At My Front Door

There is always a story

in every day 

routine and nondescript. 

Like the fellow 

who delivers my groceries ~

always a big smile, 

   a happy voice and

     a cheerful aura. 

Black hair wild and wiry.

His bulk carries my groceries

and his cheerfulness easily

~ this is a story at my door.

“We’re all stories, in the end.”

~ Steven Moffatt, 

Scottish TV writer and producer

Behind the Door

A blustery cold day with snow 

not sure it was to be rain or snow

Streets wet and glistening, 

hovering grey clouds, 

soggy piles of multicoloured leaves 

lay exhausted against curbs and fences

In such a walk one never knows 

what’s just around the corner.

Robins, wrens and sunshine behind 

a faerie door! Little people live 

and play inside this gnarled old tree 

with green lawns, bees and wildflowers.

my journey to the library

became a happier mission,

my steps easier, my heart lighter, 

just because of that faerie door.

“Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.”

~ Hans Christian Anderson

Rules of the Soul

 

routine too rigid 

no longer serves me

fixed corners deny living and 

life outside these walls. 

breaking the frame; pieces

create new spaces and places

for wider vistas with

open doors and windows

juggling, puzzling ~ rigid rules

softened and sung to gently serve

with a new grace after the shock of 

any change tossed in our lap.

“It is discouraging to try to penetrate a mind like yours. 

You ought to get it out and dance on it. 

That would take some of the rigidity out of it.”

~ Mark Twain

A Cautionary Tale

Opening doors we didn’t know……

  could be opened ~

done with caution,

  expectations tempered ~

is a risk 

  and a challenge

at any age

  keeps us engaged

with the life

  we have been given.

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.”

~ Flora Whittemore

A Cat Tale ~ The Real Deal

Me: “Get down from that cupboard! Just sitting there like you own the kitchen.”

Jet:  “I’m sure you’ll get over it.

Or - we could make a deal.

I will not get on the cupboard or the table whenever you are in the room.”

Me:  “Or my little freezer.”

Jet:  “Why? I need that space.”

Me: “Too close to the cupboard, that has to be part of the deal.”

Jet:  “It’s closer to the back door. I'm still working on getting the lock open.” (She thinks I can really open that thing.)

Me:  (He’ll never be able to open that lock.)

“On second thought, I suppose I could - maybe - I could let that one go.”

Jet: (I knew she’d cave. Close to the door - close to the cupboard - that’s the real deal.)

“Never try to outstubborn a cat.”

~ Robert A. Heinlein, Time enough for Love

Walk On

Each day entertains us with questions, curiosities with answers just out of reach.

Lovely stews of wondering and opinions ~

    about hope or fantasy

     about fears or fiction with

progress slow and maybe a bit muddy.

Accidental progress may come from a quick glance or on a new page.

If we follow our curiosities, 

open doors and new paths will be revealed. 

“One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates 

the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous 

structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely 

to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.”

~ Albert Einstein “Old Man’s Advice to Youth: 

‘Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.’

LIFE Magazine (2May1955) p.64”

Measured

Steps forward are sometimes 

absolutely the most difficult things ~ like walking in a swamp without knowing ~ for sure ~ where to step safely.

Whether at a doorstep or in a jungle, curiosity about next steps in life plans, embraced by respectful courage, softens and measures one’s pace.

“Respect for ourselves guides our morals, 

respect for others guides our manners.”

~ Laurence Sterne

Smudges

Smudges

The old printer chugged along. One piece of paper after another. Clear black ink showed the words Mary Ann had just written on her not quite so old laptop. Her office was a disorganized helter skelter of stacks of papers, manuals and books, more papers, new and used pens and boxes of pencils. Mary Ann missed her grandmother's old print shop with the smell of ink, the little print dies for making up the town newspaper and smudges on her fingers. She had always wanted smudges on her fingers like her grandmother. Sometimes, she would just pick up the print dies to get ‘grandma hands’. Grandma had to wear a big in-smudged white apron to keep from getting her lovely house dresses in a mess. She would always take off her apron when she heard the tinkling of the bell over the old wooden door. The customer usually wanted a handbill printed up or a letter mailed. Her grandma’s print shop was also the post office for the small mountain town.

“Grandma, why don’t you buy a new printer! That one is so old. It’s got to be at least ten years old and it only prints. You could have a new one that faxes and scans and prints.” 

Joey, Mary Ann’s 13 year old grandson had come bounding through her front door and raced into her ‘office’. He was such a good boy and would have loved the old print shop. He loved new technology, but was also fascinated with anything old. 

"Well, Joey, I suppose I could get a new printer so it could do all of those things. It just might make a difference in this funny little room I call my office. It could send out mail almost the same as my grandma did when I was just a bit younger that you. I don’t know how to do all the faxing or scanning, but I can bet you’ll show me. We could go to a store on Saturday and get one so you could help me hook it up. What do you think?”

“And can we go for pizza, too?”

“Of course. Just ask your mom. Tell her we need a day out on the town so you can help me decide what to buy.”

“Grandma, just remember that when you change the ink, even on a new printer, you have got to be careful not to get the ink all over you. Look at your hands!”

Mary Ann smiled, hugged her wonderful grandson Joey and hoped that he hadn’t seen the little tear in her eye. She did have 'grandma hands' after all.

“Before printing was discovered, a century was equal to a thousand years.”

~ Henry David Thoreau

Anthropomorphizing

Anthropomorphizing

I went over every square inch of the lawn. Every blade of grass that had even an interesting sniff of something or someone. Traffic was non-existent on this street so busy during the day, so I had no distractions. The wind had gone to sleep. Scattered stars shone, only the most distant ones dimmed by the street lights. Unnecessary, but acceptable, I was not disturbed by them. I did try to keep into shadow. I lifted my head. A sound not unlike one of my neighbours when it clears its throat, but much softer. I resumed my search for the secret prize only I know as soon as I find it. Moving from grass to the tiny ditch separating the grass from a flower bed, I continued my search slowly and carefully, but only for a few feet. Back on the grass, much softer on the pads of my feet, the dew cold and wet, I stopped. Lifted my head higher this time. There was someone there! It seemed a ghost. A very large ghost. White against the blackened window. What voyeur dares to come even close to my yard? It has been standing there for quite awhile, sure that I haven’t seen it. But I’m paying attention. I’ll stare at it until it moves again. Phew! It’s backing off. I can hear the scraping of a door sliding open. It’s gone through the black window but I’ll keep watching until I’m certain that the ghost has vanished back to where it came from.

“Sometimes, staying alive solely depends on 

keeping your head in place and your senses alert.”

~ Susana Fortes

The Door - A Writing Exercise

Acting from within my muse and the parameters set by our writers group, I wrote a very short story. For this month’s assigned writing exercise, we were to write from the stem: I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened….. As always with our small group, we each had a different interpretation of the assignment ~ which we could change or not do it at all. This talented group of writers shared from the very poignant to fantastical to mysterious and to hilarious. Each story elicited appropriate emotions ~ much laughter and some respectful sadness. Here is my offering of The Door with a couple of edits I didn’t see until this morning.

 The Door

I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened. I felt powerful. I felt in control. The silver gray door tinkled. I knew that opening it would usher in my guests. I knew who each of them were because I had invited them. My senses had told me they would arrive, each in their appointed time. My purpose? To only choose those who would bring joy to my life. Beyond that door, and from streams, fields and farms, were the fascinating ingredients bringing to me the wisdom of each generation. I could only choose one individual from each place. A farmer and a rancher, tanned from the sun, field dirt in the creases of their perspiring brows. A seasonal odd jobber and an assembly line worker who worked tirelessly and tediously. A chef and a sous-chef fresh from steamy kitchens. All had been invited to my table. And I, here in my rocking chair, held the power of this grand gathering in my hand. To be ushered into my home and sit at my table was an honour only reserved for those who could get past my silver gray, and very stout, door. 

The Door swung open on my command. There, on shelves clean, shiny and new, were vegetables from not too distant fields, meats from the ranch beyond town, ripe fruits fresh picked in vast stretches of orchards. My weekend was set - to build a beautiful meal from all this abundance. To make soup and store leftovers when the fine meal was finished. Quality unmatched by this food's very freshness, I was pleased that my anticipation would be rewarded while I prepared this enchanting bounty.

“The isolated imagination is easily corrupted by theory, 

but the writer inside his community seldom has such a problem.”

~ Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose

Soul Seasons

Opening doors 

to an unknown future ~

like green sprouts that push 

through moist wintered earth ~

beauty lent to each new season 

for growth, strength and acceptance.

“My soul, be satisfied with flowers,

With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them

in the one garden you may call your own.”

~ Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac

Ownership ~AUTONOMY ~Theme for March 2019

Actively seeking…..

Understanding my…….

Treating each day……

Opening doors……..

Nodding ‘hello’ to opportunity….

Outside for a breath…….

Magic happens today……

Yoda knows the questions……..

“If you just set people in motion they’ll heal themselves.”

~ Gabrielle Roth, Maps to Ecstasy

Moments to Remember

Teachable moments arrive

unexpectedly 

when questions hover in the air.

Conversations open doors

softly

to the resilience of knowledge.

“When you get, give. When you learn, teach.”

~ Dr. Maya Angelou