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!

 

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.

 

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.

 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.

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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"I remember everything" - John Prine

I may not remember everything,

But, I still enjoy some good 'time travel' moments, especially on gray days:

Ah, memory, my elusive friend; where have you skipped off to—

Are you back in a tiny home,

By a riverfront, alive with life,

Where excitement tapped on your window,

And brought you an invitation

To a day filled with possibilities?

 

Are you visiting with dad,

On a sparkling Winter morning,

Watching him don his awesome speed skates,

Then heading out to fly!

Our own Hans Brinker,

Taking a break from

Supporting his family;

The sun greeting him,

The cold breeze bringing  tears to his eyes;

With fresh snow falling around him,

A sense of freedom warming his heart,

Across the ice he speeds,

Keeping  a rhythmic pace,

Left arm tucked behind his back,

A huge smile lighting up his face!

 

Watching as that feeling of peace overtakes him,

Are you too, flying along

Over the ice-covered river?

Have you noticed that you are not alone—

That a little child has been following you,

Trying to catch up,

Moving closer, with every magical stride,

Tapping you on the shoulder,

Inviting you to reach your arm back,

To take his hand—

Your inner child

Only waits for you to

drop your heavy shoes,

don your skates,

To join him, and to fly!

 This poem speaks to my nostalgic longing to step into a meadow of childhood hope once more:

Back To The Meadow

 Oh, how I miss those childhood days,

Where oft on lazy summer days,

I wandered through the colours,

Picking daisies as I passed,

Counting petals, one by one,

The last one sighing, "We are done—

He loves me not, alas!"

 

Meet me in the meadow,

Where the nodding daisies dance,

Where the butterflies and buzzing bees,

Dodge around the watchful trees,

Soaring now above the tips

Of those snow-white landing strips,

Endowed with elegance;

 

Meet me in the meadow,

When the morning dew has past,

And all the flowers have been infused

With moisture dropped in rainbow hues;

When buttercups and clover sweet

Greet my touch and heed my feet,

That move along too fast;

 

Meet me in the meadow

And bring your cares along,

Let them come into perspective,

They are only an elective,

Let childhood joy replace your care,

Let nature's scents flow through your hair,

And healing memories be strong.

 

A memory gives us a chance to time travel!  How do you make a memory—a happening that touches the soul and stays?  We all have hurtful images from the past that can hang on and hold our hearts captive, robbing us of our potential to create joy, but warm memories, the best ones, happen when we are taken by surprise; they are able to stir a huge heartfelt laugh, or maybe a tear.  Memories grow stronger and more precious when they are shared—let's get busy and start building that time machine, with the cogs of our honest, humble foibles and in the beautiful gifts that lie within each of us.

                                                Love forgave, kindness smiled, and hope grew a precious memory.

 

The Gift

 

There are gifts that we give

To the ones that we love

That leave rare and indelible marks;

Little glimpses of something

That words can't explain,

Scripted in thoughts

That weave their refrain,

Playing time and again in our hearts;

 

There are moments we touch,

Without touching at all,

When we meet in our memory room;

When a smile meets a smile,

There is healing that happens;

We're reminded that hope

Lies within every challenge,

Within every gift still to come;

 

There are beautiful treasures

To gather and share,

Memories to make every day;

As we clear a place for them,

Let their roots grow,

Their buds are just waiting

For someone to say,

"Can your happy memories come out and play?"

 

 

Fathers and mothers, and all of us are being tested these days as never before, to be a comfort and guide to our children and vulnerable ones, but sometimes, we are the ones who need comfort.   Whether we cry in frustration, fear, sorrow, or whether we are lucky enough to receive the gift of a wonderful tear-inducing belly laugh, It is ok for us to open our release valve and to cry;   It takes courage to admit our needs — and there is great healing strength in tears. 

A Father's Strength

I watched my mother cry at times,

And we hugged, and shared the pain,

But who can fathers turn to

When they're bent hard with life's strain?

 

To keep his tears from softening

The armour he maintained,

He bottled up his hurt and wrapped

His wounds in cellophane;

There they stayed, there they made

A load that grew in size,

Until he knew, just one more hurt

Would cause him to  capsize;

 

And now it came, another loss,

Another weight to bear;

A sigh at first,

The dam then burst,

No longer did he care;

No longer could he be a rock,

A  hero, strong and tough —

He felt the hammer hit the stone,

It broke to pebbles rough;

 

Unwrapped and laid bare by the flood,

His tears completely spent,

He gathered up his courage,

His armour, now all bent,

And began to build another wall,

To keep his courage safe —

A shelter for his weathered heart,

His washed and bandaged faith.

 

We tend to think that men can cope,

No emotional displays,

But, the weight of the world

Is too heavy a load

For any one person to carry alone,

And the wisest words you could ever say

Are in the tears that we share today.

 

Michelangelo's inspired sculpture of the Pieta, the beautiful, poignant depiction of Mary, holding Jesus' body after the crucifixion, has much to say to us all in these difficult days.  The world unleashed all of the worst that it was capable of against her Son; He took it all, and forgave it all; it had no power to defeat His spirit, the embodiment of love.  His mother endured every ounce of pain with Him and now holds her Son, alive forever.

 For all mothers and nurturers, struggling to be strong for their families, I offer the following:

 

I don't think I can handle this,

I feel as though I'll break;

I've thrown my hands up in despair,

How much can my heart can take!

 

I'm not a superhero,

I'm a mother, hanging on,

Drawing on my fragile faith,

And trying to stay strong;

 

In the midst of this heart's struggle,

The voice of hope pushed past,

Whispering encouragement,

'Hold on, this too shall pass.'

 

'I know what you are going through,

That fear, I've known it too;

I've watched my loved one hurting,

Felt helplessness, like you;

 

Take courage, joy will follow,  

And sorrow will pass by,

For love, once born,

Will be tested and torn,

But it can never die.'

A Mother's Blessing

My prayer is in

These mother's arms

That enfold my family 'round;

My prayer is in

These tears I cry

When problems get me down;

When they press

To hold me under,

I will lift my eyes

To Thine,

And pray, with all

That I possess,

That You will hear,

And You will bless

This family of mine.

 

Be Kind

I rose from sleep,

And there it came,

To stop my breath

To squelch my flame,

"You are unworthy,

Yours the blame,

You cannot hope

To win life's game"

But, deep inside,

I heard the words,

Encouraging,

"Be kind, Be kind"

 

How hard it is

To seek and find    

The path that leads

To peace of mind;

To heed the voice

That climbs the slope,

Carrying the seeds of hope,

To light our path,

 to conquer doubt,

The way is clear,

Its voice rings out,

"Be kind, be kind",

 

Pride will entice,

And ego take,

Crushing spirits

In their wake;

Their heavy shoes

Will weigh us down,

Direct our gaze

Inward and down;

Love stops cold

That toxic wheel; 

Walk together

And we'll heal,

Arm in arm,

In kindness, building hope;

 

Be humble in our giving,

Humble in receiving,

Take pride in our gratitude,

Take pride in each kindness,

Take pride in every act of respect,

Take pride in acknowledging

That we are all children of the same family,

Sharing the playground together.

 

A Humble, Silent Prayer, and a Sincere Smile -

The most powerful forms of communication

When we drop to our knees
And let it all go,
Open our hearts
And let the tears flow,
Deep in our souls,
Someone listens and knows;
 
Prayer is like a rescue ship,
A boat that's waiting, moored;
When fears are overwhelming,
 When those I love are threatened,
 In quiet desperation,
I take a step aboard;
 
My Companion bids me welcome
As He reaches out His hand;
He tells me He has heard my plea,
And that He understands;
There are miracles in progress,
Things we cannot know,
But when we call out from our hearts,
There's no way that He'd say, 'no';
 
When we make the choice to push off
From our comfortable, safe shore,
When we risk being surrounded
By fears we can't ignore,
By dark waters of rejection,
Of doubts that make us question,
He reminds us that we're gifted
With a life preserving smile;
 
That when tossed with firm resolve,
To lift another from despair,
Becomes the echo of His answer,
The hope that follows prayer;
For the giver and receiver,
Both are pulled into His craft,
To rest until the waters calm,
Until the storm is past;
 
No smile left behind.

 

 

An Ode To The Whittler

How much wood would a whittler whittle if a whittler could whittle wood?

And why does the whittler whittle even when no one tells him he should?

 

Every creation is a part of God's plan, commissioned by Him; He loves our mistakes as much as our successes, for they show Him that we have answered His call - that we have stepped forward, that we are trying. The Master Whittler has faith in us and is always hopefully waiting  to answer any requests we have for assistance in how to use the tools he has given us.  One of man's basic needs is the need to share - No matter our colour, race, creed, or orientation, we all share a common desire to draw the very best out of whatever creative medium calls to us and to share our efforts. 

God  holds us closely, turns us in His hands, loves us in spite of and because of our flaws, and smiles in wonder at His creation.

 

He took the block of wood in hand,

And sensed its inner seed;

Within the grain, a spirit,

Beckoning to be freed;

 

He closed his eyes and held it still,

And still did the Whittler wait,

For the voice that lay beneath the skin

Of  this wood inanimate;

 

He felt its roughness, and its warmth,

As he slowly made a start;

With hopeful eyes,

He whittled, 'till he

Gently formed its heart;

 

His gaze fell on an error

As he held it to the light,

A mistake, or a suggestion

To re-direct his sight?

 

He bent his frame into the work

As he held it reverently,

Lost track of worry, time, and place,

And let his mind go free;

 

Smoothed at last, and polished,

He turned it in his hand,

Smiled in grateful wonder,

And swept away the sand;

 

The Master watches, and He guides

The hands of everyone,

And we cannot know the outcome,

Until the Whittler's done.

 

Lord, I am not perfect,

But I know that you are not finished with me yet;

When you are, I will be exactly what and where I am supposed to be.

 

 

                Hopefulness

Let me walk today in hopefulness,

And open my gifts with glee,

Let hearty laughter

Tickle my toes,

And wash off the hurt     

Of yesterday's woes.

Setting my spirit free;

 

Let me paint a picture of playfulness,

A visual song of joy;

Let my soul create

A work so bright,

From a hopeful palette

Filled with light,

That fear cannot destroy;

 

Let me greet each day with gratefulness,

For it offers a brand new start;

With my ears attuned

To the wonder of sound,

A smile on my lips

To prepare the ground,

For the words of a hopeful heart;

 

Like the little birds playing o'er fields of grain,

Falling, then touching, and rising again,

Let us offer glad thanks

For the golden expanse,

That beckons us all

To create our own dance,

Not sit on the sidelines of hopefulness.

 

 

 

    A Song Of Hope

 

Whenever sadness settles in,

nettles in,

meddles in,

The song that I am coaxing

From the recess of my heart,

I give my smile a hefty spin,

A swing, a lift, and then, a grin

Breaks out and like a little bird

Soars into the sunlight, to where its song will start;

 

It tells me there is light out there,

Joy out there,   

Hope out there,

Out past the melancholy -

The lazy spirit's haunt,

I'll free my feet and drop those shoes,

The past is past, the future new,

I still have things to say and do;

Life is so much more;

 

Every moment's promise is

A chance for us,

To build and thus,

To add to God's creation,

The gifts we have to share;

Let our words express our very best,

Thoughtful works of art;

An instrument as yet unstrung,

A song of hope as yet unsung,

Waits to add its colour

To the canvass of the heart.

Light, Love, and Shadows

'Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.' - Maori proverb

Where do we look when the light is obscured,

And the shadows seem to have broken their bonds,

When we feel that hope is a distant dream,

And the love within

Is drowned in the din

Of our soul crying out 

For a road past our doubt,

Where surely, there must be a happy beyond;

Those shadows fall back when we turn towards the light,

For darkness cannot intrude into love,

Though it looms so large at end of the day,

And though it may try

To foster the lie

That it is much stronger,

That it will last longer;

 Love always chases the darkness away;

To ebb or grow brighter is our choice to make;

As we open the portals of our eyes and smiles,

And send our love flying in 'heartbeams' of light,

Our search comes full circle,

We need look no further,

The prayers of the humble,

Cause darkness to crumble,

We are masters of shadows; they cower in fright.