Where The Wind Blows!

Where The Wind Blows!

I just had a wind-blown epiphany!  I figure that today, the fourth day of Spring, will be a great day to do it:  open my window, grab my worries by the scruff of the neck and toss them out as hard as I can!  Some of the ones I’d been holding onto were gaining weight to the point that they were getting awfully hard to lift - I had to drag them kicking and screaming across my mind.  There!  I shall welcome in the new season of growth with some smiling seedlings of relief and hope. Ahhh…Peace…Ommmm.   In the process of clearing that nasty clutter, I suddenly felt the urge to giggle, and then to laugh – a lot!   Luckily, no one was here to notice – except that wind?  It seemed to suddenly pick up speed as it passed by my window!   Wait, hold on - I feel another purge coming on:  little gusts of guilt are starting to slip back in, bringing their baggage with them – sneaky little seeds of  ‘bad attitude’ – Out they go!

Attitude is like an amazing home that we all are given, to build, renovate, and decorate with whatever colours and inputs we choose.   Filling it up with ill-fitting, imagined fears and old grey grievances is such a waste of a fantastic space, and ultimately, it is within that space that we will live out our lives, and invite others in.  

 The wind is blowing past my window right now, picking up the birdseed and blowing it across the lawn, then picking up the wings of the little birds and giving them a ride – a neat game of let’s catch our dinner on the fly!   Picking up my recycle bin of worries should be a snap for it!   I’ll make sure to put it out every recycle day and to keep my home bright enough to see the colours.  The wind may pick up speed at times; at other times it seems to disappear, but it will always return, stirred by little butterfly wings of hope – Wait for it, and get those recycle bins ready!

Shall I 'Kind Of' Compare Thee

Our daughter suprised her husband with a very special Valentine this morning - a sonnetgram:  Dressed in full formal attire, St. Lawrence Shakespeare Company's Artistic Director, Ian Farthing delivered Shakespeare's Sonnet #18 to our son-in-law while he was at work at the Post Office.  Not to be outdone, I decided to write my own version for my dear husband - my valentine!  I'll be delivering it at dinner tonight:

Shall I ‘Kind Of’ Compare Thee?

You’re kind of special,

Kind of sweet,

Kind of cute,

Kind of neat,

Kind of handsome,

Kind of fine,

Best of all,

You’re very ‘Kind’!

You’d make a perfect

Valentine,

So, would you, kind of, like

Be mine?

My Roof's Got A Hole In It

“My Roof’s Got A Hole In It!

And I might Drown!” These lyrics from a catchy old song called “The Crooked Little Man”, by the Serendipity Singers, were running through my head this morning.  Fortunately, I don’t think we’ll actually drown.  The hole I’m looking at is not in our roof, but in our living room ceiling, and it was self-induced!  It wasn’t a case of just being curious about what was under that neat white painted surface – it was done to discover what was causing the curious star shaped bulge that formed in it and then started to spit drops at us.  I thought perhaps the house was into entertaining us with a balancing act: now that we had the ‘roots in the drain’ problem temporarily solved – it called out: “Oh dear, sorry about this, I held out as long as I could, but look up!”  It seems like, once it let go, it decided to let it all hang out – “You might want to check the ceiling in your bedroom – whoops!”

  I’m now looking out at our newly-built, tightly sealed garage, and wondering where I might fit a bed!   Actually, the news is not all bad – In the process of having to re-surface the offending flat roof on one side of the house, we will go for the full renovation that we were planning to do down the road - including new flooring!  So much for our budget for the foreseeable future.   In trying to be positive, I keep thinking that we’re lucky to have a pretty nice home, despite its problems: It’s been keeping us snug and warm and deserves to be treated to a few treats – like ceilings and plumbing and drains and weather stripping and airtight windows, and…….sorry about that.  My mom would probably have taken  these problems in stride, with her large store of patience - She raised seven children in a very tiny renovated cottage on the banks of the Rideau.  When I come to think of it, I believe that the above song was a favourite at our family sing-a-longs!  And I was oblivious to the fact that, for my mom and dad, it might have been hitting a little too close to home.  Music was and is a great healer – it helps to patch the holes in our roofs.

‘Wait Training 101’

My little poem “Wait Training” came into my head yesterday, as we signed up for the ultimate ‘wait training’ course in the Brockville General Hospital Emergency room.  After checking in, and my husband being assessed by the nurse, we joined the line for the free course that was running – and filling up quickly – in the waiting area.  It’s an interesting concept – learning how to build up our ‘wait’ muscles.  Of course, not realizing how intensive and time consuming the course would be, I neglected to bring along adequate equipment – in the form of a good book.  It turns out that had I brought along ‘War And Peace’, I could have finished it and done a short presentation for everyone!  I instead had to find alternatives to sinking within myself, or a book:  I quietly observed the real problems that the other participants were enduring.  Some seemed to have a handle on their ‘wait training’ and sat very patiently; others were not doing so well.  Bit by bit, conversations began, stories were shared, common threads were woven, and in between, I offered silent prayers for all of the good people around me who were sidelined by various crises.  A mother coping with a possible dislocated bone in her shoulder was actually keeping everyone, including her two children, entertained by her interactions with them.  Others with broken bodies were making the best of their situations and trying to help her out – the Christmas Spirit was still making itself felt, even as the staff were removing the decorations from the room.  At the end of the course, when my husband had been seen and a solution prescribed for his bronchitis, we left the ‘training room’.   I returned a few minutes later with a copy of my “How To Wash A Puddle” book for that lovely mother and her two patient children.  I wish her the best of luck – she passed the course with flying colours!

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.