to be seen
like jewels on the surface where wrecked remains

gather to wait, wait for release of fear and hate,
where songs are once again sung for the sacred flame
of survival, here in the perfect moment of now.

Thoughts of Sedona

2011-08-28T15:55:00.000-07:00

This morning I came across this picture of Cathedral rocks in Sedona, one of Arizona's treasures and a must-see on any trip west. I first visited there in 1980, before the highways were crowded with tour busses and the t-shirt shops had proliferated. I thought I would die if I couldn't live there...I even thought I might have lived there in a former life -- a bit far out for me. It is still one of the most beautiful spots on the planet, but I definitely would not want to live there now. It's a good thing I have not given in to all my impulses. Sometimes first impressions just don't hold up to the test of time, right? Or more likely, we just think we want and need different things at different times in our lives. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago about Oak Creek, the beautiful Sedona landmark pictured here and the source of many pleasant, reflective moments on my visits there. It is a place filled with an energy that penetrates one's psyche in a deeply refreshing way. (Just do avoid the tour busses if you can!)

The Creek

It used to run wild and uninterrupted
but few things remain that way today.
Now there is a little park, not so bad,
but no one just happens upon the creek any more.

Still, if you make your way through parking lot
and visitor center, there at your feet the water
plummets over stones like mirrors in the sun
smooth from relentless liquid caress.

Like a thousand gems, the water gives back
sunlight so intense its brilliance fractures
the horizon, too blinding to stand and stare,
except for the brown bird who seems not to notice.

Now, late in the day, still springtime cool,
everyone gone, silence broken only
by the muted scrabble of water,
I sit on a flat rock and watch the fading day.

Red pinnacles now silhouetted in blue dusk
stand sentinel over the darkening stream
whose music orchestrates the twilight
and awaits the rising of the moon.

from "Sip Wine, Drink Stars"

The Poetry of Chaos

2011-08-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

Wind rattles the trees, the sea grasses
bent low and sorrowful, while overhead
birds catch the draft balanced on the pinnacle,
moving neither forward or back on the currents.

This is not the life I dreamed, this chaos

that somewhat resembles order, this fragile life raft
adrift on a thrusting sea, lifted and dropped
amidst the detritus and dross.

I was enticed aboard, with the belief of a convert
that I could captain this dismal, leaking craft,
pilot down my designated channels, avoid
the storms that befall the timid explorer.

I lean forward, eager to wash up on the shore,
amidst broken shells and mounds of kelp
where nourishment awaits, where wreckage
is an asset, and poems whisper on the wind.

from "Dance On A Dirt Road"

A Bit of Whimsy

2011-08-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

Alice Redux

Alice, oh Alice, where in the mirror are you now?

I know how you felt, head all a-twitter. Nonsense
makes perfect sense when up is down and down is up.
I catch a glimpse of you now and then, when my life
has gone jabberwocking into hyper-reality, and I
am the Hatter gone mad, the angry queen, the dormouse.
Isn’t it obvious? I am, at times, all my worst selves
dressed in my best clothes, looking for the party,
one minute too small for my life, the next too large.

Are you who you thought you’d be? And if so,
are you disappointed or glad? Sometimes I can’t decide.
Was there ever a plan, or did I just follow a set
of strange rules for fear of disrupting the game?
What do I have to fear from a pack of cards?
The shuffled deck could yield no firmer answers
nor protection from the Queen who wants my head.
I’ve lost it so many times that it feels normal.

Was it all a dream, dear Alice, was it brillig or not?
I would gladly step through the glass to see
where I might have gone, had I been wiser, braver
or less afraid of looking foolish. I would have followed
my own strange dreams, except that one about
climbing Everest naked; definitely not that one.
But I think of you when I plan my brief escape.
Why is there never a rabbit hole around
when you need it?

Chronicle

2011-08-07T16:22:00.000-07:00

A yearning to be known builds daily,
to be fully aware and recount what matters,
to tell the story of the journey and understand
what remains to be seen.

Notes scribbled in the wide margins of memory
beside journal entries, the real narrative conjured
of long days and nights, rising, falling, with faith
and the plague of hope, all within the same breath.

Sounds that drift lazily in and out of doors
left ajar for unknown reasons, echoes of laughter,
nuances of texture, a blend of light, tenderly
filters through windows on the shady side,

familiar blue shadows and the trellis
that crosshatches the wall with squares of sun.
This, the place of my clearest vision, the song
I waited long to sing, my destination and arrival.

Here is the proof of life, generations of sweetness,
the children and those that followed living the mystery
as delicate as the white throat of a lily,
legends they have created with their dreams.

I long to shed the faltering version of myself, the partial
truths and condensed editions; morsels and crumbs only,
the continuum evading, slipping through the hollow in my heart
just as I am about to surrender to joy.

N.C.

It was a dark and stormy night...

2011-08-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

A nighttime storm is a rare event for us, except during monsoon. I look forward to it all year. It makes for interrupted sleep (for some) and upsets many dogs (not ours, she said gratefully). I had to drive 30 miles or so this morning along a beautiful road that is now green and lush, thanks to a higher than normal rainfall this summer. What a difference water makes! Just one more thing to make me smile.

Rain at Night

timpani in the distance
a tremble of light
the other side
of the mountain;
sleep is broken,
expectant
entering that place
of half-awareness
quiet respiration
eyelids flutter
to notice the
night preparing
for the gale;
now the wind
sweeps up leaves
and dry earth
in one breath
discharges
a turbulent swirl
as serrated lightning
illuminates the room;
count the seconds
until the crash
and the rain
suddenly erupts
on roof and door
to play me back
to sleep.

NC

The Maine Idea...Rest and Relaxation

2011-07-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

Just returned from a week in Maine at the beautiful home of dear friends. We had a wonderful time, saw much of the Penobscot Bay area with its charming lighthouses, sailing vessels and the ubiquitous lobster traps, not to mention the lobster! We enjoyed a terrific concert of Brahms Violin Sonatas at the Rockport Opera House one evening, took a sunset cruise on a schooner where we were dazzled by the incredible sunset (it was Tom's birthday and the captain even let him steer for a few minutes!) We ate and drank too much great food and great wine, of course, but that's what vacations are for. Our hosts offered us every possible comfort. I must say, however, that Maine is one heck of a long way from Arizona! I could see that on the map, of course, but until you have spent all...and I do mean all...day on three planes with luggage glitches and nothing to eat but airplane peanuts, you don't really know how far it is! Suffice it to say we were mighty glad to get there and ever so glad to get home. I'm grateful to live in a place I love so much that it is always a joy to return.

Here are a few lines penned while soaking in the beauty and peace:

Time in Maine

The bay, splashed with diamond dust in the morning sun,
rocks its skiffs on the ripples and licks at the smoothing stones.
This place, so sturdy, so green, hearty with independence,
gives the air a significance, a relevance to the endurance
of place, and everywhere the soaring trees proclaim
their fierceness while faithful lights guard the wide, wild coast.
Remote shores summon those who crave a quiet mind
to abandon expectation, to absorb hardship, to soften
demands and invite fresh eyes to invigorate again.

Thoughts on Birth and Life

2011-07-14T15:31:00.000-07:00

One might think it gets old, this baby business. Having given birth to four children, who brought forth nine offspring, who now have produced six, count 'em, six great grandchildren, it could become routine, right? Hah! I became the same emotional, weeping mess this weekend as with the first. Granddaughter Katie and her husband, Arash, early Sunday morning, gave us Fletcher, a healthy baby boy who already owns all our hearts. We are so grateful to have this new little life among us.

It starts the wheels turning about life in general and I find myself thinking about what the world will be like when he is a man. Can we think ahead 20 years, or is it way beyond our imagination? Has the world become ungovernable, humanity out of control? Are we a runaway train, headed down a track into a dark abyss? Sometimes it seems so, but who can live with an image so foreboding? We surely have problems, severe and overwhelming problems that don't present simple solutions. But creativity and innovation have always saved the planet just when it appeared we were bound to destroy it through our greed and stupidity. Maybe it is living on the edge, the possibility of doing ourselves in that is our silver bullet. Typically, we never fix anything until a catastrophe looms, or sometimes after...the horse and barn door syndrome. Call me simplistic, but when the evening news drags on me until I want to cry or scream or both, I take my glass of wine to the patio and drown myself in the red-painted sunset and decide, once again, that I will not be brought down by political bickering, sensational trials, world-class scandals or yet another oil spill. I will do whatever I can from my small place on the planet to improve the world...I will speak out, I will vote, I will write my heart out. But dammit, life is too short, and getting shorter, to dwell on problems. There are babies being born every minute who don't know what a mess we've made or that it will be up to them to fix it. Meanwhile, they need to be taught, carefully taught, that life is wonderful and joyous most of the time, and that they, too, can rise above the other stuff.

When Fletcher is 20, perhaps we will have peace in the Middle East, no American troops on foreign soil, a cure for Alzheimer's Disease and cancer, and a practical way of converting all our trash and garbage into clean fuel. Perhaps not. But, just as those of my generation have lived through terrible wars and complex dilemmas, his will find a way to make a life in an ever-changing world and, let's hope, make it better than the one we offer him today.

Just Listen

2011-07-07T12:40:00.000-07:00

What do I need from you, you ask?

How can I help?

You can do so much,

but nothing much;

nothing much, but it is everything.

No strategies, theories and please,

no solutions.

Just listen. Just listen.

Why would you think you know

what I should do in a life

you have never lived?

My solution is within me,

we both know that.

What I need from you is

your full attention

so that I might hear

my own answers,

in my own voice.

If you always have a plan,

and always know what decisions

I should make,

I will have to stop

asking you

for help.

from "Sip Wine, Drink Stars"

Permission to use this poem has been requested by several group leaders as an affirmation for how they will work with one another. I've even been contacted by a therapist in London who has used it in recovery workshops. I'm glad that it resonates. In our desire to help and/or to take away a loved one's pain, we are quick to offer solutions, and in doing so to miss the real need...the need to be heard. What a gift it is to simply sit with the problem or the pain and be willing to offer empathy and love instead of quick fixes. It takes a very strong person to just listen.

Fading

2011-07-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

Where once I was a deep canyon of joy, a receptacle

for happiness in great billowing armloads,

I now hold it in a rose-rimmed china cup,

drinking quickly, savoring the delicate sips,

knowing the sweetness is a passing pleasure,

like your hand upon my face.

You are teaching me to want less and less, as you

have always done, so that now I want but one thing,

the one you cannot grant me, nor can the stars.

So many things I need to be true and not spun

from spider silk, things I cannot see clearly

looking through the cracked glass in a window

where it is always dusk. How can you know

what is real if I do not? Is our story still emerging

or is it a tapestry woven of finished threads?

I watch the silver stream of memories

pass too swiftly for your hand to dart out

and grab them as they go by.

Five Totally Trivial Things I Find Annoying, Disturbing and/or, IMHO, Unworthy of Space on the Planet

2011-07-01T12:04:00.000-07:00

1. Anything that comes packaged in a “clam shell” that isn't a clam! With all the regulations the government has devised to keep us safe, how has this lethal, maniacal packing weapon been allowed to exist? My sanity is hanging by a thread already...by the time entry is gained, I’m ready to launch it through the nearest window.

2. Stores or restaurants who can’t spring for a $1.00 hook for the back of the restroom stall door so women can hang their purses instead of putting them on the floor.

3. Scary TV shows such as, but not limited to, “Toddlers and Tiaras” and “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.” I mean, come on people!

4. Those little labels on fruits and vegetables. I picked one out of my salad last night! In addition to its bar code, it said “tomato.” Duh!

5. Wrinkle Cream commercials where the model is 22. I want to smack her!

Okay, I feel better since I got that off my chest! What’s on your list?

Down To What Matters

2011-06-20T12:06:00.000-07:00

here, at last, is where truth lives

on the bitter edge of loss

where we sing no pale songs of regret

shed no tears for faded memories

no confessions of bad choices or failures

resentment of time’s devastation

no slippery denials or ego defense

relief is a fragrant warm bath on a cold night

senses ablaze, skin crying out for touch

naked honesty, open arms extended,

waits here in silence, all is forgiven

what has been held back is released

like caged doves to spiral into dreams

and submit to ancient instincts

save yourself for days filled with strawberries,

nights with sweet merlot and stars,

tenderness pours down, fills the aching abyss,

soothing tattered hearts and savaged spirits

with love that transcends old forms,

freedom for which words have not been invented

and finds silvery solace in this moment,

which is all that matters.

from Sip Wine, Drink Stars (2009)

A Father's Power

2011-06-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

I was six years old when my father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. It robbed him of his dreams, sadly before I ever learned what his dreams were. I know he loved me, his only child, very much though he, a gentle and quiet man, rarely expressed it verbally. Every Father’s Day I think with regret of how little I knew about him and his life before me and yet how sure I was of his love. The distinct memories I have of him are few but treasured. My favorite memory is of the cottage on Lake Erie where we went each summer. I would sit on his lap on the screened porch, watching the spectacular lightning displays across the Lake. My mother was terribly afraid of thunderstorms, so while she hid in the bedroom, my dad, determined that I would not catch her fear, persuaded me that storms were beautiful, powerful and wondrous natural events. I have loved them ever since and always think of him when the sky cracks open and flashes its power across the heavens. In that moment, I am the six-year-old child again, sitting safely in the arms of my father.

Fathers must be among the most powerful forces of human nature. In an over-simplifed, and in no way scientific, study, I have found few men or women who don’t have some kind of “father issues”. My theory is that fathers don’t understand their power...for good or for its opposite, which is usually not evil. They don’t understand, often until long after their influence has left an indelible stain, the desperation with which children, especially boys, long for their father’s approval. Some men seek it all their lives, convincing themselves that they are unworthy humans because their fathers never said, “Son, you’re OK as you are.” And so goes generation after generation.

This Father’s Day, I am especially aware of how powerful dads are. My youngest child, son Scott, will be celebrating his first official F.D. in the company of his beautiful twins, Claire and Jonah, six months old. He has elected to be the stay-at-home Dad and is doing a fabulous job of it. Yes, it clearly can be stressful, exhausting and complicated. But those children will grow up knowing their dad in a way that most kids never do. They will see his silly side, his vulnerable side, his confident side. They will hear him sing to them, see the thousand funny faces he can make. And they will know that he makes mistakes sometimes and can admit them. He might fantasize about being the perfect dad, but he also knows there is no such thing. He’s a grown-up man who loves his kids. And they will never have to wonder about that. What a gift!

What Gets in the Way

2011-06-10T11:10:00.000-07:00

Most of us would agree that we are often our own worst enemy. I think as we age we do less getting in our own way, less struggling against the unchangeable. For me, it is the struggle that wears me down, the wishing away of things that are here to stay -- for a while at least. This poem is about a peaceful acceptance of what IS. Not a giving up...more of a letting go. It may only last an hour or a day, but for that brief moment, the shoulders relax, the hands open and the breath comes deeply.

Opening

but one day you just know...

that the struggle must end,

that the time for sadness is past

and the grieving stranger, no longer needed,

has gone for good;

that the sweet music you hear

is the rhythm of your hopeful heart

laden with gifts of nourishment,

a lavish feast for your hunger,

a warm cup for your deepest thirst

that you will not turn from, but embrace;

that you have come at last, searching

for yourself, clothed in grace,

to offer only love.

from Dance on a Dirt Road

Revealed

2011-06-04T08:58:00.000-07:00

Light changes everything, tricks the eye

and then the heart, to believe in the mysterious,

a canticle of temporary, breakable or already

broken dreams and songs that were meant

to last forever.

At nightfall I can believe in many things

impossible in the luminous morning;

the nacreous moon steals reason,

hides truth behind a tranquil façade,

impassive, pretending and remote.

I see you silvery, as through a prism of water,
or a veil of forest leaves mottled in a dozen

shades of green, there but for a fleeting second

and then not there, beyond my reach, grasping,

groping to touch your face.

So much regret, so much loss, pooled on the floor

like a sheer curtain, shielding but exposing

injury that cannot heal or mend itself

as though we were already gone, leaving nothing

in its place that I can trust.

N.C.

White Spaces

2011-05-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

it’s what isn’t said,

isn’t seen,

what remains idle,

disregarded,

dormant...

ah, therein

is the wealth

of what might have been,

words of healing,

connections made,

songs of hope sung,

lovers too long silent,

the time unrecoverable.

from Dance on a Dirt Road

Saying Goodbye to Oprah

2011-05-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

Until I retired five years ago, I had only watched a handful of Oprah shows. I’ve always thought her rise to fame an interesting phenomenon, but I have become a great admirer recently. I DVR her shows so that I can watch when I want and zip through the commercials, and I don’t watch every show. Sometimes her topics and/or guests don’t interest me. But she, as a person, interests me a great deal. She is clearly an iconic business woman and a very successful one. But what I think Oprah has brought to the airwaves is the ability to raise the standards of broadcasting and celebrity. She has built a huge following by doing good and generous things, not by becoming a circus act or a negative role model. She is a clear force for kindness and good in the world -- is there anything we need more?

Some of her beliefs are a little far out for me, but they harm no one. The key principle of her show, she tells the audience frequently, is intention. The good she has done with her fame and fortune is massive. Whether it is building a school, or giving away her favorite things, she is leaving a legacy of excellence and generosity. (Don’t you know how much I would have liked to be in the favorite things audience...screaming and head exploding like all the rest?) She has allowed herself to be known, glamorous one minute and flannel pajamas the next, and let us see her without makeup. As we women all know, that takes true grit! She has built an audience so loyal that she seldom had to worry about ratings, but she vowed to present shows that had value for the viewer and she has done that extremely well. And let’s not forget that she got people to read and made a lot of authors’ careers.

Yes, I will miss her. I will miss her like a dear friend with whom I can laugh and cry. I have come to love her humor, her passion for her dogs, her straight talk and her intention to live her best life. I wouldn’t mind trying to live her best life – but I will continue to try to live my best life as well as I can. She has inspired that in me, and for that I admire and thank her. She will no doubt surprise us with her next chapters.

Life Goes On, World Without End, Amen!

2011-05-21T10:04:00.000-07:00

I've cycled through a series of thoughts and feelings about "the end of the world." I've shared quite a few laughs with friends, imagining all kinds of pranks that people could play on this the day some say is our last. Mostly it is irritating that people are able to be duped by religious fanatics who play on fears and lead others to believe ridiculous claims. Just another signal that P.T. Barnum was right! Still, if there is anything we can pull from this nonsense, maybe it is that we should live every day as if it were our last. Life is short, indeed.

Vita Brevis

all the more reason

to cling

to the barest scrap

of love

however unlikely

or undeserved

to disturb

sacred beliefs

unravel

cherished convictions

examine

established truth

be done

with useless

arguments

from "Dance on a Dirt Road"

A Terrible Alone-ness

2011-05-14T11:52:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I came across a book that has moved me deeply. Alzheimer's Diary: A Wife's Journal by Michelle Montgomery tells of the day-to-day challenge with her husband's disease and the impact on their lives. She writes with great simplicity and honesty, and it cracks my heart open to read each page. She has written my book. The similarities between her life with Dave and mine with Tom are striking. Dave's A.D. is more advanced when she begins her story, but I see myself on every page, always trying to balance what is possible against what is gone forever. Their marriage was a close and loving one also, which is the foundation on which each day is built, no matter how frustrating.

While I find myself close to tears on page after page, it is a feeling of recognition and almost relief that what we are experiencing is not unique, that someone else can articulate so accurately the sadness mixed with determination that we live. We are not alone in the constant struggle to extract pieces of normalcy from a distinctly abnormal existence.

She knows my flashes of anger, followed closely by guilt, when my frustration pushes me to raise my voice in anger. She knows the look in her husband's eyes when they both know he can't help forgetting the things that used to be so important. She knows the awful ache of watching a brilliant man fade into a shadow of himself. But she also understands how precious those flashes of connection are, how much joy can be felt when a joke makes us both laugh or an authentic moment in the present is shared.

I find myself slowing down as I read toward the end of this book. Her story, like mine, will not have a happy ending and I resist and deny whenever possible. It's my only weapon, ineffective though it is. I have wanted to tell our whole story, and maybe someday I will. But for now, I feel a kinship with someone who has told a story so close to home for Tom and me. I feel less alone in this very lonely place.

The poem that follows is from my first book "Sip Wine, Drink Stars" (with apologies to Alan Ginsberg).

HOWL

Don’t bother with the moon

howl instead at love

that weaves your breath with another’s,

in the intimacy of oxygen

only to take it back

while you still need to breathe.

Howl at the vampire of memory,

who broods in the labyrinth of empty rooms

and hedge mazes of remembered events.

Howl at loneliness that fills the lungs

and drapes itself heavily around the shoulders

while memories pile up

on your side of the bed.

Longing for Rain

2011-05-12T12:03:00.000-07:00

While our friends in the midwest are suffering so with epic flooding and rainfall, those of us in the southwest are wishing some of it could come this way. It has been so dry for so long that we are in high fire danger. A few days ago there was visible smoke in every direction. Our dedicated firefighters from all around the state have been working hard to get all the brush fires under control but it is a tough job.

I miss rain! I mean the all-day kind, the kind we almost never get. The kind that drives one to the bookshelf to settle in with an engrossing novel, maybe with a cup of tea or cocoa, occasionally looking up just to watch it cascade down the window. Don't get me wrong. I love the desert -- that's why I live here. But just ever so often I yearn for a good downpour. (Just please, not next Wednesday. That's when I'm having all our windows washed!)

Here's a poem based on a familiar quote, whose source I do not know.

Rain Dance ("Don't wait for the storm to end, learn to dance in the rain.")

Yes, I know the phrase
but not who penned it first.
Learn to dance in the rain,
it goes, mouth open wide
to quench your thirst,
with what falls from the sky -
you might as well invite
the storms that come in dark of night.

Arms outstretched to face
the outrage and deceit,
the petulance and greed,
the pain of hurt and loss,
far more than enough
for one to bear alone,
while your back straightens
and your skin grows tough

Bring on the aging bodies,
the aching joints, failing senses
whose mysteries no doctors
can decode in all their sterile halls,
go ahead, endure, survive
it all and even thrive
when life calls down upon your head
a shower of bowling balls.

Dance for your life,
dance wildly until every song is tasted.
Let yourself be lifted on the wind,
not a drop of precious rain wasted
and when it stops at last, stand still
with the people who love you.
Inhale the music and forgive the world
to lighten your step for the next dance.

NC
from Sip Wine, Drink Stars, 2009

What a Difference a Week Makes

2011-05-06T10:52:00.000-07:00

Ask anyone who knows me...they’ll say I’m a pretty positive person. I believe in the innate goodness of most people, I believe that we are resilient and able to deal with and rise above most of the bad things that happen to us, whether they be natural disasters, serious illnesses, untimely deaths or terrorist attacks. But since the Sunday night jolt of Breaking News burst upon us, I have had some strangely mixed feelings. Am I glad Osama bin Laden no longer menaces the planet? Of course. Am I proud of the incredibly brave men who risked so much to make it happen? Without a doubt. And as an ardent Barack Obama supporter, I am glad that his decisiveness led this mission to achieve its goals so well. It does feel like justice.

Now many are speculating about the national response, the mood of celebration that seized some as the news broke. What the news did for me was to bring up the unimaginable horror of that day nearly ten years ago when the towers fell, the Pentagon burned and a few brave men charged the cockpit to prevent an even worse calamity. When those images appear on TV, it seems like it happened yesterday. And nothing will ever change that or bring back the dear souls whose deaths were of the most terrible sort. I just can’t rise above those images to celebrate.

We are better off without Osama bin Laden but probably not much safer. Safety is not one of life’s guarantees, that much seems clear, so there may rise another name, another threat whose mission in life is the destruction of all things American. Life is risky, sometimes dangerous, and always, always fragile. All we can do is cling to the sacred moment, the NOW, which is all that we have. I won’t live in fear. Not of anything. There is too much for which I am grateful, too many precious people to love and too few hours in the day to spend them afraid of what might happen.

Last week I, and millions of others around the planet, had a brief fascination with the Royal Wedding. How distant that event seems now, along with the silliness over birth certificates and any number of distractions that keep us from confronting grave issues. The seriousness of life came home clearly this week, but it did illustrate the delicate equilibrium of life with ample servings of both good and evil.

Well done, Will and Kate! (but it's probably a good thing we weren't invited!)

2011-04-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

Let me begin by acknowledging that I'm an easy mark for pomp and circumstance, pageantry, marching bands, English boy choirs, organ music, gothic cathedrals and ceremony done with elegance, so you will not be surprised to learn that my DVR was enlisted to capture the royal wedding. I know it was overblown by the media (no big surprise there!) and I can argue the expense and the plethora of silly hats made it a bit nonsensical. I found it utterly charming in so many ways, however, and I feel happy for having indulged my shallow obsessions.

None of that, however, will be the moment I remember from this day. The DVR had been recording for four hours when we woke up at 5 a.m. I turned on the TV and rewound just to the moment that Kate stepped from the Rolls to enter Westminster and began her long walk down the magnificent center aisle. Now, I step back for a moment to ask if you have seen the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral." It's a favorite of ours and we have seen it many times, always helplessly giggling over Rowan Atkinson's bumbling officiating at the wedding ceremony. So when the Bishop asked William to say "I, William Arthur Philip Louis..." my husband and I almost fell out of bed laughing. I heard that Atkinson was an invited guest but no one in the Abbey seemed to be laughing uncontrollably, so I guess it was just us. We both agreed it was a good thing we were not present, as it took us several minutes to regain our dignified royal wedding decorum! Of course, Wills carried off the moment with great poise, as did Kate. Still, it was the best laugh we've had in a while.

I wish the couple every happiness. Given the shoddy and boorish behavior of his father, and the untimely and tragic death of his mother, I'd say no one deserves happiness more than William. And if you haven't seen 4 Weddings, it's worth a look.

Today I Need To Smile

2011-04-26T12:34:00.000-07:00

I have many favorite poets. Each has a particular and unique effect on me. When I read Mary Oliver, I want to take a walk outside or sit on the patio and watch the birds. When I read Elizabeth Bishop I look at the small, ordinary things of life with increased interest, even wonder. But when I read Billy Collins, I smile, and occasionally I laugh out loud. Today I needed a smile so I visited a few of Billy's poems and...as predicted...I smiled. I thought maybe you could use one too.

FORGETFULNESS
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,

the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel

which suddenly becomes one you have never read,

never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor

decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,

to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye

and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,

and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,

the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember

it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,

not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river

whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,

well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those

who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night

to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.

No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted

out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

(You're smiling, aren't you?)

Night Breathing

2011-04-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

waking in the night

I do not open my eyes

but listen for your breath.

in the dark you are whole,

deep of soul,

complete,

together we breathe

each other inward,

outward,

I pull the cover around me

like hope, sweet comfort

to my soul,

in the dark

where you are

whole.

from "Sip Wine, Drink Stars"

2009

One Woman's Dream

2011-04-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

We just returned from the last of this season’s concert offerings by the Santa Cruz Foundation for the Performing Arts. It was a program of flamenco guitar, song and dance by a trio of true artists, the Chris Burton Jacome Ensemble. I do not exaggerate when I call this a world class act. For nearly two hours, they performed with consummate skill and massive energy. It was beautiful, graceful and emotional. Even with the jack-hammering of heels on wood, it was clear that it was more than just folk dancing. It is a language with profound historic roots – one that communicates a sensual and deeply personal passion.
With the concert season at an end, I realize that I will miss these Sunday afternoon events, held for the most part in private homes and historic venues that have graciously accommodated us though not built for the express purpose of live musical performance. But I must acknowledge that it has really been one person who has created and nurtured a dream for this small county (Santa Cruz is Arizona’s smallest) to experience the same level of artistic performance that one might find in any big city.

Christina Wilhelm has not lived here all her life. She is the talented product of fine music schools and universities in the northeast, where she would not have to look very far to find programs that nurture young artists or bring innovative performances to eager audiences in the community. But after being transplanted to southeast Arizona from Boston, New York and Maine, she looked around and saw no sign of local (meaning closer than Tucson) top-quality music venues that could attract top-quality performers. And she could not imagine surviving here without great music!

She could have wondered why, but instead she asked herself “why not?” Christina has set the stage for an explosion of cultural opportunities in and around Santa Cruz County because she and husband, Fred, are dedicated to the creation of a state-of-the-art recital hall, that will be a crown jewel in this part of the state – a destination for tourists who will discover, along with our wonderful wineries, that there is something unique and engaging in this little-known, but beautiful, piece of Arizona.

In this tough economy, some would say it is a terrible time to be launching an ambitious fund raising campaign to build a recital hall. Painful budget realities are the rule rather than the exception in both governmental and personal finance. Yet, I suggest that we have never needed the arts more than we do in this rather grim time in America. If we treat live performance of music and theatre as incidental luxuries in our society, we risk a culture for whom music is defined by rappers who rise to fame overnight and disappear just as quickly, and “live” performance means going viral on YouTube!

Christina, at a time in life when most people are content to be spectators, has taken on a huge challenge and is risking everything to build an audience for the performing arts in a small, rural community. Though it is largely “off the beaten path” (and we do like it that way!) the attendance at the Foundation’s concerts shows that there are many music patrons in the area, and it is time to step up! The architect’s drawings are complete. We have the land, graciously donated, and a generous bequest from a caring benefactor. There are so many ways to help. If you would like to leave an enduring legacy that bears your name, you can “adopt” a portion of the hall. If you have influence in corporate America, suggest that a philanthropic gift would be an outstanding act of citizenship. If you can offer even a modest financial assist, please do so. The Wilhelms can offer many more ideas on how you can help take this building from a dream to a reality, and they will go anywhere (just about!) to discuss this project.

Most of my family and friends live in or near large metropolitan areas. I rarely envy them, except when I think of the myriad of art and music venues that they have within a few minutes of home. On almost any day, if they choose, there is a marvelous concert, theatre production or dance event available. I envision a time when, in this small corner of Arizona, we can point with pride to the increased economic health of our local merchants, the broad musical education available to our young people, and the visitors who flock to this beautiful area to enjoy the same quality of entertainment that they might find in the heart of a great metropolis.

Clothes Don't Always Make the Man!

2011-04-12T10:55:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, my younger son (who has a strange attraction to shoes) told me about Crocs. He raved about how comfortable and how cheap they were, so I bought a pair. Ugly, yes, but they were comfortable as advertised. Then I bought Tom a pair of brown ones and he was immediately in love. That's where the story should end, but no. The following summer we were in Fairhope and he and his brother (the owner of a bright yellow pair of Crocs that led to him being called "Uncle Duck") were out together, probably laying in more Scotch, when Tom came across a beach shop where he purchased a pair of orange Crocs. To the best of my recollection, it is the only item of apparel or footwear that he has bought on his own (meaning without me to help him decide what he likes) in over 25 years of marriage.What followed was a couple of years of complete mortification as he elected to wear them EVERYWHERE! Doctor's offices, shopping trips, our local post office and hardware store where he is generally considered 'a real nice guy, a little eccentric...you know, the orange shoes guy!'

I made the mistake of snarking at him about the orange crocs so often that he began to wear them with an evil smile, enjoying his ability to annoy me so easily. Oh well, he's retired and this is Arizona. I haven't told him yet, but I've actually given up the struggle...it just isn't worth the trouble. Maybe that's why he did not wear the orange crocs to a concert we went to last weekend. He wore the brown ones! Aaargh!

Oh, and about my son. He does have a lot of shoes for a guy, but they are mostly in manly colors and in very good taste. He got that from me.

A Life Well Lived

2011-04-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

I had the distinct honor of being invited to sing for a memorial service yesterday. I did not know Bob Winchester long, and yet I think I knew all the important things about him. Let me tell you how we met. About two years ago, a fellow soprano and I, along with two wonderful accompanists, put together a program of song to present at the retirement home where her mother was a resident. We called it "Sopranos and Pianos" and we spent many weeks rehearsing operatic arias, sacred solos, old standards...a real variety that we thought would be well received by our audience of seniors. As we began the performance that Sunday afternoon, I noticed a gentleman sitting in the back who was not just attentive -- he was enthralled! Singers always love to perform for an audience who seems to be greatly enjoying it, and we played to him! But as we ended the program and took our bows, the man came rushing to the front, threw his arms around me and said in a loud voice "I HAVE to sing with you!" That was Bob Winchester, a tenor of some experience and of much enthusiasm. He was 83 or 84 at the time, and a cancer patient, but so robust and full of excitement that he lifted the energy of everyone around him. We did actually sing together a few times following that event and I always went away feeling that a force of nature had enveloped me. He wanted to know about me, my husband, my poetry...and I found myself willingly sharing. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and then learned a few weeks ago that Bob had died from his spreading cancer.

It is almost impossible to imagine him in any other way than the day we met but yesterday I sat in a Friends Meeting House in Tucson and listened to 50-60 people talk about Bob. The stories were remarkably similar, regardless of the context in which the speaker knew Bob. He was a WWII fighter pilot, and later a psychologist/counsellor who devoted the last years of his life to working with veterans with PTSD, but aside from his varied and interesting background, he was a loving, caring human being who always saw the best in everyone he met. Nearly everyone, including his daughters, told of him spontaneously bursting into an Italian aria in wildly inappropriate places (especially when they were teenagers) but that was part of who he was. If he loved you (and he loved everyone) he was likely to sing your name loudly when he saw you. And if you were hurting or sad, he would silently hold your hand or walk with you without expectation.

The love in that room, the shared tears and laughter, all made it very clear that Bob Winchester will never die in the hearts of the people who knew him. We can all picture him, arms spread wide, big smile, singing an Italian aria somewhere...it doesn't matter where. I do know that we left that memorial service hoping that, when it is our time, there will be such a gathering in our honor.

What? It's Spring? You're kidding...when did that happen?

2011-04-08T16:29:00.000-07:00

Haven't been around much lately. Anywhere! Many naps and daytime TV. Yikes, I hope my body heals before my mind rots! I am beginning to emerge into real life, pretty much free of Percocet so that I can read and write again. I've decided it is dangerous for me to write while medicated. I tend to think it's all brilliant until the cold light of morning when I discover it is drivel! Have been working on this one for a while and, apart from whatever quality it may or may not possess, it describes my state of mind lately.
Maybe you've had thoughts like these...don't we all in our low times? I wish us all good cheer and hope!

Surviving April

And so it came on, relentless, oblivious
of my need for silence and dark in which to heal.
Spring’s euphoria will not be ignored.

I hoped for another month of winter, where
cocooned in down, I could escape attention, hidden
from curious glances and gestures of kindness.

I yearn to slip my skin and absorb my own shadow,
to turn into the wind with only my thin songs
of longing and let my healing occur in the blurred mist.

Waking early, I remember whale song in my sleep –
something to savor while I wait for the return
of cheer, some silver-edged promise of illumination.

I know I must tunnel out, emerge like the leaves
on the sycamore, too green, too tender, frail,
but pulsing, once again, with possibility.

A bleak and cloudy day, with matching mood

2011-03-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

The horror and tragedy in Japan is almost more than the mind can take in. So much suffering is painful to watch and impossible to ignore. My heart goes out to those people whose lives changed so totally in just a few terrible seconds. And let's not even talk about the nuclear disaster potential.

It's embarrassing to admit, but I tend to become self-involved when circumstances outside myself become overwhelming, so I'll bring the focus down to the nearly manageable and talk about ME. This healing business is a bit of a drag. Oh, I know, because someone tells me this at least once a day...these things take time. But I grow impatient when my head feels like it weighs 50# and I can't make it through a whole day without some serious drugs. I'm a busy woman -- places to go, things to do, people to meet. Well, okay, slight exaggeration, but try doing your income taxes while medicated. It might sound like a good idea, but I'm not sure the IRS will accept my excuse if I have made a gigantic, moronic mistake. Anyone out there willing to visit me in the slammer? (That's when you find out who your friends really are!)

So enough whining. I know I'm getting better, but oh so slowly. Made me feel a bit melancholy and looking out the window by my desk I notice the glaring absence of my beautiful Yucca tree that we lost in the freak freeze (8 degrees here...most unusual!) a few weeks ago. I miss it. Thus the poem.

Eulogy

when the rare and ruthless freeze was over
we had lost every tender plant, each sprout
that had dared believe in February blackened
and bare, even the hardiest, and the yucca,
whose silhouette was my morning canvas
against the red-orange sunrise, blown down,
finally ruined by the ice-borne wind.

we dug it out of the ground, its papery, string-like
leaves now dull and sodden with my tears. I grieve
for that particular curve in the low wall, created
as a niche for the stunning specimen, whose lily blooms
announced each spring in a glowing white coronet,
reaching its bizarre and twisted arms to the sky,
as close to a prayer, I think, as a plant may aspire.

Lessons Learned

2011-02-28T18:49:00.000-08:00

Forced bed rest and extended periods of inactivity due to spinal surgery leave one with time to think, sometimes on topics that are best left unrecorded. However, I'm improving each day and I am moved tonight to write about specific and intentional acts of kindness – and the power of such deliberate experiences. This wasn’t my first rodeo, as they say, having had both knees replaced in the past four years, so I knew to expect pain and immobility for a time. I simply had no idea of how limited I would be, how absolutely unable to care for myself, and how, when the pain is greatest, nothing seems as important as relieving it. Ah yes, better living through chemistry! I am having a lucid moment and it won’t last long, so before I descend into my happy place, I want to say a heartfelt and resounding thank you to the family and friends who have extended, and continue to extend, such kindness and selfless assistance over the past few weeks.

My daughter Laura and her daughter Katie (a mom-to-be!) took over my house, my kitchen and my need to run the world and gave me the gift of nothing to plan, organize or execute. Best of all, they made sure that Tom was taken care of and a routine maintained as close to normal as possible. And, while shopping and cooking delicious meals, they threw in foot massages, back rubs and long talks that made us laugh and cry with equal warmth. As I said goodbye to Laura on Saturday, I whispered into her ear that this had been such a gift to me. Her response was “Mom, the gift was you asking me to come help you!” Now, son David is here, cooking more fine food and fixing the many things, electrical and other, long neglected, hanging pictures, etc. etc. etc! (I recall my first knee surgery and how son Scott came to help me, often anticipating things I needed before I even knew it myself!) And I’m getting used to being waited on...if it just weren’t for the pain in the neck (literally) this might be classified as fun! Still, time with my kids is so precious and I’m soaking it up with all the love it involves. They all lead such busy lives and yet, when possible, they are here when I need them. And it has offered me a chance to ask for and receive the help that I have rarely experienced with such generosity. Maybe some day I can find the grace to ask without having to go under the knife!

This year’s Oscars I found disappointing, bland and better watched, as I did, while on pain medication. But one thing, one brief flash across the screen stuck in my mind. It was the tribute to Lena Horne and the quote attributed to her: "It's not the load that breaks you down, it's the way you carry it." That was what I took away from the 3.5 hours of minor entertainment. Maybe worth the whole evening!

Looking for the Lesson

2011-02-16T14:05:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I will be having surgery on my cervical spine, a procedure to decompress the vertebrae (I think a bit like scraping the barnacles from the hull of a ship!) and hopefully restore the use and strength in my hands and arms. It is not something I would have chosen, but it is astonishing that the skill and expertise exists to fix such annoying problems of aging. I have great confidence in my surgeon, though I will send him my wishes for a good night's sleep and a steady hand.
Always looking for the lesson, I suspect that it is easily identified here. I am not accustomed to asking for help or to being taken care of. But I am trying to accept with grace the importance of allowing others to assist and to show their love in that way. I do need help at the moment. Daughter Laura is here doing just that and it feels nice. Tom is always trying to find ways to help. So I am relaxing into the lesson, appreciating the love and not hesitating to ask for help. Starting tomorrow, it won't be so much a choice as an imperative. I'm hopeful for a successful outcome and a quick recovery. All good thoughts and prayers will be most appreciated.

Until further notice...

so this is how it will be
not what I would have chosen
to be sure, but until further notice

the music will continue, all the more
lively and boisterous, the songs rich
as ruby wine in a crystal stem

the grass will grow, greenest in July
when the monsoons flourish
and the dry creeks spill their banks

hummingbirds will flock to the vine
driving their tiny drill bits down
the narrow bell to cull the nectar cache

children will rescue us from cynicism
inspire better versions of our ordinary selves
hold the mirror before us with expectant eyes

life and death and life will persist,
lovers will ignite, weather storms, forgive,
learn to trust, fall and rise again and yet again

from Dance on a Dirt Road

Why I Write

2011-02-05T08:20:00.000-08:00

As you might imagine, I'm excited about the completion and publication of my new book, "Dance On A Dirt Road." The discovery of my love for poetry has changed my life in just a few years and some have asked me why I started writing. That's a fair question given that, all my life, my creative expression had been through music, the passion that nearly consumed me from the time I was a small child. I loved singing more than I can say, and performing as a soloist was always a joy to me. It did, however, often create painful conflict in my life. It is difficult, if not impossible, to be a performing artist as a "hobby." Besides, sopranos can't go on forever!
Writing, though, is nothing but sheer pleasure. It indulges several real loves for me. First, the love of language. I've always been a "word collector", sometimes turning a particular word over and over in my head and on my tongue just because I loved the sound of it. Language has such power and beauty. The ability to shape a thought or a feeling into a metaphor by painting word pictures is exhilarating. My goal in creating a poem is to express something that is deeply personal but often profoundly universal. It has been my therapy for dealing with Tom's devastating illness, my own health issues and the problems that each of us encounters in the course of living our lives. They look different for everyone, but we all deal with fears of aging and illness, family, love...connectedness to our past, present and future...the human condition. Language expresses our commonalities and helps us to know we are not alone. Since man learned to speak, write and print we have found comfort in knowing what other people experience...that we are not alone when we suffer or rejoice.
Poetry has also provided me a sense of accomplishment, achievement on a whole new level that has been quite unexpected at this point in my life. As Maya Angelou expresses in her poem "And Still I Rise", I'm still here, still contributing something to the planet, still finding pure joy in creating. I didn't begin writing because I want to be famous...I did it because I want to be HERE, balanced and alive, surprising myself each day. It is, in a real way, my gift to the people I love...my husband, my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren (a very large group, I might add!), all of whom I admire and respect so much.
Occasionally I write something deep and provocative, but the poem below is not. It is just a light-hearted memory that makes me smile. Maybe you will too!

Airborne

2011-02-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

I called them flying nights
when the air was warm and the wind
a lifting matrix of whirling leaves.
At the top of the hill I would spread
my arms, run a few steps, barely feeling
my feet skim the pavement until
in my mind I achieved loft, effortless
as the glide of a hawk on a thermal,
where there was no sound, but for the song
of the long moon, spreading her shadow
on my silent flight.

A time of sadness in Arizona and across the land...

2011-01-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

Given the 24/7 news coverage, there has been much said about the tragic events that occurred last Saturday. On a completely normal morning, errands to be run, groceries to be bought, the trivia of everyone's life that all seems to converge on Saturdays, life changed horribly and forever for many people here in Arizona; not only those who were killed or critically injured, but the hundreds of people who either witnessed the terrible scene or are friends and family of those who were struck down. And then there are many like me, who knew none of those people but feel as though I have suffered a loss. Melancholy and sadness seems pervasive, a heaviness of spirit...so many lives, young and old, ended uselessly.

This poem grew out of these feelings.

Winter's Regret

There are so many ways for a heart to break,
so many ways for flesh to tear from bone.
Winter, so bare and starved for light
sweeps the plain and open field as if warmth
were the enemy, and laughs at loss and pain.

I build a bonfire of memories, my dreams
the kindling that throws shadows on the wall
and falls like ashes on the hearth, no longer able
to hold my portion of hope, a scant serving
of privilege I dare not assume.

Bare branches brush the darkened panes
and remind me to gather twigs of sustenance
as armor against wild things that would steal
fervor, dull vision and leave me neither failure
nor triumph, but sad and hollow days.

Then, as in the familiar silent wreckage of history,
I turn to denial to ignite the spark, the flicker
that draws me limb by limb from my shelter
to emerge in the optimism of spring’s first light,
winter’s wounds veiled with a soft apology.

Hopeful...always hopeful!

2011-01-01T10:25:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, my dear friends and family! May this be a year of health and happiness for us all!

As 2010 slipped away, the TV anchors offered us list after list of the best and worst of the past year. And polls...good heavens, the polls! One that I heard on CNN today is that 63% of Americans are hopeful about the coming year, up 12% from last year. I guess that's a good thing, but I wonder about the alternative. Why would one approach a new year with anything but hope? Yes, we can all think of reasons for skepticism and apprehension, but hope is breath...without it one withers and dies.

Hope is always found amidst chaos, which is a normal and inescapable part of life. If nothing challenging, upsetting or disturbing ever happened to us, life would ultimately bore us and our ambition would surely flatline! I know...you'd like to try it for a while just to be sure. Me too! But when 2011 turns out to be much like 2010, it is good to remember that life has given us so many opportunities, so many blessings, that to be less than hopeful seems ungrateful at the very least. Perhaps a good New Year's resolution would be to get out of our own way and make hopefulness our dominant attitude. I hope, therefore I am!

Here's my first poem of the new year. Cheers all!

Hope

sometimes weak as the January sun,
silent as falling snow,
it lodges deep in the gentle wreckage
of turmoil, sleeps until needed
and emerges in the small of my back
to urge me forward
into the chaos.

hope is the thinnest precipice
where I pause for a shuddering breath
before leaping to a distant
and unseen shore, a blurred
thumbprint where others
have landed and left a trail
that I might follow.

it is the sleeping infant,
the winter tree, the riverbed
that waits for rain, it is language,
it is marriage, it is love.
hope is the mute insistence
that the fragile flame
may flicker but will not die.

A Poet Searches for Words!

2010-12-19T18:08:00.000-08:00

I've truly exhausted just about all the words I know to describe the birth of my grandtwins...to the point where I am repeating myself. Nonetheless, I must report that Jonah Ray and Claire Elise arrived on November 30, about 5 weeks early, but healthy and beautiful. Son Scott and the valiant JoAnn have taken to parenthood wonderfully, especially given some severe issues with the end of the pregnancy that were frightening, but now resolved. The babies were in the hospital NICU for two weeks, but are now thriving at home. I was blessed to be able to spend 10 days in their home and share the NICU experience, where Jonah and Claire received such incredibly thorough care.
I had been feeling that the excitement of the new arrivals would overshadow Christmas this year, but as I reflect on it, I think the sweetness and joy of this experience just magnifies the treasures of family. We were gifted with three babies in 2010 (and two different generations!) and another great is expected next July. These little lives have given us all new energy and enthusiasm to be our best selves, to love without limits, and to help in whatever way we can to make their world a joyous place for them to grow. I feel so hopeful, so excited and filled with the Christmas spirit! My wish is for all my dear friends and family to be connected to the people in your life who give you joy this holiday season.

Waiting

2010-11-22T10:08:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been good at waiting. I’m a doer, a let’s-tackle-this-problem-and-fix-it kind of person. So when circumstances demand that I just wait, I squirm a bit. Now, I wait for my youngest son Scott’s twins to be born...any minute, but each one seems long indeed. In a year when much of our news has not been good, it is difficult to adequately describe what these babies symbolize for us...hope, courage (it was not easy to create these little ones!), renewed lust for life, and certainly pure joy. I’ve been invited to be there for the birth, which I would dearly love to do, but given the nature of the unknowns, it is unlikely. Still I yearn for the moment when I hold the little boy and girl who will be my next grandchildren and who will be welcomed with such love. Scott and JoAnn will be wonderful parents, and it will be fun to watch this family grow.

I also await the completion of my second book, Dance on a Dirt Road, due any minute. It wasn’t easy to create that either! There are some apt comparisons to giving birth, I suppose, like laboring over each step, many months of anticipation, and finally holding your creation in your hands. Not to be compared in scope or importance, of course, but creation feels good. It feels like Thanksgiving!

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving, and safe travels wherever you may be going. Here’s a poem appropriate to the day.

Thanksgiving

The day is full, food and laughter,
music and games, richly laden tables
and flowing wine.

Before the day is gone, blessings
retired to the back of mind,
look around the room.

It is in the faces you see, the hands
you grasp in love, that bliss resides.
This is what you seek.

Touch tenderly those who gather
this day, remind yourself that it is all
you need – you are rich

beyond your dreams.

A Poem I Wish I Had Written

2010-11-05T09:22:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things is to find a poem so beautiful, so elegantly expressed that I want to read it over and over, tasting the delicate combination of words and phrases and feeling it internally like an affirmation. This wonderful poem by Derek Walcott is just such a poem. I think it speaks deeply to a yearning we share to come to a peaceful, loving place where we forgive ourselves for shortcomings and flaws. I especially love the last line. I hope this speaks to you.

Love after Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door,
in your own mirror,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart,
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate nots,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

--Derek Walcott

Making Life Happen

2010-11-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the fourth anniversary of our moving into our home, and I spent some time thinking about how events in our lives actually happen. I remember quite clearly the day I spotted a drawing of a home on a "house plans" website. Knowing less than nothing about home building was an advantage in my case, as I suspect I would have been intimidated by the thought of picking a picture off the internet and saying 'this is the home I want to live in for the rest of my life.' But that is essentially what happened, and after about a year of floor plan drawings and 8 months of construction, we moved into a home that really was a dream come true!

My point is this: the realization of a dream always begins with the germ of a thought, a 'what if' speculation that starts everything. Sometimes it is a change of direction or a change of mind, that leads to an action, perhaps almost too small to seem significant. Of course, life also has a way of throwing rocks in your path to dissuade you from action. It is often a moment when an inside voice dismisses the thought, ridicules your dream or urges you to be realistic. But that voice can also be ignored in pursuit of what you know is meaningful or important to your life. It requires action, however small, to set wheels in motion.

I sat before a darkened window one morning and watched the unspeakable beauty of a sunrise that set the sky aflame and felt an urge to write a poem. It opened a place in me that I did not know existed. Since then, I have come to know the voice within that leads me to a deep place where I find expression of my most profound self. Now I await the publication of my second book of poetry, and I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed in bed that morning and missed the sunrise. Such a small thing, but it began a whole new aspect of life for me.

What small action today might make a difference for your life? What is your dream?

Dance on a Dirt Road

2010-10-02T14:13:00.000-07:00

In the hushed hour, she emerges from her cocoon
one limb at a time, eases through the cobweb casing
to step into the afterlife of the full moon.
She feels erotic, naked, though she wears a silken gown
the color of spring leaves, and pearls of dew.
A syncopated wind slips over her skin
and she begins to dance, one with sky and earth.

Curls of red dust swirl upward as her feet lift
and twirl, hesitant at first, then fleet and swift,
taking no notice of rocks and ruts, feeling light,
free of her perilous existence, perfect in body,
sinuous with longing, transformed in the lunar glow.
She is fire, wind and luminosity, propelled
on a zephyr, wild with power, creating God.

Nightbirds call in the quiet chaos left by her shadow.
From her hands she unleashes ribbons braided
of fears and failures, laced with heart fragments.
She spins tenaciously, arms spread like wings and dances
for all she has missed in her lonely space.
This road knows her feet, feels the beat she hears
in her head, a concerto for a lone dancer, with grace.

Life's Rough Places

2010-10-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

Life can be precarious sometimes, as I'm sure you have noticed. Just when you think you have achieved a balance and are keeping all those plates in the air, you can suddenly find yourself peering over the edge of a dark and daunting place. That is what has happened to me in the last few weeks. What I thought to be a persistent skin rash has been diagnosed as T-Cell Lymphoma. The good news is that it is in the early stage and it is generally considered to be a very slow moving disease. The treatment at this stage is a topical steroidal cream and it may be a long time before anything more aggressive is called for. I have a dermatologist and an oncologist who are in agreement, so for now I think it is under control. Still, it has been frightening and maddening to have to face up to this reality. I am determined to stay informed and simply keep living the best I can and not ask 'why me?' One does not have to look very far to find others who have much more to bear. I am grateful for my wonderful family and friends who have sent me so much love.

And now, I am getting busy on my second book of poetry, "Dance on a Dirt Road, Poems for Life's Rough Places." This has been very motivating as I get deeply absorbed when I write...no room for doom and gloom (I'm a poet, doncha know!). I'm hoping for publication by mid-December and it will be available on Amazon! Better get my backside in gear!

Sometimes You Have to Stop Thinking and Just Do It!

2010-09-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

As our 25th wedding anniversary approached, we could not decide how we wanted to celebrate the big event. We talked and read and discussed until it almost seemed that it would be way too much trouble. But finally, remembering a camping trip many years ago when we drove down a beautiful highway in Utah, we decided (OK, it was mostly me...Tom said he'd go anywhere!) to book at the Sorrel River Ranch in Moab, Utah. The very long drive to get there and back was completely worth the effort. We had a wonderful few days, the Colorado River on one side of us and massive red buttes and pinnacles all around. Glorious weather, wonderful food, immensely peaceful surroundings...exactly what we wanted. The highlight, however, was a concert in a grotto on the river by 14 outstanding musicians who played Brahms, Tchaikovsky and others in the most awe-inspiring setting imaginable. The notes rang from the 200' high walls and brought tears to our eyes. And the boat ride to and from the grotto was more than spectacular. We felt as though we had touched the ancients, humbled by the sheer magnitude of the world around us.

My dear friends, don't resist the urge to grab every moment of beauty and inspiration you can, even if it involves great effort. This precious life is so damned unpredictable and one never knows when the next curve ball will come along. We need memories such as those I described above to help us through the swampy times of life!

Love to you all!

"The Choir" will make you smile!

2010-09-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

I was ten years old when I had my first choral music experience. I was picked from my fifth grade class to perform with the famous May Festival Children's Choir in Cincinnati, Ohio. I was just one of several hundred kids but I clearly remember the feeling that this was something I wanted and needed in my life. I've never lost that feeling, the joy of making music as part of a group, creating a beautiful sound together.

That's why I have been transfixed by the BBC America's TV series "The Choir." Not only is it reality television of the finest kind, but each time I watch an episode I realize that I am smiling the whole time, and usually tearing up by the time it ends. (Don't you just love shows that make you cry?) Young choir master, Gareth Malone, takes on blue-collar British schools and towns where no choir has ever existed, where no one thinks they can sing, and changes lives through music. It is magical! His skill as a teacher and musician is in making it accessible and acceptable for people to try singing, and then to allow the experience of choral music to capture them. People of all ages discover a passion and talent they never imagined, and they have great fun. I love the faces of the singers when they perform as a group for the first time. I find it profoundly moving.

If you haven't caught this show, give yourself a treat and tune in. Even if you don't sing, or don't like music (though who could admit to that I can't imagine!) you will find yourself captivated. And if you have never been part of a choir, think about joining one. As you lift your voice, you will lift your heart!

Here's a link to some more information: http://www.bbcamerica.com/content/401/the-choir-videos.jsp

Look up tonight and ponder...

2010-08-29T14:23:00.000-07:00

Star Light

the weight of all those wishes upon the first star
must be difficult to bear, the whole planet
thrumming with desires, mourning broken dreams,
longing to end their longing, to once again
surge with hunger for the life they intended.

star bright, just one small wish is all they ask.
right my boat, let me sail smooth seas, let me float
far from here where I have lost the memories,
lost the answers, the compass --
set me a new course, dear star, set me free.

in the early twilight I see it, a gleaming pearl
alone in the dusky violet, as though it shines
on only me, and I send up a quiet yearning,
keep this small boat on this small sea
on this cherished earth headed toward hope.

Monsoon Colors

2010-08-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

I live on a red dirt road which today
the monsoon has made slick as an oil spill.
I am awash in color, so dazzling
it almost hurts to look;

the storms bring clouds like a blinding avalanche
and turn our golden grasses to green
of too many shades to count,
gleaming against the cornflower sky.

night rains saturate the ground,
the sound like the heartbeat of the earth,
lit by distant flicker of lightening.

perilous as life is, it rises to meet me
with a sweetness and generosity
just when my cup needs filling.

A Different Kind of Life

2010-08-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

It has been four years since we moved to this village in the grasslands of Arizona. We were both "city folk," accustomed, as most of you are, to running down to the supermarket on the corner for a few items, taking a five-minute drive to the mall to take in a movie or do a little retail therapy. We wondered, as some of you did, if we would adjust and enjoy this very different lifestyle. Well, we did and we do. It is different from anything we had known before. Here are a few examples: the Post Office closes for lunch, as does the pharmacy. Restaurants are not all open every day, and it is tricky to remember the schedules. The UPS man occasionally spots me in town and hails me down to give me a package. There is no trash pickup, so every other week or so we haul our accumulated garbage and trash to the landfill, which is sometimes the highlight of the day! The nearest supermarket is 35 miles away and every trip to a doctor (of which there have been many) is a 100-mile roundtrip. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Right now we are enjoying our beautiful monsoon season, with fabulous clouds and stunning green everywhere we look. Around every bend in the road one encounters such breathtaking scenery that it is impossible not to be filled with gratitude. I often must pull off the road to take pictures...the colors, the cows -- it makes me smile! Oh, and pulling off the road is no problem. There probably isn't another vehicle in sight. Yesterday, after loading up at Costco in Tucson in 98 degree heat and humidity, I headed for home where it was 75 and breezy. Just delicious!

What more can I say? I love it here! Come sit on our patio, share a glass of local wine and enjoy the beautiful view.

2010-07-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

Last night at my writer's group, I was dazzled (not too strong a word!) by my friend Kate Tirion's announcement of the ambitious (not strong enough word!) project she has taken on with another woman. It is world-changing. I cannot possibly due it justice here but it has been on my mind ever since. They have conceived a plan that will help bring Haiti back from the total devestation of the earthquake disaster by building sustainable and perpetually renewable systems and community-centered villages, anchored by a living environment that will encourage responsible growth, entrepreneurship and healthy practices by the Haitian people. It is both beautifully simple and tremendously complex, and it will be a challenge to their immense creativity to deal with governmental bureaucracies and other interested entitities. However it turns out, the wheels have been set in motion to generate positive energy around a country whose traumatized people have all but given up hope to ever live even a modestly healthy existence. And it has implications for any country or area who has suffered natural (or manmade) disasters and needs to 'start from scratch'. I don't know what the outcome will be, but I am filled with admiration for these women and their determination to create change, to meet needs and to believe that it is all possible. My suggestion to the governmental agencies and consulting firms they will have to deal with: don't mess with these formidable women...they are on a mission!

Butterfly Bush

2010-07-11T15:59:00.000-07:00

Under a corrugated morning sky
purple spikes flutter to life.

They quiver on perfect silent wings

in an effortless jazz ballet,

kissing flower, branch and blossom.

It is all they do, the sacred mystery

of single purpose creatures,

faint brushstrokes on a summer canvas,

moving the air, transforming everything

into light, weightless and faultless.

They live in transparency, feed on fragrance.

I press myself inside their world,

to be lifted here and there by a mere breath,

to feel powerful with divine intention.

I want to live in a flower.

Oh, How We Grow!

2010-07-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

A wonderful advantage of being the family's oldest generation is the perspective you gain as you watch your children and their children, and their children's children grow and nurture their offspring. We have just welcomed a (fifth) great grandchild and it is so exciting, so full of grace and promise. The birth of a new baby is a mystical glimpse into the wonder of life. Just look into the eyes of a newborn if you have any doubt about miracles.

But wait, there's more! A few weeks ago we received a huge surprise from son Scott and his wife, JoAnn. Married twelve years and parents to their 'furkids', two Whippets...turns out they (not the Whippets) are expecting TWINS! Boy/girl on Christmas day, no less. In his own inimitable way, Scott created a graphic and hysterical way of announcing the news. You can check it out at http://321jo.com/simpstews.

I feel blessed beyond measure.

She's Here! Seven pounds, four ounces of little pink great-granddaughter!

2010-07-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the world, Alyssa! Your arrival prompted a poem, written in your honor.

For Alyssa

Sweet child,

far-staring eyes so wise,

what do you know

that we must learn?

Do you know the joy your birth

has coursed into our lives,

filling us with splendid purpose,

giving us brighter dreams,

washing us with fresh hope,

that everything we do

we will strive to do better

because of you.

We are your family, your teachers,

your defenders, your guardians,

all of us, on your side...

forever.

Never Satisfied

2010-06-20T10:05:00.000-07:00

when it was mid summer and relentless
sun filled every corner, the slow afternoons
ablaze with heat-induced lethargy,

my mother yearned for the feel
of a thick warm sweater and cold mornings,
coffee by the fireplace, feet clad in wool.

when it was dead of winter, barren and brittle
with a fretwork of low shadows on the snow
she could only shiver and talk of summer’s glory.

in the dry season, where was the rain?
when it poured, would it ever stop?
and the discontented hours grew to years.

no wonder I was afraid when she was happy,
strangely at ease when all hell broke loose
and never quite content in the moment.

Over the Hill...what? where? What hill???

2010-05-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

I won't say that I was dragged kicking and scratching into my birthday, but I must admit the idea of turning 70 was daunting. So it was a lovely surprise to find the "crossing over" was delightfully easy, and a great deal of fun, mainly due to the friends and family who made it such a wonderful and loving weekend. We enjoyed a Saturday night dinner party at Canela, under the twinkling lights of the patio, with some of the world's best people, some of whom had never met but clearly found their connections right away. I love when that happens! I looked around the table and realized how grateful I am for the love and friendship of these incredible individuals who have added such fullness to my life.

Though I received many beautiful gifts (and you know how I love gifts!)I must mention one in particular, because it was the most unique and personal gift that I have ever received. My dear friend, Christina Wilhelm, whose musical talents are legendary, presented me with a song she has composed to a poem of mine, "The Music." I was left nearly speechless, something that rarely happens to me, as some of you know. It is a beautiful piece of music, but the time and effort it took to produce it is an amazing gift in itself. I am so honored by this incredible gesture of love! Christina's commitment to bringing great music to every corner of her world has truly transformed our community and enriched the lives of us all. She has also demonstrated that one must not get between a woman and her dream! I am so grateful to have her in my life.

My children and friends sent me so much love, plus flowers, candy and songs via phone, that I can only count myself as a very lucky woman indeed. Today, 70 doesn't seem so bad at all. I think I can do this!

Some Days Are Just Uphill...(both ways!)

2010-05-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

On a day when energy was low, hills were steep and my mind seemed stuck on losses rather than gains, this poem emerged:

Awareness

it’s music you didn’t know
you knew until, one day,
you find yourself singing
a song of surrender,
while you push
a wheelbarrow
full of rocks
uphill.

The Hummers Are Back!

2010-04-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

I've missed our hummingbirds over the winter. Now, as I sit here at the desk, I can look out and see one or two almost all day long. They are such wonders! These miniscule creatures with the micro-motors and massive metabolisms...I never tire of watching them. It is the triumph of creation over impossibility!

Yesterday, while the garage door was up, one flew in, attracted by the large window, and was desperately beating itself against the glass. I carefully held my hand under him until I could finally close around his tiny body. I almost gasped at the absolute weightlessness. He lost no time returning to the air when I opened my hand but I had held magic for a moment. I found myself thinking about that moment throughout the day and later came upon these facts, some of which I did not know...maybe they will surprise you too.
• They can fly up, down, right, left, backwards, upside down and even loop-de-loops! Amazing!
• Hummers can starve to death in about an hour. (I feel like that sometimes!)
• They consume up to 50% of their body weight in a day. (Me, again!)
• They have tiny little feet that are only good for perching, scratching or preening. This means if they wish to move, even a few inches, they must fly. (Is there a lesson in there for us?)

A riot of hot pink penstemon in my front yard, mostly volunteer, are encouraging the little guys to visit and it is such fun to watch them probing the little trumpets for that all important nectar. Think I'll go have a snack before I starve to death. Yeah, right!

Voices

2010-03-25T08:27:00.000-07:00

As I sit at my window this morning, looking at some very hopeful signs of spring, I am feeling disturbed at the news reports of the heated rhetoric that is rampant in the country. It saddens me terribly that we are so divided and unable to hear another's point of view without threatening responses. When did we become convinced that there is only one way to think, believe and behave? Intolerance is a poison that can destroy all the things we cherish about this country. This poem, though it is still a work in progress, is a reflection on these things and I felt moved to share it with you.

Voices

because someone must speak
for those who have not found their voices

because some echo in the silence, unobtrusive
as a cold desert night

because my churning passion is not yours
though I am convinced of its value

I need to hear your voice, alive
with the alarm you hear in your darkness

because you may hate what I worship
and your fervor drive me mad

because smoke and angels and oblivion
are all figments of our own creation

because childhood, love, death, pain
joy and fear are our universal bonds

I need to hear your raucous voice, though it
breaks through my cherished convictions and rips

apart my own prejudice and terror
the face in the mirror alarmingly like mine

because we cannot exist as one reflection,
one ambition, one monolith of similarity

because we would die of our sameness
melting into the silence of solitary thought

The Thrill of Victory

2010-02-28T12:11:00.000-08:00

Everyone who knows me knows that I am no athlete. The most exercise I get is jumping to conclusions or running a temperature. And as for sports, I like curling…up with a good book! But the Olympics are another matter altogether. It is beyond thrilling to watch these young athletes compete, where the difference between their scores is measured in hundredths of a second! And heartbreaking when a figure skater misses a jump that she has executed perfectly a thousand times in practice.

The Olympics plays with our emotions, to be sure. We cheer passionately for our American teams, of course, but when a small country fields a team of one or two, we rarely know the depth of sacrifice and commitment that has gone into that entry. On the playing field, or the ice, in one way they all look alike: the fire that drives them to excel…in spite of injury, family tragedies, or national politics…is intensely powerful!

There is a story behind every athlete’s competitive drive which I think compels us to watch and, perhaps, makes us all a little envious. What might each of us have achieved if we had committed to something so totally at a young age? I always wonder what it was that grabbed them early on and made them know that this was what they were meant to do. (And why is it so seldom math or science that grabs a kid?)

Well, the U.S. has done extremely well in this Olympics. I sincerely congratulate each of them, and the other competitors as well. It has been joyful and inspiring to watch.

A Jolt of Wonderful News

2010-02-11T12:27:00.000-08:00

Sometime last summer, I heard Dr. Maya Angelou speak on the radio about the ways in which women often surprise themselves by stepping out of the boxes to which they are accustomed. I thought to myself that she was telling my story. I was deeply into writing poetry for the first time in my life, surprising myself almost daily, and I decided that if I ever published a book, I would send her a copy.

So in November ‘09, that is exactly what I did, along with a letter that told a bit about my path to poetry. I sent it with very little expectation that she would ever even see it. So you can imagine the shock I felt when the phone rang this morning and the caller ID said “Maya Angelou”! With her beautiful, distinctive voice she introduced herself (as if that were necessary!) and said she had just received the book and letter, had read some of the poems and liked them very much, then asked my permission to send it to her publisher! I’m sure I babbled something only slightly coherent, but she seemed to understand that I was stunned! She made a few more lovely and gracious comments and wished me well. What will happen next I do not know. For now, it is enough. I am filled with joy and excitement…and deep gratitude. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for all your support.

Good Cheer in February!

2010-02-04T13:42:00.000-08:00

I was planning to post a few thoughts today, but something more important has developed. My great-grandson, James, is in remission from his leukemia! What a great and wonderful relief! He has undergone chemo and radiation since his diagnosis on Dec. 23, but his bone marrow biopsy this week showed no cancer cells! More treatment will be needed for a while, but the big victory has been won! That is all I have to report - what else is there? A six-year-old child has beaten the monster, and I feel like dancing! Thanks so much for all your thoughts and prayers.

The Future

a small child
conquers a biological system
gone haywire
with chemistry and courage;

a real-life super hero
fighting an unseen enemy
on a sterile battlefield,
captures the flag

and stares into the future
of magical opportunity.

Musings from the Snow

2010-01-24T09:40:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, while it was still dark, I stood with my nose almost touching the glass door to better make out the white cover on the ground. Finally, and gradually, as the light grew, it was a breathtaking moment of sheer ecstasy. Four inches of snow lay on the ground, pristine, crystalline, exquisite. Some years we get no snow at all, so it's an event when our beautiful grasslands and mountains get a heavy snowfall. I could barely look away from the window. And the dogs were wild with joy. Gracie, who almost disappears in the snow, pounced and bounced, thrilled when she could make the snow fly with her feet. Such fun. It didn't take long, however, for the melt to begin, and by late afternoon, most of it was gone. But oh, how magical while it lasted!

This quote came to my attention recently: "Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal into the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo." It does feel a little like that sometimes, but more often I feel as though I have been given an astounding gift when I receive feedback from someone who has been touched by one of my poems. Poetry is not everyone's cup of tea, of course, and for many years it was only a casual interest of mine. But I have come to love and respect the impact that a well-written poem can have on one's perspective on life. It allows us to look at something familiar in a whole new way, and to let the marvelous language we share open us to new emotion and understanding. What I attempt to do in all my work is to make poetry accessible and enlightening. Otherwise, why bother?

I'm going back to gaze at the mountain, all dressed in white! Cheers.

Cycle

2010-01-19T14:55:00.000-08:00

having let go
her brittle autumn glitter
the sycamore shivers
in a winter dress
white bones bleak
as a ribcage
waiting in the void
for the turned-in earth
to waken and dress itself
once more

Please help!

2010-01-15T09:56:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, I trust you have been as moved as I, watching the horrible news from Haiti. If you have not already done so, I urge you to help the relief effort in whatever way you are able. There are many fine charities, American Red Cross, UNICEF, church aid programs (just be sure that when you give it is through a legitimate channel) but money is what is most needed now. You've probably seen "Text 90999" advertised to donate $10 through your cell phone bill. Please join me in sending whatever you can to help this devastated country begin the terrible task of recovery. Thanks. The poem below woke me in the night, though mere words cannot convey the reality.

Lament

the ground twists
sickeningly
with timeless equanimity,
a natural occurrence
in the planetary construct,
unconcerned
that we will not be able
to comprehend, the devastation
too complete.

the family of earth weeps
that all has been taken
from those who had nothing,
to heap upon the afflicted
a new portion of torment,
leaving an ocean of primal grief
to lap at a crumbled shore
as though nothing had changed,

don’t look away –
stare into the fractured night
where even the trees cry out,
heartbroken.
watch in silent disbelief,
as if the earth had disowned
a whole people
where forever only suffering
will survive.

don’t turn away –
look, you recognize them,
they are us, they are us.

2010-01-13T14:30:00.000-08:00

OK, I admit it. For all the years that I taught classes and seminars in "Change Management", I have become more change-averse than I ever thought possible. Today really confirmed that. Tom and I went to Best Buy, and though I won't bore you with the ugly details, there were alien words like "router", "wireless" and "network" involved. We, of course, ended up buying more than we planned, but only because the nice boy in the blue shirt assured us that we wouldn't be happy settling for less. At any moment, I expected to hear a PA announcement say "Geezer-assist on aisle 3!" Now, in a former life, Tom was a computer wizard, but now not so much, and though I have never been even close, I do have a nubbin of knowledge that just lets me mess up at a deeper level. It's positively frightening! We'll see if our new high-speed router improves our lives in every imaginable way. I'm running as fast as I can, but my high-speed days are behind me...of this I'm pretty certain!

End of whine!

Still Perfect After All These Years

2010-01-03T15:31:00.001-08:00

moon sometimes known as blue,
held above by the barest thread
of spider web silk
setting my window ablaze
with the hopeless perfection I so envy,
just as thin and beautiful as ever
inspiring romance even in your
old age

no one tires of looking at you,
though by now we should be jaded
with your predictable appearance,
mirrored on water, gleaming over
a field of snow, teetering on
a mountain edge, you make us breathless
each time just as the first

no one cries ‘can’t we have a newer moon?’
no one deplores your sameness
or wishes you just a bit larger or smaller
you have not become irrelevant to our lives
just because we know you so well.
no one needs more than one moon,
do they?

Another Year Packed Away

2010-01-03T15:30:00.000-08:00

Well, the tree is undecorated and bagged and stored once again in the garage, looking a little like Darth Vader in it's all-encompassing black bag. The precious ornaments lovingly hand-painted so many years ago by Tom's mother are carefully padded in their coffee cans and put away. Most of the traces of the holidays are gone, except for a container of evil cookies that I feel obligated to get rid of asap!

What lives on are the little moments that made this year unique from all the others. It was quieter than usual, no guests on Christmas Day, but daughter Linda and her husband, Gene, came a few days later. They are photographic artists, quite extraordinary in their talent (check out their website: socalsunshineproductions.com) and we spent most of a day driving around to some beautiful venues in our area where they took many pictures of Tom and me. It was fun, and they were able to make us look pretty good! Pure genius!

Unfortunately, not every memory of this year will be a good one. Christmas Eve my great-grandson James, (Linda's son Matt's little six year old) was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia and is in Loma Linda Medical Center receiving chemo for the next 5-6 weeks. The prognosis is pretty good, although this is an unusual type for a child to have. It's a hard road for such a little guy to walk, and I would appreciate you keeping him in your thoughts.

The quiet nature of this holiday has allowed me to spend time writing, which is so nourishing to me. One recent poem is here...hope you enjoy it.

Endings

2009-12-30T15:59:00.001-08:00

Like the slithery transition between
sleep and waking, a year begins to slip
into history, taking with it those electric
moments when everything was possible.

Endings bring sadness, finality, no more
chances to shape events, pull from
the distractions in my head the jagged
start-stop of best intentions.

Leaves fall from my tree of hope,
gather on the ground dampness, slowly
decaying into new life, but forever lost
to my mania for fixing what went wrong

with this year’s plan – going for the dreams
and passions that I always knew would not
survive loneliness or bring me comfort. I see them
dangling at my window, through glassy tears.

Christmas Eve Thoughts

2009-12-24T07:46:00.000-08:00

Just a few lines this morning to say to you all, a very Merry Christmas! There are still a few traces of snow on the ground and it is a chilly 30 degrees, so it really feels like Christmas here in Sonoita.

While you are enjoying your holiday festivities, please send a thought of love and healing to my six-year-old great grandson, James, who has just been diagnosed with leukemia. He is in Loma Linda Medical Center where he will get great care and, we earnestly hope, a quick and full recovery. It is a scary time for such a little guy, and for his family.

I was just listening to Josh Groban's Christmas album, Noel, and the song that chokes me up each time I hear it..."There's So Much to be Thankful For." How very true! In spite of the challenging times that come to us all, we are blessed beyond measure.

Warmest holiday wishes to you all!

Nancy

Bethlehem of My Heart

2009-12-22T08:01:00.001-08:00

I am ready now
for the birth of hope
the advent of trust,
heart standing poised
to welcome the faint music of angels

here is the light of a star
shining down on my persistent
struggle to rejoice in the now
savoring the silken wrap
of love that is my daily miracle

I am ready now
awaiting the grace
the spring in the desert
the promise of the song that will be sung
as long as breath remains

Rejoice!

Decking the Halls...fa la la la la!

2009-12-15T12:39:00.000-08:00

Just finished decorating the tree...a bit casually, I must admit. As I stand back and look, I think it may have been stuffed in that bag one year too often. I reminded myself that once it gets dark and all the room lights are lowered, the fireplace lit, I will say, as I always do...this is the most beautiful tree we've ever had! Makes me smile to realize that I look better with the lights lowered too! Maybe much of life is about perspective, standing back at a little distance and not being too particular about the details.

I notice that my decorations have become mostly about angels. I am intrigued by them, the symbolism, the shapes and styles...all so different but somehow so soothing and peaceful to have around. I don't know about the theology of angels or the truth about them guarding us. I'd like to think so but I'm just not sure. Meanwhile, I plan to 'act as if' we are under the watchful care of the lovely angels that I have collected (or attracted, perhaps?) over the years. What's not to like about that concept?

Meanwhile, the decking of the halls is almost finished, such as it is. Then it will be on to the kitchen, where Christmas really happens! There are menus to plan, cookies to bake...you know the drill. And the music is playing, the wonderful Christmas classics that never fail to put me in the mood. I hope you are listening and enjoying the sounds of the season.

Much love to you all!

Homecoming

2009-11-29T18:52:00.001-08:00

Here, a gathering of familiar strangers pass
through the mirrors of their own thwarted
expectations of family.

It seems you know them, their faces you could trace
with your fingers in the air, their laughter
like chords of a remembered song,

their tears never quite revealing the discordant
notes they hear, only that it is not the song
their hearts require.

We read into each other’s hieroglyphs
stories of our own deficiencies,
bridges not quite meeting a faraway shore

where the bitter and the benevolent live together
in nominal peace, the truth and its absence
seeming equally credible.

Here is where the book falls open to the place
we always return as a reminder of what binds us
and what draws us apart.

Finding Joy

2009-11-21T13:47:00.000-08:00

Several times in the past few weeks I have been confronted with the word ‘joy’, used in different contexts, but it began the wheels spinning in my head. As I write these words, I am playing the Bach B minor Mass on my Ipod and wondering how music could be any more joyful. (Also thinking that I’ll bet there isn’t another person on the planet who is, at this moment, playing the B minor on their Ipod!) My musical tastes run to the classics and even to the Requiem Mass as inspiration for much of life, including writing. Can’t explain…it’s just me. But I digress.

Most of you know that the past three years have presented Tom and me with some major challenges, mainly his Alzheimer’s Disease diagnosis. At that moment, it occurred to me that joy might become a thing of our past, not of our future. I was wrong. For me, the experience of living with joy has been greatly elevated by finding it amidst the difficult times and our love has continued to be precious and rewarding through it all.

Discovering that the A.D. was not going to swallow us whole within a few months or even years has been joy beyond belief. We don’t know the course it will take, but for now it has changed our quality of life only a little, and he is still enjoying relative contentment. The heart issues of this past summer seem to be handled, and though we don’t know what lies ahead, things are a bit more tranquil here at the moment. Joy!

Someone recently commented to me that they spend a good bit of time pursuing joy, and find it difficult to sustain. My heart aches for her and for others who seek and do not find. Depression sucks out every joyous instinct in people who suffer from it and good professional help is often necessary. But for most of us, it can become a learned behavior and finally, a habit.

For me, my family and friends, music and poetry have been my great joys, in spite of having walked through my share of valleys. Oh, and my little dogs…personifications of joy! At my most joyous, I doubt that I have ever experienced it on the level that they exhibit when we return from the post office! They truly live in the moment in a way that I continue to strive for, not always achieving. But it is in the shimmering moment that we are most likely to find joy.

I believe that we can find and claim joy in a million small ways every day if we are open to seeing it around us. It often comes along with the experience of gratitude…and let’s face it, we have a lot for which to be grateful. We have what we need, if not all we want.

Joy to the world! The mass is ended. Pax!

Habits

2009-11-20T07:49:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about habits. Habits can be very useful. Sometimes having a customary or routine way of getting through the day can free your mind for multi-tasking, while your hands or body go through the motions of doing what they have been taught to do. I wonder, though, how much of what happens to us is the result of unthinking habits...doing what we have always done because we have always done it -- a kind of circuitous logic that brings us full circle without an awareness of why!

We can probably all subscribe to the goal of conscious living, as in connecting our actions to our thoughts and intentions...being aware of our motivations. It sounds a lot easier than it is, of course, as do most things that are logically good for us. Even when we know that something is not in our best interest, it is easy to shove aside that knowledge and let the habit take over. Some members of my family and I are engaged in one of those very addictive computer games that is a monumental time waster, but so much fun. Being a competitive bunch, it is alarming how hard we play to get ahead of each other, and how an hour can be gone and we have not even noticed the passage of time. It's not a terrible thing to waste an hour in pursuit of some silly fun, but sometimes I sit down with the actual intent to do something completely different(and productive!) and find myself playing that game as though I had no control.

Writing poetry has been helpful to me in forming habits that lead me to a positive outcome -- most of the time. I know that if I don't write, just a few lines, for several days, it is hard to get back in the habit, and then I feel like I've lost ground. Writing for me has become the most productive habit I have ever formed. It gives me an outlet for emotion and creativity and an outlook on life that is more positive. It is my best habit. Don't think I'll ever feel that way about ironing.

All the more reason...

2009-11-20T07:25:00.000-08:00

to cling to the barest scrap of love
however unlikely or undeserved
to disturb
our most sacred beliefs,
unravel
our cherished convictions,
examine
our established truth,
be done
with useless arguments.

A Friend's Visit

2009-11-04T10:57:00.000-08:00

Tonight my friend, Darleen, arrives from the Denver area to visit a few days. Nice, right? Nothing that unusual. Well, here's the story. We've been friends for 40 years and have not seen each other since 1986...that's 23 years! We've stayed in close touch by phone, and of course, email, but still -- how can this happen? Well, you know that life gets in the way sometimes and you mean to make something happen, but somehow years slip away. We were both still in our 20's when we met, with small children and busy lives, but that didn't stop us from having our dreams. In our fantasies, she was Rosalind Russell, playing Auntie Mame on Broadway, and I was Beverly Sills! Forty years later, grown children and husbands with health challenges, we will spend the next few days reminiscing and having some much-needed laughs together. It better not be so long next time!

Just Wondering..

2009-11-01T09:57:00.000-08:00

Once I remarked to someone that I really loved quail. He responded, “Me too. They are so delicious.” He got the desired response from me – a playful slug on the arm and a laugh. I explained that I loved to watch quail, the multiple coveys of them that live around our house. When they visit each afternoon, I have to stop what I am doing just to observe them. Their Disney-cartoonish way of running, their funny topknots jiggling, is comical and entertaining. But what I really love is the familial, almost tender, way they behave with each other. There is always a lookout, eyes alert to threats darting this way and that. Then a couple of adults pop out, maybe a few more (I assign roles to them like the aunt and uncle, a couple of cousins, and maybe a brother-in-law) and before long there is a great flurry of young’uns…but always, always surrounded by a group of grownups. I know, I know – they’re just birds. But I wonder how they manage to parent so carefully, so watchfully with so many children! It clearly takes a quail village!

Sometimes I wonder if anyone grew up loved and cared for in the right way – or at least in the way they wanted. When the deficit begins early in life, and no one notices, one can carry that gaping wound around for a lifetime. It often takes us down roads we would never travel by choice, searching for the missing piece of ourselves that was never validated or acknowledged. And so we wander, bewildered, well into adulthood, desperate to be understood and loved for who we really are…as if we knew. Get any group of adults together talking about their childhood and one gets the feeling that ‘dysfunctional family’ is redundant. Any TV newscast presents pretty clear evidence of the multitude of disheartened, disengaged children who are growing up convinced that they are unlovable. Why, in a society where miracles happen every day in technology, medicine and science, can’t we care for our children more wisely?

Is that such a bird-brained idea?

Cardiac Unrest

2009-10-24T08:13:00.000-07:00

I wait alone
in a crowd of the worried and afraid
while they probe your hesitating heart
my own beating a fearful tattoo
willing the panicky taste to leave my mouth

closing my eyes I see you on the table
in my crazed mind an ethereal glow surrounds
a swarm of wizards in masks and tall hats
waving wands of mystery over your draped body
snaking a tiny battleship through your veins

I wait, feeling chilled, dreamlike
for the head wizard to emerge to pronounce
the exorcism successful, the war won,
and imagine you leaping from the table
in cape and tights,

your heart able to beat in my chest again.

It's Not About the Turkey

2009-10-24T07:46:00.000-07:00

OK, I admit it. Most years Thanksgiving is all about the meal. It dominates my thoughts for weeks while I plan the menu, the table setting, compare market prices on "the bird" and schedule the kitchen routine. It's not that I am not thankful. It's more that the aspect of gratitude plays low in the background most years.

This year, the volume is definitely turned up. We have had what we laughingly call "a summer of fun" which included four hospital visits for Tom, almost constant monitoring for the mysterious dizziness and fainting that has plagued him for more than two years, and multiple weekly doctor visits to Tucson. The stress level got pretty high around here. At its peak, he had a seizure and we learned that his heart actually stopped for 8 seconds, which led to the implanting of a pacemaker in late August. Ahh, we thought, we fixed him! But no, some of the symptoms continued and our cardiologist (looks like Dan Akroyd...acts a little like him, too!) ordered more tests and determined that an angiogram was needed to check for blockages. The result was the cardiac catheterization on October 8 to implant 2 stents. After an overnight hospital stay, Tom was sent home, and so far he appears to be free of any heart-related symptoms. He is back to walking 5 miles several times a week and I'm getting my exercise by doing the happy dance!

All this to say that Thanksgiving this year is about much more than 'what's for dinner'. My heart is so full of gratitude for the many ways in which we are blessed this year. Our families and friends have been so supportive through the tough times and we have felt their love. Our home in Sonoita is a sheltering haven that continues to bring us joy and comfort. And I have found a new voice through my writing which has given me renewed energy and enthusiasm. So many have supported me in this and I am, well...thankful.

Now, where was that recipe for my favorite stuffing???

Surprising Myself

2009-10-21T13:53:00.000-07:00

Summer is definitely history. This morning was shockingly cold as we let the dogs out, who then wanted right back in. The cool weather is always welcome but we know we will tire of it by March, under the category of "never satisfied for long."

Yesterday, it came to me quite suddenly that I have finally found my life's work. Well, it's about time! Next May I will be 70 years old, and at last I know what I want to be when I grow up. Writing has always been important to me, and I know that I have skills in that area, but the poetry has come as a huge surprise. I just know that I have fallen in love with the form and can't get enough reading and writing.

I'm not fond of giving advice, but my own experience has shown me that I may have something to say to others in my generation. Retirement is wonderful and I dearly enjoy the freedom to design my own days, but it would be a very unsatisfying time of life if I had not discovered a new way to create. I know several things about myself that inform this view: first of all, I have a passion for learning new things, second, my spirit requires creativity in order to breathe. It's always been music, for as long as I can remember. I'm a singer. But, let's face it, sopranos do not go on forever. Poetry lets me sing in a whole new way.

What will you do to surprise yourself? Trust me, it is likely to be something of which you never dreamed. How wonderful!

Dawn

2009-10-19T16:18:00.000-07:00

As though rising from the ground
it begins to spread its apricot blush
I feel the sacred hush
as all becomes
silhouette

now a fiery orange the background
for the butterfly bush,
filigreed against the horizon
like intricate lace

where later a mass
of dusty-winged creatures
will gather, stained glass,
to flutter and tremble the leaves
with the weight
of nothing.

Watch for the occasional poem

2009-10-19T15:28:00.000-07:00

Hello! I've decided I had better get with it and learn to blog. Come with me on a journey of discovery, while I share a few tidbits from my life and learn a bit more about yours.

Today I am holding the final draft of my first book! The impact of that sentence made me catch my breath for a moment. The creation of a book of my poetry has been a year-long adventure, one that has changed my life profoundly.

I will tell you more about how this came to be as we go along, but for now I will just introduce "Sip Wine, Drink Stars -- Poems from the Heart of Arizona Wine Country," available around November 1. More details to follow.

Hey look, this blogging isn't that hard! My very best to you all.

Nancy