I sat and I thunk
As my muscles went, clunk!

Though my gluteus is maximus,
The rest of me is laximus;
My abs and pecs have rested
Way too long as you can see;
Some muscles I am glad to meet—
Their workouts are a two-way street;
The more I laugh, the more I feel a lift
Inside of me;
A well-toned laugh can lift its weight
                   A hundred happy ways;                      ,
I'll work those muscles every day
To help me cast the blues away,
And lighten up my days;

Yes, I must admit
That I'm not as fit
As the girl I used to be;
While I might regret,
I mustn't let
Those thoughts get the best of me;
The best of me is yet to be—
So my hopeful spirit shouts,
For the part of me
That's the heart of me,
Still grows from the inside out!

 

From Dark to Light

There's something about the darkness
That pushes my happy down;
There's something about the lack of light
That makes my spirit frown;
 
Why can't I call forth happy dreams
When I'm in the throes of night?
When everything seems so hopeless
And my breath is locked up tight; 

There's something about the early hours
Between the dark and light
When I wake to possibilities
And readjust my sight;
 
There's something about the morning
That lifts me up again,
And promises light and laughter
If I choose to let it in;
  

There's something about the song of a bird
In that early morning light,
Or the voice of a friend who calls to say,
'You're loved; it will be alright';
 
Those voices of encouragement
Like rainbows after rain,
Have power to lighten up my dark,
and lift my happy up again.

 

and lift my happy up again.

 

If Memory Serves Me
 
If memory serves me,
How lucky I'll be,
If that wonderful waiter
Brings laughter  to me;
I don't mind repeats,
Let me taste them again;
The heart warming moments,
The faces of friends;
When he comes to the table
Of my grateful mind,
Tactfully leaving
Sad choices behind,
My heart will make sure
That I've gratefully left
A tip for the server,
A nod to the Chef,
And a take-away box
For the smiles that are left–
Yes, I'll have to admit
That the banquet was great,
The service outstanding,
Even though I still wait
For my cell phone and keys
To appear on my plate!
 

Some interesting facts that I gleaned from our friend, Google:

- Doodling can provide a respite from the things that are stressing you. Letting your mind wander through doodling is a way to break negative thought patterns, and getting creative is believed to calm the part of the brain linked to anxiety.

- doodling is an effective means of remembering information, stirring up new ideas and focusing a frazzled mind. 

- doodling helps in alerting your mind and helps in improving focus & concentration.

- Doodling, or drawing simple images, can have numerous benefits for those with ADHD, including: Improved focus.

And I thought I was just having fun! 

What's a Doodle!
 
I drew a tiny circle
As I waited for my brain
To shift from neutral into gear
And turn back on again;
My doodle kept on growing,
One circle at a time,
And I let it lead me further
down its happy doodle line;
It was really looking fine!
 
I put a little music on
And let it have its say,
As off I went in sweet content,
A-doodling all the way;
It didn't matter where my pen
Decided it would go,
I switched from forward to reverse
And wandered to and fro;
I just let it flow;
 
How wondrous was my doodle,
These lines that stretched my smile;
Just one more circle,
 then I'll stop,
Or maybe pause awhile;
Lost in time, I'll let my heart
Relax in peace replenished;
With such a wondrous dose of joy,
My stress has been diminished—
And, like the paths our lives take,
A doodle's never truly finished!

 

I wrote the following poem for my mother-in-law Joan on the occasion of her 90th birthday, six years ago; she has now passed on but her memory will remain with us as will the gifts of wisdom, and her wish for our family ties to be kept strong.

For Joan:
 
The love of a child
For the mother who holds
Him from infancy to adulthood
Is a bond like no other;
A daughter-in-law
Has a whole lot to learn
About  this woman
Who enters her life:
His mother;
 
To understand her essence,
Her own brand of love,
Her struggles and wisdom;
Her words: 'A life is not worth living,
If you aren't giving,''
Ring true within me;
We are alike, yet unique,
Two comrades in four arms,
Growing in deep respect
For each other;
Our family
Stronger
 From the joining of
These two mothers' hearts.

 

Christmas is within each of us;

it's message of hope is built, kind drop by kind drop.

The Dove's Song

A little dove came
To my window today,
Her tiny eyes blinking
The snowflakes away,
She called to my inner child,
"Come out and play!
Christmas is coming,
Just look and see
The sparkles that God put
On my Christmas tree!"
 
The sun in the trees,
gave life to the snow,
It danced and it glittered
on each branch and bough;
As the happy dove flew
Through the wonderland there,
She offered her song,
And bright wisdom to share:
'Coorage!' she sang,
With all of her might,
The drops of your kindness
Shed a most precious light;
 
Let your heart heed the cry,
Of the dove hovering near:
Charge the air with your smiles,
Cast away useless fear;
Let the light of your laughter
Pierce through the gray;
Fill the world with your sparkle,
Let your inner child play
As you gaze with fresh eyes
Through God's window today.

                                           

Though Nature's most spectacular colours may be fading, her more subtle colours are right before our eyes, waiting to be recognized for their own beauty; I wrote this little poem in appreciation of hidden beauty.  November is the quiet month; that of reflection, remembrance, and gratitude.

November Song
 
The beautiful colours,
That climbed over fences,
Feeding our spirits
And filling our senses,
Are tenderly tucked in,
Beneath Nature's blanket,
Laid down to rest,
In Earth's trundle bed;
 
Our souls and our eyes,
Being now richly sated,
With warm happy colours,
That from earth emanated,
Seeds for the winter's
Dark days that may come;
When gray skies insist
'There's no beauty to see,'
It's then that I'll pull out
The colours in me;
 
The warmth from my hands,
The light from my smiles,
Warm colours of kindness
Antidote for our trials,
There's no greater beauty
Than those gifts when shared
With neighbours and strangers,
So glad that we cared
To help them to sing out
November's sweet song.

 

Some memories are kept in a secure car on life's train; others are just passing through.  As we shuffle the cars, let's always be the smiling conductor!

The Memory Station

If I forget to tell you
What it is I just forgot,
Please don't think
That I don't care,
Or that my memory's shot;
My thoughts are simply racing
Around a busy track,
And may have missed
A stop or two,
Or have fallen
Through a crack,
But not to worry,
I'll keep pulling
Memories from  my pack
Till what it was
That I forgot,
Remembers to come back!

At this time of year, I always love watching the maple trees coming into bud and bloom; they were always a favourite flower that I'd bring home for mom on my way home from school.  She was so gracious to greet my offerings with enthusiasm and find jars to display these wondrous flowers! Next would be dandelions and clover and wild roses.   ' Crimson and clover' just popped into my head - loved that song!  It came out in 1981 when I was the young mother of three.  Ah, memories of chasing the three of them across our lawn, trying to coax them into clothing of various sorts, or into just wearing something!  Those precious moments, though they were busy ones, went by way too fast.  I tried to capture one of my own early memories in this little poem; I hope it stirs some of your own warm memories and adds to your garden of smiles:

Mom's Garden 

Before I learned
To read or write,
I'd bring her flowers
I thought she'd like;
Some pansies from
Her garden bright,
Or a blossom from our tree;

 

I'd find such wonders
On my way,
And I was sure
That she would say,
How beautiful! and never mind
A few holes in her garden,
Here and there;
 
She seemed to know
The joy I felt,
And knew just how my
Heart would melt,

To see her smile
Then hug me tight,
And plant a kiss,
In pure delight!
 
The fanciest flowers
Could not compare
To the seeds of joy
That she planted there;
Her garden of kindness
I'll tend with care,
And water it daily
With laughter and prayer.

 

A Litter Lament 

Down in the laneway,

A ruckus arose,

A cackling and cawing,

A quarrel of crows,

Pushing and pulling

With feathers a-flap

Till the tie on the bag gave way with a snap!

Then, a squawk and a squabble,

Over what they would gobble,

Or some silly bauble

That someone discarded

Its worth unregarded

They would bring to their nest,

With all of the rest

Of the treasures they dug

With each hopeful tug;

 

Litterbird, Litterbird, fly away home,

Stop spoiling my work,

Leave my garbage alone!

Every two-winged, two-legged,

Four legged critter,

It just takes one thought

To decide not to litter;

Let's stop all the squabbling

That tears us apart,

Pick up our litter,

And polish our hearts.

 

The Wave

Twice today, I have been the grateful recipient of a friendly wave; at least that is what I assumed the fellow in the passing truck, and the lady walking her dog coming towards me down the street were going to do. I was pretty sure that I knew each of them until they came within range and I realized that my enthusiastic waving was being met with questioning stares.  No matter, I gave the wave a huge smile follow up and I felt better as their smiles grew and they hesitantly returned the wave.  I may not have known them at all, but I figure that it was better to wave in error than to let fear of making a mistake spoil those special moments.

There is nothing wrong with saying hello to a stranger on the street or offering them a wave, and certainly a smile; it may be the only bit of warmth that he or she receives on that particular day, or possibly for many days.  It certainly picked up my own mood and jolted me out of self absorption that was not nearly as interesting; if we can't laugh at ourselves on a regular basis, then we become dull very quickly—best to sharpen up those smile muscles, smooth out our wrinkles, and join the wave! 

I raised my hand

And held it high,

In  a friendly wave

As a lad walked by;

A friendly wave,

How brave, how brave!

 

Strangers, yes,

But his eyes met mine,

A little bit shy,

But with hopeful shine,

He tossed a smile;

What class, what style!

 

With every wave,

To someone new,

My steps were lifted,

My spirit grew;

My wave had power

An awesome tool,

How cool, how cool!

 

 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.

 

Spring is now officially fourteen days away; someone needs to let the snow suppliers know that they can scale back on the deliveries any time now. I'm looking at four feet of snow in our back yard, and although it is giving us a beautiful, bright, blank page to write on, I don't need to be writing a tome! 

Actually, a blank page may be what we all need right now, with the potential to reassess and to start living life with a new sense of appreciation for the gifts that we have been blessed with. We are all grappling with the knowledge that, as we sit in uneasy comfort, our brothers and sisters in the Ukraine have had their lives torn apart. We wonder what the future holds for us all, and what we can do to help to promote peace.

I believe that peace has to begin within each of us, one moment at a time, one kind thought at a time, building exponentially from kind word to kind word, caring smile to caring smile, one act of forgiveness to total forgiveness of others, and of ourselves. In the words of Desmond Tutu, "Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world." 

Wisdom Springs and Joy Sings!

No one ever lives in complete isolation,
For within each of us,
Wisdom dwells,
Our spirit's dear companion;
Living alongside our human essence,
In quiet contemplation of our desires and
Our efforts to give;

Its sole purpose is to guide us to giving

In constant, selfless ripples;
It is the voice within
That puts a stop on our tongues
When hurtful words prepare to leap forth,
Or when we would voice an untruth;
It asks only for a diet of humility,
And a letting go of earthly ambition;

It is not a solemn companion,

But a joyful spirit;

It is not bound up in pettiness,
But laughingly loves us,
Revels in every smile that we let escape,
Every kind act that we follow through on;

Those actions let it know that it has been welcomed and heeded,

That God, the giver of the gift, indeed dwells here;

We are totally and forever enfolded in His loving embrace,
We are never alone.
 

Solomon's Respect For Wisdom:   "I esteemed her more than sceptres and thrones"

 

 

This message was sent to you from:

Edie Batstone

E-mail:  edie@ediebatstone.ca

Website:   www.ediebatstone.ca

Address:  Box 2167, Prescott, ON,  K0E 1T0

Telephone:  613-925-4835

 

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Charter of Kindness

We are all worthy of love.

We each have the responsibility to let love rule our every action,

We have the right to speak our truths,

We have the responsibility to use words that do no harm

and to listen with respect to others' truths,

We have been given the gift of remembrance,

We have the responsibility to forgive,

We have the right to shelter,

We have the responsibility to contribute to sheltering others,

We have the right to create,

We have the responsibility to encourage others to create,

We have the right to dance,

We have the responsibility to respect others' space,

We have the right to sing our song,

We have the responsibility to listen with receptive hearts

 to the diversity of songs around us,

We have the right to food and water,

We have the responsibility to show gratitude for those gifts

 by sharing them with others,

We have the right to learn,

We have the responsibility to teach the encouraging word,

We have the right to laugh and to cry,

We have the responsibility to dry the tears of others,

We all share the responsibility of healing the soul of the world

With our every individual, precious act of kindness;

In sharing kindness, we will find joy.

 

Make each act a kind one,

And one day you'll see

In the eyes of your child,

The best you can be.

 

'Freely you have received; freely give.' Matt 10:8