It was only a few short steps away. The bridge, the passage to a future that I had dreamed about for years, waited to carry me to the next stage. If only my legs had the resolve to take that first step.
Category Archives: hope
Rather, the light saw me
19 CommentsI have started this new year feeling better about myself than I have in a very long time, maybe ever. The scale still hovers around the same number, the grey hairs seem to multiply exponentially while I sleep and the lines around my eyes seem to be getting deeper. But those lines around my eyes are being etched further into my skin because my smile seems to be a permanent fixture on my face.
I will be the first to admit that I have never spent much time volunteering for anything. Sure, I jumped on the “pay it forward” bandwagon and I have even blogged about that very phenomenon. But there is something much more rewarding about really putting in the time to help someone rather than just buying a coffee for the person in line behind you.
What began as helping a friend, who is currently tackling an undiagnosed medical issue, spiraled into a concept that is slowly growing into something I am becoming very passionate about. It combines two of the things that I hold near to my heart – cooking and being able to help people.
Some of my blogs over the last few weeks have alluded to the Sundays we have spent cooking in the kitchen of the family resort where I am employed. We have successfully sent almost twenty freezer slow-cooker meals to a young family who lost their home in a fire just after delivering twins, and we are gearing up to do it again this Sunday to add ten more meals to their freezer. In a few short hours in the span of three Sundays, we have provided a month’s worth of dinners, giving them more time to devote to their children and their next step rather than having to think of what to cook each night.
I also had the pleasure of delivering the first of those meals to my very dear friend on Friday, the friend who inspired this journey. Just knowing that I can alleviate the tiniest bit of his stress pays me in ways that I never thought possible. It is a very emotional feeling and, even as I write this, it brings tears to my eyes.
I have watched them before. I have seen volunteers many times and noticed the light in their eyes but, until now, I had never really understood the source of that light. I get it now….and it is a light that I would like to have continue shining in my eyes for a very long time.
Beyond the open door
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On Friday night, I stared at this painting for a long time. It hangs in a conspicuous spot in a familiar room but I had never seen it before. Perhaps it was the shaded lighting of the late evening that made me study every detail in those brush strokes or, quite possibly, it was the collection of components in the painting that intrigued me, but every single item on that canvas made me linger and give it thought.
From the cracked tiled floor to the chance assortment of belongings, each item was distinct and gave me the feeling that any one of those things could feasibly represent a chapter in my life story. That thought made me stare even more as I tried to piece together the narrative that the artist was trying to communicate.
I got a strong sense of the feeling of wanting to stay connected. There is great comfort in keeping familiar things close. But there is also the fascination of what may exist beyond our comfort zone.
That open door is the focal point that grabbed and held my attention. In a room full of things seemingly collected on purpose, this door opened my curiosity. What magic or what memory lay beyond that partially opened portal? What is there to be found if we are brave enough to push it open all the way and take a chance on what is on the other side?
Sometimes being complacent with the things we have become accustomed to blinds us to what may lie just beyond the threshold of our comfort zone. Maybe the memorabilia in the foreground is meant to alleviate any pain while it draws us towards the next step.
There is a warmth in just having things fit into the right place and having that place feel like home. But maybe the real feeling of home is just a few steps away and we just have to walk through that door to discover the hidden treasures that await us if we are brave enough to explore the possibilities.
Two ships
5 CommentsHis touch,
timid at first, playful.
His eyes held a merriment,
his laughter concealed a deeper emotion.
Fleeting moments of stolen glances,
subtle traces of a finger on bare skin.
His touch,
evolved from an innocent beginning,
holding an unspoken desire.
His eyes burned into hers.
Currents of electricity,
hearts beating,
breath short.
Lips graze, sparks fly,
accepting a shared yearning.
Moments of complete breathlessness,
hearts skipping a beat,
sustaining warmth in memories,
torn between desire and reality.
The Gods of fate dealt the cards,
flop, turn,
river pushing against the tides.
Two ships,
pulled apart by the current,
sailing around the world,
hoping the movement of the ocean
will make them collide once again.
Gnome more dreams
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He hid in the tower’s apex. The moonlight sliced through the merciful darkness of his sanctuary, revealing his location. When the swallow finally found him and serenaded he would return to clay and his hopes of living would fossilize.
~~
An icy heart
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The dagger hung from my eaves and I knew I would escape tonight. He would not be able to stop me. I plunged the icicle into his heart with every ounce of desired freedom. It will melt long before they find him.
There is nothing to fear but……TV commercials and junk mail
11 CommentsBeginning a new year is difficult. There is a tremendous amount of pressure to join the mainstream of people who have made numerous resolutions for the impending 362 days, considering the leap year. And if it were not bad enough to be compelled by friends and family to make a list of the things we would like to accomplish, the media shoves the most popular of those resolutions down our throat with each television commercial they can fit into an amiable time slot.
The start of a new calendar year should give us hope but those writers, those advertising gurus that tax their brains to come up with stunning ads, somehow make us feel like the earnest promises we make for ourselves are slightly off the mark.
I was feeling excited. I was entering 2016 on my terms and, although I had not made them public, I had made a small set of goals I would like to accomplish this year. I wanted to embrace my skills and I was looking forward to a year filled with prose and literary triumph. And then I made the mistake of turning on my television.
Thankfully I have the fortitude to block out the nonsense that is broadcast to us, in what they think is a subliminal missive. If I heed the message in those commercials, I would look at my humble goals and feel nothing but fat, undervalued and, as Bridget Jones’ Diary would describe it, like a spinster who would eventually end up being eaten by wild dogs.
The rubbish I receive by email can be just as bad. Countless emails for weight loss, dating sites and plausible scenarios to make me my best self accumulate in my junk box. Those messages are ignored just as quickly as they were downloaded.
I find great value in myself as well as my sincere goals for the new year. Screw the advertising monsters who want to make me feel less than I am. My worth cannot be described in a commercial. My life cannot be depicted by a summation of what presumed reality sees as my shortcomings.
I am me. I have worth because I care about people and I respect myself. I treasure my strengths, I acknowledge my weaknesses and I spend each day trying to have a positive effect on those around me.
Now, if they can write a commercial for something like that, maybe next time I’ll leave the television on.
By hook or by crook, I’ll create a chapbook
17 CommentsMy dear blogging friend, Mike Allegra, made a particularly interesting comment after reading one of my blog posts. I had published a poem that day and he recommended that I get working on a chapbook. I was humbled by his comment and embarrassed that I had never heard of a chapbook. (Thank you to the kind people at Google for making me slightly more knowledgeable!)
I rolled the thought around in my head for a while and then that thought, like all the other unrecorded ideas, escaped the confines of my brain. Much to my delight, the idea had not completely exited my cranium. The word chapbook popped up again on my radar and made me ponder the thought once again.
I began to go back through my previous posts to reacquaint myself with my poetic entries on this blog. I was actually surprised at how many poems I have published and I enjoyed reading some of the poems I had completely forgotten.
When I began my writing journey I was a slightly awkward sixth-grader who really knew nothing about stanzas or rhymes. Words just seemed to come from somewhere and I gravitated more to poetry than I did to storytelling. Thankfully I have since embraced both but there is always a draw to poetry when I feel the need to express more emotion.
Poetry allows me to tell tales of love and loss. It gives me permission to dream. It lets me hope that the world will be a better place. And it lets me believe in my desires. By clicking on those links, you’ll see how much I enjoy poetic expression.
I think a chapbook is just the project I need to begin 2016 on the right foot. Any thoughts or advice in the comments section would be very welcome.
Happy New Year to all and may 2016 bring you all the things you desire!
Table for one
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The single coffee cup made me sense my solitude even more. Everything around me faded into the background, much like I knew I had been doing. The cloud over my morning solace taunted me, trying to will me to tears. But I simply sat on that stool and waited for the rainbow.
The sense of sensibility
11 CommentsThe Reverie posted an interesting challenge in honor of Jane Austen. We are given 11 words (in true Austen style) and asked to write a poem with at least 7 of them. It got in 10. Check out the challenge and give it a try.
To acknowledge a want,
to trust in a wish,
evokes a certain wonder.
What good fortune it would be,
to wear our pride without prejudice,
to yearn, not for possessions
but for the good in man.
A single hope,
a solemn wish
to bring peace
to the world.
~~
polysyllabic profundities 