Which Way Home?

It’s been two and a half weeks since I’ve written here. Today, I have many things on my mind, but what I’ve been revisiting this past week, is the plight of some Mexican and Central American children portrayed on a documentary we watched Sunday evening.   The film “Which Way Home?” documents the dangerous and troubling trip that many of these children endure. Their transports are freight trains upon which they climb after the trains have departed.  Though the practice is illegal, the numbers of riders (children primarily, but some adults) make it nearly impossible to enforce.  Their destination?  “Los Estados Unidos.”

Many of these children are adolescent boys, impatient and angry with their lives of no hope.  Others are orphans, abandoned by parents who’ve gone up north to find that life themselves. It’s a pipedream because the majority of these children will never make it.  Some die or are injured from falling off the trains.  Some are returned by social service authorities to their home towns and families.  If they make it as far north as the border, they struggle for survival as they traverse the desert or swim across the unforgiving Rio Grande. Surviving either requires gambling against extreme odds. 

What drives a child of 9 or 10 to undertake such journey?  As the interviewer questioned different children along the way, two common themes emerged.  One theme:  extreme desperation. Their lives are fraught with continuous hunger, lack of dignity and often violence. The other theme: hope.  That’s it! Hope, much of it innocent and unrealistic. The hope of escaping a life of relentless poverty drives them to make a dangerous trek that most will not complete.  The dream is worth the risk, for what they are leaving behind promises nothing better.  The film was “enlightening” only in the sense that I am now aware of the extreme cost that many immigrants, particularly the children, bear in an effort to take part in that “American dream” they’ve heard about from the beginning of their lives. It leaves a hole in my heart…an emptiness and guilt for having the good fortune of being born north of the Rio Grande.  There but by the grace of God go I; goes my own daughter; goes our grandchildren.

Here's a poem about a child in a different time, in a different place, an ode to the innocence I wish all children could have.

Once she was a nine-year-old 

She was fearless back then. Ready

to welcome whatever the world set before her.

She played football with the boys in the backyard

and created adventures with dolls in her bedroom.

And patiently endured the four-year-old next door,

because it was wonderful being worshipped.

She wept a little, but laughed more.

And once while playing hopscotch 

with the boy across the street, she fell in love. 

Always loved by those she loved,

she knew the way of happy endings. 

She had no reason to suspect

that it could be otherwise.

 

Duty calls, but sometimes I don't answer.

Since I don’t write for a living, writing is more a creative outlet, like cooking or sewing, or carpentry is for some.  All these things can be a vocation where one is paid, but each is also a form of creative nurturing for the soul.  For me, writing poetry can be a form of play.  Having been a preschool teacher, I’ve watched a number of children in play and know that when children feel safe, they can find their inner selves through play.

If we are completely honest with ourselves, we know that we each harbor a dark side, a shadow self, and for me it comes out most clearly when I write my poetry.  I have a bit of a selfish streak which I try to hide as any “good Christian” tries but usually fails to do. 

Yesterday, I came across a poem I wrote years ago that revealed to me an aspect of this selfishness. The poem speaks to that problem of motive we all encounter at one time or another in our loving relationships: duty or desire.

Here is the poem, with its most recent revisions – as of this morning.  (My poems are never finished!)

I took a nap instead

But for the last three weeks,

I’ve made space for her, every Sunday

afternoon for over two years.

Lately though, I’ve stayed away.

I do not wish to watch the decline

of her small aged body, reclined

in her easy chair. 

I do not wish to watch her wrestle

to remember who it is at her side.

She’s dying there, surrounded by the stagnant scent

of “skilled care” air.  I don’t know if she’s in pain,

or gently withering like the roses on her TV set.  But,

once again, I did not visit her.

 

Holy Litter

I’m a collector of sorts.  Many have seen my elephant collection numbering over 100. The more unusual the elephant, the more inclined I am to get it—within a decent price, of course!  The collection is fun, but I’m not always proud of what this collection can represent: the sort of luxury only available to those of us in more affluent cultures. 

However, I have another kind of collection building slowly but surely, on my desk:  two small, very different stones, a feather possibly from a blue jay, a slightly smaller, spotted feather – (woodpecker of some sort?), a sand dollar, and the most recent additions—two cherry-sized green acorns from our oak tree. This collection is different; the kind of collection with which children might line their pockets or from which a child-at-heart (like me) might draw spiritual inspiration.

As I was walking this morning, I thought about why I keep such seemingly trivial items on my desk.  Call it a thread of sacredness which connects these objects – holy litter; reminders of God’s benevolent and enduring nature--reminders of life at birth, rebirth, transition (acorns) or a life past living which still leaves beauty (sand dollar).  Stones or pebbles shaped smooth by wind or rivers or whatever God placed around them; feathers shed, no longer necessary, or in the way.  All of these become metaphors for me of a life lived in God’s presence.

We all experience birth and rebirth, transitions throughout our lives.  In experiencing those transitions we often have to shed “feathers” which might have been necessary at one time, but no longer are.  And who hasn’t weathered streams of difficulty; erosion is painful, but can leave us less “rough around the edges”. And in spite of (or because of) all of this, my hope for you, for me, is that like the remnant sand dollar, we’ve lived the kind of lives that remain in the memories of others, a very beautiful symbol of God’s love.

Count your blessings!

The stock market fell 600+ more points today.   Things don't look so great on the financial scene. Okay, Lord.  I get it.  We're supposed to depend on You for everything.  Last week I wrote about having an attitude of gratitude.  Well I don't feel very grateful today.  Forgive me.  So I guess I need to get started.  Let me count the ways I'm blessed... (just like the old gospel hymn: "Count Your Blessings, one by one...")

1.  I have a roof over my head.

2.  I don't live in Somalia.  (Lord, please help them!)
3.  I have more than enough good food and am not starving.
4.  I have access to clean water.
5.  I have a closet full of clothing and shoes.
6.  I have several people I love and who love me. (There's at least 20 reasons to be praising God right   there!)
7.  My health is good. (Knock on wood! Better yet, thanks be to God!)
8.  I can read!!!
9.  The day began with rain.
10.  I have a dog who thinks I'm great!
11. I'm mobile.  (I can get around on my own two legs without help.)

There's more than ten things right there.  I could go on and on...


Okay. I feel a little better.  My life is good. Thank you Lord.

Give me an attitude...

I probably don’t need to tell anyone that the stock market tanked yesterday.  Most of us, particularly if we are retired and don’t have a guaranteed pension other than social security, keep our eyes permanently fixed on those 401(k) s and tax-sheltered annuities. 

But if I could wish for anything for my loved ones, it would not be money – though that would be helpful to most of us! Rather, it would be a spirit of gratitude to a loving God.  With gratitude one can face anything and love freely.  With gratitude, one consistently sees blessings and is therefore, consistently blessed.  Gratitude replaces the dark places in one’s soul: anger, malice, despair, hate, fear, anxiety and more.  Without gratitude, even material wealth only leads to greed, a desire to possess more, and an endless pursuit for contentment. 

Gratitude teaches us to live in the present and appreciate the simple things-- to be content with what we have.  It gives us energy to create, to love, to hold to truth.  Another way to put it; gratitude is the presence of the Holy Spirit living within the soul. 

Listen to the words of the apostle Paul:

“Finally beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”   Philippians 4:8

Though some nest eggs may be dwindling, I wrote this poem in 2008 shortly after my husband retired.  I still feel this way.

Nest Egg

I do like this time we spend together,

the passing of minutes in our lazy days.

No words, maybe yards from each other

yet still within a glance, a smile.

And sometimes not even within sight

of each other—he in the garage and I

in the gazebo—yet still within knowing;

the invisible shell that wraps around us. 

We’re like an egg—yolk and white distinct,

but together, delicious.

Save money. Live better.

Today marks six months in which I have not stepped foot inside a Walmart store.  That’s quite an undertaking in a small town like Hays, where sometimes about the only place one can find something is the Super Walmart north of the interstate. 

I started this exercise in February after having watched Robert Greenwald’s documentary Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price.  This film was uncomfortable to watch because of its witness to the “way we do business” in this country – the primary tool is exploitation. The reason: simply unfettered greed.  This film was uncomfortable because of all the times I’ve tried to forget that all that clothing “made in China” came at a very high personal cost to a very real person in China.

Certainly Walmart is not the only corporation “big box store” that is making small town mom and pop businesses obsolete.  Nor is it the only corporation that engages in unfair labor practices here in the US  and slave labor conditions in countries with even more lax regulations than ours.  This is perhaps why my little action of “boycotting” Walmart, means nothing at all to the corporate world.  But it means something to me.

Sometimes I’ve had to pay a little more for something in one of our local stores; sometimes I can’t even find what I “think I need”—but this has been an opportunity in looking at how much my “needs” have really been “wants”.  In some ways, too, this exercise has actually saved me money.  By not having instant access to things I  think need, I have a chance to the true necessity of an item.  By not traipsing up and down colorful aisles beckoning to me with their treasures, I do not cave in to impulse spending.

How long will I be able to keep this up?  Who knows?  But for six months, Walmart has not received a dime from me. 

!

 

Oh, No You Can't!

Two nights ago, President Barack Obama died.  The reason that Americans nor the world has heard about it, is because it happened in a dream I had.  He did not die from assassination or from an accident or some kind of terrorist act as many might expect or even fear. No, in my dream, he simply died from an unexplained illness.

When I awoke, the sadness stayed with me and as I "analyzed" this dream out loud with my husband, it occurred to me that Barack Obama did die.  During his 2 1/2 years of presidency, the hope which I and many other Americans equated with Barack Obama, has given way to despair.   A deep feeling that things will never change...that truly the "mantra" being shouted into the faces of the ordinary, middle class American citizen, is "no you can't!"  Everything I and many other Americans felt that election night in November, 2008 -- all the hope and anticipation that things were really changing, that we ordinary Americans really do have power -- for many of us, that has died. 

But perhaps, for Christians, it is wrong to be putting hope in any man or man-made government.  Perhaps the most important thing we can do each day is put our hope in the God who created us in His  image.  Usually when I am least expecting it, something happens that gives me incredible hope;  something that can only be the working of the Holy Spirit, usually in very simple, humble manisfestations.  This morning, I witnessed it in the incredible rain we had; something rare in Hays, Kansas.   And that was enough to redirect my attention properly to that God of all wonders.  As Christians, we can all have the "audacity of hope".  And we can pray. Daily, I will continue to pray for our president, and the other leaders of this nation.  Will you join me? 

Heat wave!

So it was 109 degrees in Lawrence yesterday and we were out in the sticky, soupy air, moving heavy boxes, horribly awkward mattresses, hefty couches and chairs, and what all, up and down stairs, lifting, pulling, pushing, crawling up and down from the pick-up bed and all the while, sweating like fountains.  And one of us was a 76-year-old man!  Bob is amazing!Today, we’ll pay with sore muscles, aching backs and popping joints, and an incredible lack of energy.  Let’s just be lethargic and enjoy our age today!

Jessica and her roommate, on the other hand, will be repeating yesterday all over again, as they still have more to move; but she is young…

and we are not.

Below is a poem I wrote just the other day, so it has not yet been worked over with revisions  (other than some very small revisions this morning.)  Most of the poems I’ve put on this blog are older poems which have been revised several times. Revision is a necessary part of any kind of writing, I suppose – except this blog which serves more as a “public diary”!

Anyway, here’s a simple little poem, “rough” if not ready! 

Saturday Summer Morning

What I should be doing is walking

the three-mile route I walk on the days

I can get started easily.

But this morning is not one of those days.

Today, the sun reaches

over the house across the alley

through the lace of leaves on our cottonwood,

touching the top of the gazebo. An invitation

to sit beneath its roof  and breathe

the air as it smells only on an early morning in July.

Before the heat takes hold and strips away

the saving breeze, and takes the day as hostage.

I took the book off the shelf—The Best Spiritual Writing of 2002—because the title caught me.  I love spending time in the library, the expression of all those ideas housed in one building. Anyway,  I flipped through the book and there it was: a small piece of paper that said “F--- this place!”  It caught me off guard, and even embarrassed me a bit.  But immediately I wondered who would write this and place it in a book of spiritual writing, no less?  And to what place was he/she referring?  The library?  Gee, that’s one of my most favorite places to spend time.  I can’t imagine anyone using an expletive to “bless” a place I find incredibly freeing. 

But then I wondered if this individual was actually cursing his/her place in life?  If the expresser were an adolescent, it would be a fitting curse for that time and place in one’s life.  Adolescence is difficult, painful, necessary.  As is all growth.

I revisited this while out walking this morning…probably when my most creative, challenging thinking occurs and realized that we all go through those “f---ing” places in our lives.  And in the midst of them, we experience pain and difficulty.  But here’s what I’ve found—unless one sees his or her own fragility, one cannot see the largeness or largesse of God.  And that trek into humility takes on many forms – adolescence, disability, loss, chronic pain, to name a few.  But within all those circumstances there is a very large God out there ready to take the helm!

Here’s a scripture verse that I find fitting: 

I waited patiently for the Lord;

He turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

He set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand.

--Psalm 40: 1-2

And speaking of notes stuck in books, guess what I found stuck in my Bible, just now?  Here it is:

xoxoxo

 I didn’t get to say goodnight

so “Goodnight” and “Good morning”

 -- always – Me! –

(I received it 2-5-01 from my daughter Jessica when she was 12!)

Thank you Lord!

Dark days ahead; dark days behind...

Today I sit at my computer wondering what in the world to write.  But everything I read about writing says the same thing.  One must sit down daily and write, anything, or nothing at all, if the muse is not working, but at least make the time and make it regular.  Since I’m very much a routine person, this should be easy for me…but it’s not.  Other things have crowded my plate of  “must-dos”…e.g. I just finished paying bills after having put it off for two days – it’s nothing that can wait, at least if I want my credit rating to remain good…

…which brings me to another subject which has me stewing a bit.  And that’s the national debt ceiling, so much in the news lately.  This shouldn’t be that difficult, especially since President Obama made his original offer something that Republicans in the past would have died for!  But not these Republicans.  No, these Republicans like to play the role of the obstinate two-year-old who says “no” just because he can, who has no other motive than to exert his power.  There can’t be any other reason that the Republican controlled House won’t accept their Speaker’s proposal – from their own party for heaven sakes!

But that’s the problem, the Republican party is really not one party any more.  The so-called “tea party” has taken over this nation – and many states as well – Kansas is one of them.  Kansas politics, however, is fodder for another day’s entry.

It’s getting hard to stomach – this “tyranny” of the rich and few.

Reminds me of another infamous era in our nation’s history –Are we headed for another Depression Era? What will we call it, Depression 2?  As in a movie sequel? Where is democracy? 

Here’s a poem I wrote quite awhile ago centered around the dust bowl time.

Dust Bowl Dirge

Sadistic, it tortures one’s

nerves until erosion

creates craziness.  Days and

nights of howling and hissing

through cracks in doors

and window panes.  Grains

of earth’s surface settle

upon tables and damp cotton tea towels

covering the cribs.  Bleached white

tea towels blackened by persistence. 

No one knows when it will cease or if.

Hope is a fossil, a dinosaur

embedded in the layers of landscape

carried by this cruel wind.

What's in YOUR tummy?

My husband and I are in the midst of learning new ways to eat.  This journey has been going on for the past six months at least, but has recently taken an incredible turn as I've been reading books by Dr. Joel Fuhrman.  He calls himself a "nutritarian" which he defines as someone whose diet consists of nutrient dense foods.  Foods which are nutrient-dense have more nutrients per calorie.  As children most of us were prodded to "eat our vegetables"  Well, it turns out they are the most nutritious foods available!

We have pretty much eliminated processed food from our diet with the exception of a condiment or two and our morning breakfast cereal.  We're also shopping a little differently, staying mostly to the perimeter of the grocery store as most foods in the center aisle are the "toxic-processed" foods.    Dr. Fuhrman espouses an approach that gradually trains our palates to enjoy more nutritious foods.  After years of snacking on junk food, it's hard to be successful with a cold turkey approach. 

Anyway, as a result of the changes we've made,  a little at a time, Bob and I each were rewarded with a positive turn in our most recent bloodwork as well as shedding some pounds!

I'd encourage anyone out there to read any of Dr. Fuhrman's books as his work in nutrition is a culmination years of medical practice and reviewing the a wealth of both past and current research. It's been eye-opening as we are finding we can no longer at the typical American diet without some grief.  There's a reason why we Americans are so fat!  And it has more to do with what we eat than how much we eat or even what kind of exercise we do.

(Hmmm. I wonder if I can get a commission from Dr. Fuhrman for this "sell-job"!) 

Twenty-three years ago!

Twenty-three years ago, I remember very well where I was...in the hospital working on delivering the only child I was blessed to receive.  Happy birthday, Jessica!  One thing I've learned as an aging parent, one never stops worrying about his or her children!  But being a Christian, I know I can rely on the promises of our good and gracious God, that He will always be with this daughter of mine, no matter what the circumstances!

Here are two prayers from Ephesians that I have prayed over the years for those who matter most to me, but primarily for my daughter, especially each year on her birthday.  May these prayers be of encouragement to those of you who are worrying about a loved one.

"I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better.  I pray also that the yes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe."
--Ephesians 1: 17 - 19

"I pray thatout of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge --that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. "
--Ephesians 3:16-19

Last week, my husband Bob and I had the opportunity to spend some time with our precious baby granddaughter who happens to be in the NICU at Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City.  We stayed at the Ronald McDonald House nearby.  I was truly impressed by both facilities and the level to which the personnel and accommodations of each were child and family-friendly.  Both organizations have children and their families at the heart of their practice.  It was refreshing to be in settings that demonstrated caring and compassionate practices and we can only say, thanks be to God for such places! 

Thanks be to God for the state-of-the-art healthcare that enables infants in difficult situations to receive the very best care available. Thanks be to God for facilities that offer hospitality to families who are wrenched from their homes because their children are facing life-threatening or serious illnesses.  Thanks be to God for people whose generosity allow for such services. Thanks be to God who grants the professionals in the healthcare industry with the skills necessary to offer this top-notch care.

Now, let's pray that this generosity and compassion would extend to all in our nation.  Let's pray that our nation's leaders can get beyond the polarity of politics and behave in a manner that is best for our common interest. 

I know I'm idealistic.  But it can't hurt to pray.

God is in the details

When I was younger, I had this inclination that God had to be "experienced" as an emotional state...as ectasy.  This led me to more charismatic forms of religious expression.  With a high school friend, I remember praying speaking in tongues.  To think of God displaying Himself (or Herself) in the mundane never occurred to me.

Now, in the midst of middle-age, a bit of wisdom (hopefully) has crept into my thinking, and it has become more clear to me that God is more present in the mundane and ordinary events of day-to-day living than in any elicited ectasy.  The problem is that we don't recognize it.  God is invisible to most of us, because we are too worried about details that we think God doesn't care about.

But Jesus says in Matthew 6:25-33 that we are not to worry about the details of day-to-day living...the clothing we wear, the food we wear, and more.  Hard to believe and accept in times of financial distress, tight budgets, increasing health care costs, political bickering that favors the elite and wealthy...how can we NOT be worried about tomorrow?  But that's the point; God IS in the details...if we attend to even the smallest things in our lives as embodying the essence, the loving care of God, He helps us notice how often He really is there for us.

That's been my experience, anyway.  Call me a "Pollyanna"...I prefer to be called a believer.  Now just remind me of that the next time I start grumbling about the details...tomorrow!

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few years back, we were at a resort near San Antonio...the weather and surroundings were beautiful and inspired the following "list" poem (one of many of my unfinished poems that hasn't yet been christened with a title!):

Lord, I feel Your presence in the details:
the smell of this morning's breath,
  so crisp and fresh one can almost hear it.
and tiny tufts of grassy growth embedded
  in the cracked bark of the Live Oak tree.
The feathers of a hedge's foliage,
   unnoticed by most;
the shivery sharp needles on a prickly pear, 
  each one daring me to touch it and feel its power.
The passage of wasp from leaf to leaf in search of
  bloom that isn't there.
The falling of a tiny leaf along with its sisters
  to their scattered fate atop the wooden porch.
The pansy faces gazing from the flower bed.
Tiny specifics reveal the Presence of a God
  too large, too loving, too lavish,
 to be contained in generalities.

One of the gifts of photography is that a precious moment can live forever in your presence. I am very fortunate to be living a life full of precious moments. And many of those moments were captured by camera. But in today's world of social networking and internet access, photos often become a record of the inane, better left forgotten moments. Take a look at some of the photos on Facebook and you'll see exactly what I mean.

I wanted to upload one of my favorite photos to this blog, but because it was taken before the instant, digital age, I had to scan it. Technology doesn't always perform in the ways promised, and as a result, I have no photo to share with you; but I have a poem which I wrote a couple of summers ago about the photo. And that might be better in some ways, because even though "a photo is worth a 1000 words", there are times when words do a better job of interacting with each individual spirit. Here's the poem and only my daughter and husband will know to which photo I refer.


Still Life

But for one photo, it is empty.
A gift from a long-ago friend
upon returning from China.

The circular window in the center 
of its wooden cover reveals a delicate
ink drawing: a teapot, two teacups
and a plate of noodles.  Hospitality.
Chinese characters rest above the drawing,
their meaning unknown to me.

I've moved it--always empty--from desk, 
to shelf, to table, to shelf again
for more than fifteen years.  Now, finally
it claims the one photo:

a color photo taken years ago, of my husband
and our five-year-old daughter--fishing.
His hands over hers lift the rod back behind
their shoulders.  She grits her teeth
in desire to execute the perfect cast.
Though summer, a gray Atlantic looms
behind them, adjoined by a lead-cloud sky.

The photo's only warmth is the life
in the two persons framed:  the loving
hands of this tending father, the spirited energy
of this young daughter.  The life in the photo
enough to fill the entire photo album.  

While walking this morning, I was lost in thought regarding a recent event in my life. I was nearly half-way through my regular route upon realizing, with the exception of looking up when crossing the streets, I had been focused only on the road in front of me. Usually I take at least momentary glances at my surroundings. So, in the midst of this awareness, I decided to look up--one can see things otherwise missed by most, just by looking up! And this was no exception. For straight above me perched on the street lamppost was a Mississippi Kite (a smaller bird of prey that is prevalent in this area, particularly during the spring and summer months). There it roosted, as regal as a king on his throne, surveying his kingdom below (of which I was part!) Kites are really beautiful birds, in my opinion, with snowy white heads atop a coat of stone gray feathers. Once again, I marveled at how much I miss, simply by not looking up more often.

It's providential, then, that the first scripture my daily devotion book cited this morning, happened to be the first two verses of Psalm 121 which reminds us of the most important reason we need to look up: "I lift up my eyes to the hills--where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth." Thanks be to God!

Independence?

When I go on my morning walks, I take the same route of about 3 miles. While there is a lot of "sameness" to the route, there is always something new to attend to, if one is paying attention. But today, my eyes caught something that wasn't new; the yellow flags stating "Don't Tread on Me" at two different residences. It got me thinking with Independence Day coming up, how ironic the Tea Party's mantra has come to be. We are seeing how "faithful" the recently elected Republican governors--most through the efforts of the tea party "grassroots"-- have been to that concept. How is that "Don't Tread on Me" concept working in those states?

Stripping workers of their rights to collectively bargain; stripping women of their constitutional right to manage their own wombs; forcing government workers to participate in drug testing; the list goes on.

I don't see it. But maybe I'm missing the "fine print" on those flags: Don't Tread on Me "while I stomp all over you."


Had a another thought while walking that might be fodder for a good poem at some point.

Everyone's for the working man;
But nobody's working on his behalf
I sense a lie in the telling.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

I can't believe it's been three years since I last posted on this site! But back then, I was "retired" just as I am now...and then shortly after I started the blog, I made the decision to go back to my old job at the church. Well, God, as always, is patient with me and He's led me back to respite -- from that role, anyway. Now, it's just Bob, the dog, and me, enjoying our time together once again. But not the heat--yesterday's high here in Hays, America was 107 and today they're predicting a high of 111!

As I engage in revisions of this blog, i.e. new design, pictures, etc. the layout may seem simple, perhaps boring. But be patient with me, dear reader. (I'm assuming a lot, that anyone might even be reading this!)

In the meantime, I'm getting a lot of enjoyment out of reading and writing poetry once again. Here's one I wrote in 2008 as part of an exercise from a poetry writing handbook. It's by no means finished, but is the result of cutting and pasting from a set of rules from a card game....I believe it was pinochle. Anyway, I just resurrected it the other day. It was fun to do, and gave me a little license to play with words and experiment with creativity. It certainly still needs revision. Suggestions are welcome. Tell me what you think.

Playing the Card Game of Life

Your partner will be whoever

is next to you. To begin with,

you may or may not know him.

or you may think you know him.

but only the game will tell.

Select a Dealer. Do not depend

on your own devices. This Person

will shuffle the cards, but only

if you let Him. The cards are dealt

to every player. But everyone

will have a different hand. When the

Dealer is through, don’t look back,

look forward to the first step: bidding.

Anything can be used to bid—a life,

person, an idea of passion. To be a bidder,

you need to have a reckless spirit

and understand the next two steps--

heartbreaking though they may be--

which are melding and trick-taking.

And trick-taking may be all your life

has come to. Melding means to lay down

a specific combination of cards. Just like that,

you open up a part of your life to all the players.

If you’ve ever played rummy, you know

how to meld. Anyone who’s lived a life

has a lifetime of melding. In this game,

there are numerous, infinite ways

to meld. And all of them

are worth a few points.