Dad

Time to talk about Dad.  He's been gone for 23 years (yesterday), which is almost half of my life.  I fear that I will forget certain details, so here goes.

Dad loved salty snacks.  Those included planters salted peanuts (he usually had a jar somewhere in the house), popcorn, extra sharp cheese on saltine crackers, and green olives.  He only had three things he liked that were really sweet.  Cherry chocolates, jelly beans, and anything cinnamon (mostly cinnamon bears and suckers).  He also loved iced tea.  There was always a glass of iced tea.

Though these things appear trivial to some, it comforts me to remember.  To know that this many years later, I still could go shopping for him.  That the imprint of this man is still so strong.  Words never will be adequate to describe how I miss him.  Always my hero.  Love you, Dad!

A beloved poem

In 2006, I submitted some poems to a publication called "Runes, A Review of Poetry."  It was one of my earliest tries at publication, and they didn't choose my work.  However, I received an even greater gift! When I received my copy of "Runes," there was a poem in it that almost stopped my heart.  The author is Lianne Spidel. If I ever need inspiration, and nothing else will work, I turn to this poem.  I do not exaggerate when I say that this poem is up in my top 20 poems of all time. Enjoy!


Daughters of Eve

I have found DNA in skeletons thousands of years old and seen exactly the same genes in my own friends... We are all connected through our mothers to only a handful of women living tens of thousands of years ago.
                                                                     -Bryan Sykes, "The Seven Daughters of Eve"

Mother, even if you questioned the mystery
of dividing cells, I doubt you thought
of them as I do - a line of ragtag recruits
committed to making a new person

You passed to me one constant strain,
tidy as the spices lined on your kitchen shelf -
cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves - those
your mother favored, and hers before.

The clan mothers were hunters who bore
their daughters in caves.  Perhaps the one
the scientists call Tara claims us,
who never saw the green-hilled land

your mother's mother never saw, who played
a flute made from the wing bone of a swan,
who strung a dozen strands of shells
and wore them to her sand dune grave.

Of all who came before, no one can tell
whose laugh you made your own, whose
stubbornness, but one of seven laid down
in you good timber for a necessary fire.

You wondered how you got me anyway, always
my father's child.  Know that you gave me
the flame of myself and that it ends
with me, a mother of sons.

Lianne Spidel

More beloved poems (I warned you)

I have neglected so many days of posting poems on this blog, that now I feel I will need to double up or go through May with poetry too.  I have so many favorites, and want to keep sharing.

Naomi Shihab Nye is such an inspiration to the craft.  To me, she brings compassion and respect to every subject she writes about.  She is an inspiring woman.

San Antonio

Tonight I lingered over your name,
the delicate assembly of vowels
a voice inside my head.
You were sleeping when I arrived.
I stood by your bed
and watched the sheets rise gently.
I knew what slant of light would make you turn over.
It was then I felt
the highways slide out of my hands.
I remembered the old men
in the west side cafe,
dealing dominoes like magical charms.
It was then I knew,
like a woman looking backward,
I could not leave you,
or find anyone I loved more.

             Naomi Shihab Nye

I found this poem,by Mary Oliver, accidentally a few years ago.  Her words struck me, and I held onto them.  They were me.  I believe it was also the first poem that I read aloud to a large audience.  Still today, I love it.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice ---
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
'Mend my life!'
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations---
though their melancholy
was terrible.  It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.

But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do---
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Poetry!

It's National Poetry Month!  This is my favorite time to post poems.  Not that I need an excuse, but April is the month.  Here goes...

This is a poem by Ted Kooser, from a book titled "Delights and Shadows" which won a Pulitzer Prize.  I treasure my copy of this book, because the poet signed it for me, when I heard him read in Salt Lake City a few years ago.  What a talented and personable man he is.

After Years

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea.  An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant.  At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood in the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.

                Ted Kooser

Dakota, my oldest son

Tomorrow (the 28th) will be Dakota's 22nd Birthday.  He was born at 8:30 p.m. on a sunny but cool day at North Country Regional Medical Center in Bemidji, Minnesota.  Dr. Williams broke my water around 5:30 p.m. and went home to get something to eat, saying "I'll see you in probably about 10 hours."  Nope. Once the pain started, it didn't stop.  I went right into active labor.  The nurse came in for a routine check, and found that I was dilated to 9 cm.  She called the doctor, who never made it all the way home, and he came back just in time to deliver my beautiful 8 lb. 6 oz. baby boy.  My mother was there in Minnesota for his birth.  She said it was (next to my birth) the greatest moment of her life.  I cherish the memory that she was able to watch him come into this world.

Dakota is my hero in more ways than one.  He has struggled and won many battles in his life.  Always, I have know that he would overcome whatever the obstacle was.  God loves him, and I pray that he will always remember this.  I have not doubt about that.

Dakota was 18 years old when I became a single mom.  He put his college education on hold to be at home and help care for his two younger brothers while I worked three jobs.  Sometimes he would come upstairs and check on me, when he heard me sitting up crying in the night.  He has been blessed with his grandfather's humor and quick wit.  He always makes me laugh, when I need it the most.  He walked me down the aisle when I married my husband Paul.  That will always be one of my favorite memories. His gentle spirit and smile has always been a gift to all of us.  I love Dakota and I am thankful that God chose me to be his mother.

Thoughts in my head

So much has happened in my life.  I am on my seventh week of my new full time job.  More about that later.

Today I have something more important on my mind.  Something more spiritual.  We have been missing our church meetings quite a bit in the last couple of months, mostly due to illness.  But that's another story. During this time, something good and unexpected has happened. We have started reading the New Testament as a family, and everyone looks forward to our next reading. I have found things that I don't remember ever reading before.  Also, we have been watching the newer version of "The Bible" on Netflix. Another thing we all really enjoy.  These things have kept me feeling positive over seven weeks of illness.  I am very grateful.

Today, the 23rd Psalm has been running through my mind.  "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; though anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

Peace.