This is a humorous look at our dependence on technology, and how sometimes we all need to take a break before we plug in again!

Plug Me In!

 

"I'm dying! I'm dying!"

My poor cell phone cried,

But I paid it no heed

As I headed outside;

The garden was quiet,

Time flew along,

The birds in the trees

Held me rapt with their song;

Back in the house,

No pings could be heard,

No greeting from Siri,

Not a single ring stirred;

"I can't understand

This new state of mind;

It's just so unlike her

To leave me behind,"

One last desperate try;

To the birds looking in,

"I really don't mean

To intrude on your din,

Tell her all is forgiven,

But time's running thin;

Please tweet her my message—

Please, please, plug me in!"

 Kindness is essential in the healing of our world.

The Quality of Kindness

 

The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven

Upon the place beneath.

It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

                        ..... William Shakespeare

 

The quality of kindness

Is the most precious of our treasures;

The humblest, yet most courageous;

From eye to eye it beckons—

Look long and deeply into mine,

We are one, you and I,

In our pain and in our joy;

In my yearning to find hope,

Am I misunderstood?

Have I misunderstood you?

We are all brought to tears,

By the touch of a kind word or act,

That drops like healing rain

Upon the wounds that we carry;

Let us hope that our eyes

Fully opened,

Will look deeply into the beauty,

In the eyes of our brothers,

And encourage

The quality of kindness that waits there.

 

Christmas is for Children

 

Christmas is for children,

How lucky are we!

For we're all little children

When we let ourselves see

The magic in snowflakes,

And in lights on a tree;

We are children at heart,

And that's what we should be;

 

Every smile that we offer,

Every kindness we share,

Is never too little

To help, to repair,

The hurts and the tears

In this world we all share;

 

No decoration so fine,

No light shining bright,

Can beat an "I'm sorry"

Or a " Me too—It's alright."

These humble words

Have the power to heal,

To lift off the darkness

And let ourselves feel

The joy that will follow

The peace that will flow

When we step up with courage,

And let the pain go;

 

Hear the voice in our hearts,

Where that little child lives,

In the hope of His promise,

The gift that He gives

To the hearts of all children

At Christmas.

 It's harvest time!   Ross and I sat at the window the other night and took in the 8pm show: the combine harvester was in the field taking off the 7 ft. corn stalks; we were going to be getting our unobstructed view of the highway and river again!  It triggered a fun memory of listening to the Wurzles hit, "The Combine Harvester,"  back in the day.  It also took me back to late nights catching turkeys and harvesting veggies in the wee hours, and I offered up a prayer for all of the hard working farmers out there. Now the gleaners have arrived; the haunting sound of myriads of honking geese, circling above and gliding in to the feast—the ultimate local shoppers; It would be nice if they'd pick up a bag of leaves on their way out—they're going for a good price!

I don't know how many of you are members of the 'wide awake at 3am' club, but It struck me that instead of trying to count sheep in those 3am sleepless hours, I'll envision the combine harvester cutting down each of my worries, one by one, reducing them from 7ft. problems to 1 ft manageable stubs. I hope that you all have found strategies for dealing with a problem that is plaguing half the population, especially in these new COVID normal days.  This wee poem came to me at 3am this morning; I hope it will give you a smile—it was pretty insistent that I write it down at the time:   

'Most of my ills I have cured,

The worst I have always survived,

But the very worst ones I endured

Were those that never arrived.'

... from my little Friendship Book

 

Over the Moon!

or: What's sleep got to do with it, got to do with it?

 

I don't know why

I can't sleep anymore,

But I know it's all over

When my toes hit the floor;

My muse thinks that sleeping

Can take a back seat,

must stand there in line

While my worries repeat

Themselves over and over

And over again—

Could they not have come knocking

At a quarter to Ten?

 

I don't know why

I can't sleep at night,

I do love the moon,

But it's shining so bright!

It winks and then gives my eyes

One extra pull;

I stand at the window;

The scene is so still;

In the quiet of midnight,

Its glow settles down,

Painting the landscape

Across field and town

With soft pearly colours

Where dark ones had been;

Touching down in my heart,

There perhaps to begin

To pour peace on my worries,

To quiet their din;

With a nod to my pillow,

I'll try sleep again!

Getting lost has always been one of my fears (often playing a central theme in my dreams) and one that a lot of us I'm sure, share; whether it's trying to find a new destination, or trying to manoeuvre my way through a computer challenge!  Perhaps turning it off and on again might work for both scenarios?

Back in the day, when driving the kids to an appointment or event downtown, the kids always waited for me to say, "I think Uncle Bernie lives around here somewhere," and they would know that we were lost, once again—not seriously, but annoyingly, until I got my bearings back. Whether in the midst of downtown chaos, a leisurely stroll, or just arriving at the top of our stairs, with no particular goal springing to mind, I find that just letting go and laughing will sometimes kick-start my GPS—"Oh, really?!!" my poor knees are saying, "we all know that the poor chicken only crossed the road cause Alexa told her to!"

 

Climbing The Stairs

When I'm losing my bearings,
Forgetting my way,
When my mind gets too busy,
I hear a voice say,
'Take a look round you,
Don't miss what's right there,
There is always a light
At the top of the stairs,'
 
When I've climbed to the top,
And I stand there at last,
I'm sure I'll remember,
When my panting has passed,
What it was that I came for,
It should soon crystallize;
I'm hoping that, surely,
It's not exercise?!
 
Looking out of the window,
I had to concede,
That a change in perspective,
Filled a much deeper need,
A wider horizon,
The tops of the trees,
The sky in its glory,
Was a tonic indeed;
I shall drink it more often,
And let my heart lead.
The next time I'm climbing the stairs.
 

 

Ode To My Refrigerator!

O wondrous white container,

That keeps my veggies fresh,

I've come to pick out something,

But I really must confess

That I haven't got the foggiest

Idea why I came;

While you stand, wide open, patiently,

I must accept the blame;

You know that I'll remember,

After I've closed your door,

I only have to leave the room,

We've been through this before;

As I head across the living room,

I hear you call me back,

"Perhaps you'd like to take your phone?

You've left it on my rack!"

 

I used to have a music box

That played a sunny tune,

Oh, how it used to cheer me up

When scary faces crossed the moon!

When the many scary faces of fear and its angry, unpleasant relatives try to bully their way across my hopeful moon, I try to remember the power of the music box!

I love music boxes, wind chimes, bells, and bird songs—anything that causes the air to vibrate with a bright hopeful sound. That's a love that I've carried with me from childhood, when staying over at Grandma's house provided some wonderful tinkling memories. I've written and posted a poem (attached above) about one of my wonderful Grandma memories that still lives in a special bright spot in my heart.

The key to the music box is never far from our reach; we are given a chance to unleash  hopeful notes each time that we direct a kind thought towards someone. That first note of kindness is all that is needed for a host of smiling vibrations to set out on their journey to the moon and back - How good is that!

By collecting bells of all sizes and materials, I've tried to keep those memories alive. At family get-togethers here, it is a treat and a scramble for the kids to grab one of the bells and call us in to dinner!  I've made a point of passing on some of my tinklers to the grandkids; hopefully, they will feel the love that goes with the bells and surrounds them each time that they ring out their gleeful notes (perhaps sometimes a little loudly!)

Here's a poem that I wrote about a warm tinkling memory from my childhood:

Grandma's Music Box

Up on tiptoe, hands outstretched,

My fingers found the key,

Once,

Then twice,

A final twist—

And the music was set free!

 

I held my ear up close to hear

the magic that came out,

So happy was each tiny note

That gaily jumped about;

 

Then, I quickly scrambled into bed

When Grandma climbed the stairs,

And lay there with the covers up,

All set to say my prayers;

 

I loved the smell

Of Grandma's hair

As she hugged me into bed,

And just before we went to sleep,

I turned to her and said,

 

"Thank you Grandma, you're the best,

You are so good to me;

Do you think, perhaps,

Just one more time,

You could turn the music key?"

 

Grandma's hands

Reached for the key,

The song leaped to her hand,

Once more she was a little girl,

The leader of her band;

 

She kissed my cheek

And gave a wink,

As she smiled at my delight;

She closed her eyes

Till the music stopped,

And then,

Turned out the light.