Merry Christmas To All And To All A GOOD LIGHT!

When The Lights All Come Down

When Christmas is over once again, and when all of the sparkling, twinkling, winking, and welcoming lights are taken down and are sent back home to live out the rest of the year in their tidy box villages, I wonder what is left in the space that they inhabited for that one stretched-out month of celebration?  Any light contributed to this world must leave a trace of its brightness, once it is snuffed out or turned off.  Where does that brightness go; how far has it traveled, and what vehicles did it attach itself to? 

Into the eyes that looked its way, it leapt, and started the journey down to hearts crammed full of concerns and to-do lists. There it took up residence, and brought with it tiny beams of hopeful colour - sparks that made the little child within us dance with delight and anticipation.  As the ripples from those lights ventured on, they were sent back out into the world through eyes that were a little more positive from just having viewed them.   Once shared, light never really goes out – It is turned into a sparkling transformer, and adds beauty to this world that is in so much need of reassurance.  The brightest light of all shone out on the first Christmas day, so many years ago, and though we did not view that original light, we inherited the hopeful beams that traveled down the years, and revisits us again with every sparkling light that we contribute to this world.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a GOOD LIGHT!

In The Arms Of Christmas

 

 

I subtitled this post 'Lest We Forget' in recognition of the veterans of life that are not honoured as they should be.  They sit and lay in nursing homes, looked after by a staff of caring workers and nurses who are run off their feet - who barely have time to do the essential things that need to be done to keep their bodies from breaking down.  It is very frightening and degrading to be put into diapers again, to have to be lifted like a baby again, to be lost.  There is no time or resources to spend on that most precious commodity - self-respect and human dignity.   As the season of light, love and giving arrives, let us not forget to be advocates for these members of society who have lain down their lives over the years for their families, communities, churches, and their country, and are now in need of our remembrance and appreciation.

 

 

In The Arms Of Christmas

Lest We Forget

If wishing could walk,

And hoping could talk,

If faith could reach out

And wash away fear,

If my eyes could just speak

Through this body so weak

And let the world know

That I’m still living here.

If my heart could take wing

And my memory could sing

And my ears hear again

Those melodies clear,

I would rise from this chair

And dance on the air

And rejoice

In the arms of Christmas.

Hope For A Precious Child

A child falls down and sustains a serious injury.  While he is sitting on the floor, crying and unable to get up, his father comes along and sees the situation.  The child puts out his arms, expecting his father to rescue him immediately.  Wait, why isn’t he helping him up?  Although he is filled with compassion, his dad is saying that he has been advised not to move him until there is a consultation between family members – a decision has to be made about where the best course of treatment will come from, and who will pay for his treatment.  They don’t want to make his situation worse, even though it is clear to see that the pain he is suffering needs to be addressed immediately.  While the father’s hands are tied, infection begins to set in.   Now, the answers to the child’s dilemma have become more complicated, requiring more care, time and money to fix.  The trust that the child had in his father and the rest of the family has been seriously diminished.  He starts crying out in desperation for someone to help – but everyone is at the meeting – arguing with each other about the best course of treatment.

Let us hope that President Obama receives support from both sides of the House this term; that he will be able to lift that precious child and give him the help he needs while there is still time. 

Sign, Sign, Everywhere Sign!

Sign, Sign, Everywhere Sign!

John Lennon’s beautifully ‘signed’ and sung anthem, “Imagine” sent warm ripples throughout the hearts of everyone watching the closing ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Games in London – ripples of hope for inclusion – of all peoples, in a brotherhood of love.

I flashed back to another performance, this past Spring:

We sat in the audience, at our granddaughter’s school concert, as a group of over twenty, seven-year-old children, signed the Our Father, while Michael W. Smith’s haunting version played in the background.  Looking around the gym, faces were in rapt attention, caught up in the emotions that it brought to the surface in all of us watching.  It was not merely a performance - The children up on the stage were putting such sincere energy and attention into what their hands and bodies were expressing – bringing the words to life in such a special way.  It’s wonderful when life throws a surprise at you when you least expect it – and very humbling.  Another surprise came at the end of the concert with the small choir giving an amazingly simple and beautiful version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”.   It reinforced for me, the importance of arts programs in the schools.  Those lessons learned – of gaining confidence, and then sharing what is within – feeling those seeds of talent take root and start blossoming, are irreplaceable. 

If we want peace to become a reality, then we need to feed the souls of our children with hope - all of the other riches in this world count for nothing without it; and if we want our children to learn respect for themselves and for others, then we need to encourage them, honestly, and by our examples, to have faith in their abilities, their worth; and we need to nurture the desire to share, not just materially, but of themselves. 

.   I think I’ll check out the actual sign language for the word hope, and practice using it daily – even if it’s only a greeting to myself in the mirror – it would be a neat way to clear those early morning cobwebs and focus on the positive.  Let there be singing and signing – not just at concerts, and not just by children, but, by everyone, everywhere!

- I wonder what the sign for ‘rant’ is?

Housework Or Heartwork

Housework or Heartwork!

The sun was shining and the sky was beautiful this morning; those torrid plus 30 deg. temperatures have backed off, and there is a gentle breeze blowing; in other words, it’s perfect weather for enjoying the outdoors. Why am I inside, spinning around like a busy bee, cleaning up the hive, instead of getting out there and visiting those blossoms?!  

Good point!  As I was trying to make up my mind, inspiration tapped me on the shoulder, and reminded me that all of the housecleaning I could possibly do, would not be worth the effort that I put into sending an encouraging note to someone who might need a smile to brighten their day.  No one will remember us for the spotless houses that we kept, but hopefully, they will remember our thoughtfulness in times of need.  On its way out the door, inspiration suddenly had a change of heart and reminded me to check the load in the dryer!  Here’s the poem I wrote to get back at it:

The Day The Bunnies Talked!

I could have done the dishes,

I should have scrubbed the floor,

The laundry basket beckoned,

And the vacuum gave a roar!

    But high above the cupboard doors,

    Dust bunnies called, “Don’t bother us,

    Our furry coats are glorious!”

    Dead soldiers stood victorious,

    Why disturb their chor-ius?

I gently closed the door!

Wheee! I'm Riding!

Wheeee! I’m Riding!

I wish that was what I was yelling, as I stepped onto the pedals of my brand new, fix-all-my-problems-with-riding bike, for my second lesson.  As we headed off – walking our bikes to a parking lot and unused road at the edge of town, I felt like a little kid again – only not the excited one who could hardly wait to try it out – but the insecure little girl who was afraid of falling off and embarrassing herself, once more.  You’d think that I would have developed a bit of confidence and courage in my 60+ years!  I have to give my hubby huge kudos for his patience and his determination to get me ‘back in the saddle’.

He countered all of my scaredy-cat banter about not having the same balance any more; being a lot heavier than the last time I was on a bike (30 years ago!), with that great reverse psychology line:  “Ok, so you don’t have to ride if you don’t want to  - we’ll take the bike back!”  DARN!  I DO want to ride; so I started to pay attention to the way I was riding, and what the problem was with my attempts to turn the bike around.  For one thing, I had both of the handlebars in a stranglehold!  When I loosened up a bit, and did as my coach said, and leaned into the turns a bit – lo and behold – progress!   By the time the hour’s practice was up, I was actually able to ride the bike home!  Remind me to send a card to that lovely cyclist that I cut off – She seemed to be sincerely sympathetic, what with the heartfelt greeting that she yelled at me, and all!    Wheeee!

The Strongest Man In The World!

The Strongest Man In The World!

My father weighed a whopping 140 lbs., soaking wet; but to the day he died, he still held the world title for tongue holding!   I remember how my six siblings and I caused him frustration many times, but he could always pull out that terrible awful threat:  “If I come over there – I won’t be over here!”  That was the one that he would use to deflate a ‘tattler’.   What could you say after that?   He had an uncanny knack for giving the other person the benefit of the doubt, for trying to imagine the fit of the other person’s shoes before kicking them.  And we kids were paying attention.  We should never underestimate the amount of absorption that a child is capable of.  Be aware of the little eyes that are looking up at us, and taking in our every word and gesture.  There were times when dad’s philosophy stretched a little too generously, however - times when mom would roll her eyes as dad would start finding excuses for bosses who took advantage of his patience and his tender heart.  We all have, within us, those qualities of tenderness, patience, desire to excel, and the longing for and treasuring of love and acceptance.  Keeping these qualities in proper perspective, is another test of strength.  Being the nice guy is great when it comes from a sincere heart; however we also need to retain an honest appreciation of our own worth; or we are only wearing a nice-looking mask.  If that mask comes with a price tag that costs you your integrity, then everyone will be poorer for it, including the person that you are trying to be nice to, and those little ones, watching, and learning about life. It takes courage to play the ‘tough guy’ and to respectfully tell someone that their behavior is unacceptable or harmful to themselves or to others.  That courage starts calling to us at a very young age, when the decision is there: Should I join that cool ‘put down’ group in the school yard, or choose as friends, the ones who have enough confidence to be really cool – the nice guys – on their way to becoming the truly strong people in this world!

Time Travel

Time Travel!

This journey called life is a wondrous trip, to be traveled in such a small amount of time – no unlimited air miles!  If we could see time, what might it actually resemble?  Maybe a train, constructed from air and memories (light rail?). We take a baby leap, and hop on board.  At each stop, passengers get on, and some disembark.  In some of the cars, the ride seems to go so fast; in others, the journey seems long, and the end seems very far away.  As our destination gets closer, the train speeds up.  You motion to the conductor to slow down - you realize that the train has become precious - your home, and you are so attached to it; you want the trip to last longer; you want more chances to appreciate aspects of the people and the scenery within the cars – there are still some people and places you haven’t gotten to.  The seat belt, that someone has now insisted that you wear, becomes restricting - you want to get up and walk through the train cars, say hi to people, that you can see in the distance.  At the end of the journey, another train comes along – one with cars that are brighter, without seatbelts; without restrictions; and run on totally renewable energy!  Where that train ends up, nobody really knows, but, once again, we make the leap, and we find our memories already on board, and others waiting to be experienced, filling up new cars, in ways we can’t yet fully understand.  

Perhaps we’d like to get off for awhile - just walk slowly, and look around; Time might then offer a resting place, where we can feel the grass under our bare feet, smell apple blossoms and lilacs on the air, hear the sounds of birds, rippling water, and the beautiful voices of those we love all around us. 

Time can also be a wonderful diversion when left in my typing hands!

The train goes forward,

And the train goes back,

And picks up memories

Along the track.

It adds a car

At every stop,

And picks up speed,

While you yell, ‘Stop!’

Dr. Seuss's Teapot!

Dr. Seuss‘sTeapot!

I was thinking, the other day, about Leo Le Sieg, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss, and his wonderful book, “Horton Hears A Who”.  I love his famous line, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”  It came into my head as I was in one of my ‘getting down on myself’ moods; Thinking of myself as being so small, not in a physical way (no need to drag that into the recipe), but as a writer, I heard the words: ‘A writer’s a writer, no matter how small’, and it really picked me up!  What has all this got to do with teapots?  Well I also found myself thinking about the nursery rhyme:

I’m a little teapot

Short and stout

Here is my handle

Here is my spout.

When I get all steamed up

Hear me shout

Just tip me over

And pour me out.

Sometimes a small cup of tea is just what the doctor ordered.  I like to think of myself as a little teapot, a small writer, who when I get steamed up, can pour out a healing potion of encouragement, sweetened with a humble teaspoon of wisdom (quality may vary depending on amount of sleep deprivation added to the leaves).  Each of us has our own cup of tea brewing, and the amount we pour out is not as important as the fact that we care enough to offer what is in our ‘teapot’ to offer – a fine cup of tea, no matter how small!  Thank you, Dr. Seuss, for offering me such an encouraging cup!

Love That Bluegrass!

Love That Bluegrass!

Springtime is seriously knocking on the door, even if today’s cool grey sky is trying to ignore it.  It won’t be much longer, and that got me thinking garden thoughts:  I look back with fondness on many of the planting and weeding days, back on old Padgeberry Farm – not with enough fondness that I would attempt growing the huge quantities of produce and flowers that we tended then. Still, there were some nice bright spots there!  One of them came in the form of tiny sparks of royal blue flowers – Blue eyed grass, Sisyrinchium angustifolium (what a long name, for such a short plant!). They held up their hopeful faces, one by one – I liked to think they were smiling at me.  While the weeds in the garden threatened to overwhelm us, my two lovely niece helpers laughed, as I took great delight in talking to, and ‘weeding-in’ the blue grass plants that I discovered there - carefully moving them over, just a tad, out of the way of what I was actually attempting to grow.  Eventually, I had to give up on this well-intentioned exercise, as the sea of blue stretched a little further than manageable – Yes! That worked for me!!   My husband would roll his eyes (once more!) and give up trying to convince me that I should stop wasting my time; that they were just another weed.  I’d say, “Not so – they are just flowers growing in the wrong place(s).  Hats off to those particular weeds!”  The memory still brings a smile to my face; and so do those actual flowers whenever I find them anywhere.   Like the flowers in Dolly Parton’s, “Wildflowers Don’t Care Where They Grow”, a bluegrass gem of a different sort, they certainly don’t ask for much - they just offer their beauty wherever their seeds land.  A lesson to myself:  Whenever I am feeling overcome with the troubling weeds in life that threaten to overwhelm me, I will lift up my face, move those troubles off to the side, just a tad, and transplant smiles all around.  Think bluegrass!