The Essence of Mom

To honour all the moms is perfect of course,

but there are so many more to include.

There are 

grandmas and grandpas

 step-moms and dads

  step-dads and uncles

   aunts and mothers’-law 

    sisters and brothers

     cousins, mentors & friends

that become the essence of mom that is missed.

We all travel our paths in need of a mom

grateful for each and every dear one that steps up!

     Happy Mother’s to all of the ‘moms’!

“Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.”

~ Robert A. Heinlein

Seeking Light

Enthusiasm about life 

wedges its way through cracks

      in busy-ness, 

         shades of sorrows

            heaviness of responsibilities

settles in niches carved out for safety

polished by gratitude and kindness

pooling softly around tired feet

awakening again each early morn.

“True enthusiasm is a fine feeling whose flash I admire where-ever I see it.”

~ Charlotte Bronte

Construction Controllers

Directing the flow of traffic

often controlled by 

blinking green, yellow and red lights or the orange hand is taken up by women or men in day-glo yellow vests criss-crossed with orange ~ guiding feet and tires through alternate routes around cranes, flat beds, cement mixers and constructioneers.

A crew deserving much gratitude for their clear and often smiling directions.

“You just have to have the guidance to lead you 

in the direction until you can do it yourself.”

~ Tina Yothers

Sculpture

Understanding opinions 

has little to do with believing

words spoken in sound bytes

wrapped in rhetoric

Understanding opinions

recognizes the roots of life experience

forming any opinion

shaped with or without gratitude.

Understanding opinions ~

not necessary for good manners

“Everything that irritates us about others 

can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”

~ C.G.Jung

Signal Changes

'Tapping out a signal.' Envisioning a Morse code operator hunched over a desk, his or her finger tapping out code that traveled along a wire to the receiver on the other end, has given me pause. Pause to think about signals sent via pen and paper and now through the airwaves bouncing from computers to satellite and back again. Communication over distances, sending signals of warning or of joy, have long been how the human race exercises it’s need to speak with one another. My personal experience with tapping out a few words was prior to nurses training in the summer 1965. I took a limited business course learning speed writing and typewriting. I did not develop the necessary skills that even remotely suggested that I would make an awesome secretary. Speed writing, different from shorthand, had it’s own format. I find, from time to time, that I slip into some of what I learned that summer. Typewriting was not taught in all schools yet, but I remembered hunting and pecking only on Grandpa’s old typewriter as a young child. Learning to actually type on a ‘real’ keyboard intrigued me. Now in this age of computers, I am using that knowledge on a daily basis - at home and in my nursing work with much gratitude.

Reading is one of the activities I enjoy frequently. I’m not sitting every minute of every day with my nose in a book, my eyes glued to a page, but I read regularly and often. Each time I read, there is some form of message delivered through the air. If it is a novel, my heartstrings are plucked. If it’s an advertisement, I may get annoyed, amused or intrigued with the creativity. If it’s an article in a magazine or on-line, my heart-strings again get plucked or my anger button pushed. In it all, I can visualize the author sitting with pen in hand or, more likely, at a keyboard tapping out a message for any and all of us to read. No longer a simple signal, but a wordy message.  While I am not always grateful to read opinions diametrically different from my own, I am definitely pleased to live in a country where opinions can be expressed openly. Not suppressed. Unfortunately, and at the same time, we are living too close to an edge where some have leapt off into a hurtful expression of opinion. There are too many tapping out, or more vociferously shouting, their thoughts. Maybe I should be grateful when my ‘anger button’ is pushed. Grateful for the energy I feel when such injustices are felt. Hunting and pecking on Grandpa’s typewriter was merely an exercise in finger gymnastics and seeing a black mark appear on a blank page. The black marks we hear, read and see today have a huge potential to distract us from reality.

“Distinguishing the signal from the noise requires 

both scientific knowledge and self-knowledge.”

~ Nate Silver

Deep Listening

Intuitive knowledge - 

gut feelings too often ignored

yet frequently hitting a mark.

No rhyme and no reason for

   a ping in the belly

     a twist in the gut

       a hesitant move forward

         an urge to step back

miraging doors that open or close

phantom sounds of alarm, even of laughter

timed tendrils of experience

too easily drowned out by reason.

These nebulous feelings ~

      ‘just right’ or ‘very wrong’ ~

are powerful silent messages from within.

To be grateful for these messages 

rather than buried in self-doubt

will tune inner ears to intuitive wisdom.

“Regular people have such a hard time listening to the low hum of instinct.”

~ Suzanne Palmieri, The Witch of little Italy

Turnabout ~ A Story

Turnabout

Thunderous applause, whistles and stamping of feet reverberated throughout Symphony Hall, the audience standing up as one even before the last notes had even been played. It definitely wasn’t the sort of music I preferred. A popular punk band named Steam Roller was in town and I was in the middle of it all. I had been given tickets to a ‘Musical Event' by a dear friend. Assuming that he knew my musical tastes I just accepted them. All he told me was the date, time and place. There were no red flags at all.

That evening, I dressed casually, and as my mother would say, I looked ‘dressy’. It was a warm summer evening so a stroll to the Symphony Hall was welcomed as I only lived a few blocks away. Approaching, I saw a few people gathering at the box office doors, others crossing at the lights to join them and more coming around the corner. There were a few gray heads to be seen, but others certainly didn’t look like the usual symphony crowd. Colourful hair do’s - lime green seemed a favourite - , long hair, short hair and ‘dread-locks’  (I think that’s what they’re called). Scanning the unusual crowd, there seemed to be an abundance of black t-shirts with silver, gold and red decals. I couldn’t make out what they were. As I got closer, I could see what might be faces and words. At first I had thought they were family members attending the performance, but when the numbers kept swelling, that idea was quite preposterous. A large black trailer was parked in front of the building showing enlarged faces, grinning at the world. I supposed it was a band of some kind. 

Curious, I joined the throng and was about to pull my tickets out to inspect them when I heard my name being called. "Aunt Sophie! Aunt Sophie! I’m over here!” Looking around I saw my nephew, Anthony, waving and pushing through the lineup.  He was sporting a fairly ordinary buzz-cut, but was wearing a t-shirt with the same picture that was on the black trailer. Oh my goodness. What have I gotten myself into - and how!?

“Phew. I’m out of breath. Aunt Sophie, I was afraid I’d miss you. I just got in today and have been trying to contact you. Do you still have two tickets? Is anyone else joining you? Dad said he had given you two tickets.”

“Your dad? He didn’t give them to me. It was his neighbour that I go to symphony performances with sometimes. If this was your dad’s idea of a joke, he’s in for a very big surprise. Anthony, would you accompany your aunt to this ‘symphony’? And can you get me one of those t-shirts?”

“Not a problem. I would be honoured - but Aunt Sophie, do you know who you’re here to see?” His eyes were twinkling and he was barely able to keep from laughing. At the same time, he did sound concerned.

As Anthony was talking, I took the pins out of my hair, did a quick braid to the side and fastened it with the scrunchy that I kept in my purse. I pulled out my tickets and saw ‘Steam Roller - A Punk Band like no other! Fire and Brimstone!!’ Anthony was back with a t-shirt for me - “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“You can bet on it, Anthony. That brother of mine isn’t going to get any satisfaction from his little joke.”

The sweetish aroma of marijuana was heavy in the air. Everyone was butting out before being allowed into the Symphony Hall. Who knows what may have been in pockets and purses. Even so I was determined to see the evening through and enjoy it. I was pleasantly surprised. Yes, it was incredibly loud music that I do not listen to and don’t plan to ever again. Once I got used to the light show and focussed on the band members, I could appreciate their musicality, professionalism and energy. They respected and interacted with their audience. I stood, cheered and clapped throughout the show, and especially as it drew to a close. I was truly one of the audience. As we were leaving the theatre, Anthony pulled me aside.

“Aunt Sophie, I’ve got us back stage passes. I know one of the guys. Do you want to?”

“Sure thing, I would love to meet them! Oh boy, my practical joking brother really misjudged this one. I guess I should be grateful to him for giving me this experience. Come on Anthony, lets go.” 

“Always turn a negative situation into a positive situation.”

~ Michael Jordan