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The lost book of Ruth

8 Mar

And the mother said unto her children, “Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good.”

And the children cried unto their mother, “Mother we wish to eat like unto the Philistines the frosted tarts that pop.”

And the mother prepared an healthy breakfast with wheat and fruits from the vine.

But the children gnashed their teeth and cried,”Nay; but we will have a sugary cereal; that we also may be like all the other children, and that our lunches may be like the other children’s also, give us chips and twinkies and the carbonated sugar drinks.”

And the mother was wroth with her children and declared that the children should henceforth have nothing with which to eat.

And the children repented of their wickedness and ate with gratitude and rejoicing every food which proceeded forth from the kitchen.

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Happiness

14 Feb

Happiness is a spring day.  It slips up slowly, almost indicernibly, and suddenly I must go outside.  The world is fresh and clean and good and new.  Warm breezes melt away winter frost, banish my loneliness, wrap warm arms around my soul.

I had been sleeping, but today I am awake!  Little chickadee’s hop from branch to branch twittering merrily and my heart skips with them out to greet the world. Peaceful sweet thoughts flow through me like great rolling clouds gliding across the sapphire sky.  Bright daffodills bow and beckon to me like so many warm smiles.

I am filled to overflowing and my soul seeks no more.  Like the brook, babbling and laughing along, I am complete and happy in myself.  Little minnows dart to and fro, from shadow to light, daring to come out and bask in the light.

A blue heron wades in the brook, taking stately steps.  He tilts his head at me.  Then with a cry, he spreads his wings and leaps into the sky.  I, too, know who I am, and I will fly.  I will climb up up to heaven and soar above the clouds.

The Tapestry

25 Jan

I mentioned in a post before, that I wrote a poem to my grandfather when I was in jr. high.  Several people asked then to read it, but I had to find it first.  And then I had to find the courage to post it. I’ve been thinking about him a lot this past week, but hadn’t put together why until today when my cousin posted on Facebook that today is the 5 year anniversary of his passing.  So it seems fitting to post this now.

Image

The Tapestry

Come and sit, the old man said,

And listen to my story.

I’ll weave you a tale of life and death,

A tale of strife and glory.

So she came to hear his yarn,

Leaned against his knee.

He wove the colors of words so well,

They sang in harmony.

Then he spoke and the tale began

The fire crackled and burned.

While Grandpa imparted his wisdom,

Speaking of lessons well-learned.

From many lands the characters came,

Dancing before her view.

Actors they were, on the stage of life

Appearing at Grandpa’s cue.

One and all, they sang to her

The hues of their voices blending

Of laughter and sorrow, they sang to her,

Weaving the tapestry unending.

Dear Abuelito, tell your stories

I’ll lean upon your knee.

The colors you weave are everything.

Unfold your tapestry.

(for my grandfather, and all grandfathers who love to tell stories)

Waves

25 Jan
Sea

Sea (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn_be_back_on_Jan_20th)

I’ve often wondered what it feels like to drown.

Certainly, the swimmer begins the day hopeful and happy.  The beach is beautiful, the sea is calm.  What fun this will be!  What a perfect place to swim!  The sunlight glints off little waves and everything seems to sparkle.  Out into the water dives our swimmer.  The day is full of promise and she is buoyant in the water.  She swims circles in the sea, thrilling with the feel of the water on her skin, the way she can cup it in her hands or spread her fingers and let it run through.  In the sea she will find joy today.  She bobs along the surface, splashing playfully at the waves.

Suddenly, a larger wave slaps her in the face.  Surprised, she fights her way back to the surface, gasping and sputtering.  Regaining her breath, she looks about herself.  The sun still glints off the waves, the morning is still warm.  Though the big wave was unexpected, she has survived it.  It was a one time kind of wave, most likely, and probably won’t happen again.  Besides, even if another big wave comes, she has learned from dealing with the first one.  She won’t be caught off guard again.  She is still a good swimmer.  The beach is still beautiful, the sea is still good.

Again as she plays, a larger wave catches her by surprise and buries her under the water for a few moments.  Again she struggles for equilibrium and finds it.  Again she tells herself that she has learned how to avoid big waves. Again she returns to the joy of swimming and the sea.

The water becomes rougher and a roller wave catches her by the hair and drags her under.  This time when she surfaces, her skin feels raw, as if the water had scraped her.  She begins to doubt.  Perhaps she is not as good a swimmer as she thought.  Perhaps she learns too slowly how to swim over waves.  Perhaps one cannot learn to swim over waves.  She is treading water now, tired from struggling to stay above the water.

How cruel of the sea, we could say, that it continues to push her down, the way it sucks her down as soon as she falters.  But the sea is not cruel.  The sea means no harm.  The sea is merely what it is, which is the sea.  Relentless the crushing waves roll in.  Relentless the water pushes against her arms and legs.  Relentless, though she is tired.  The sea is what it is.  The sea means no harm.  The waves swell and the waves roll.

Though she is no longer enjoying her day, our swimmer continues to move, continues to hold her head above the water.  Now when she falters and the waves push her down, she struggles to reach the surface not to reclaim joy, but only to keep hold of life.  Life is precious.  Survival is what she struggles for now.  The sea is what it is.  The sea means no harm.  The waves swell and the waves roll.   The waves eat away time.  The waves eat away her.

What I wonder is

when her head goes under the water for the last time, does she believe that this is only another temporary setback?  Does she believe she will return to the surface again?

Or does she know the end when it comes?  Does she know she has drowned even before the water buries her?