A Sunflower song

Do you have sunflowers 

in the palm of your hand? 

That sounds a bit amiss, 

but in my hand they are field 

of tiny sunflowers with a sky

as blue as blue can be with 

radiant sun above, white puffs of clouds to ride the breeze. 

In this handful of nature is 

the life that sunflowers offer 

to the bees to the birds, 

surrounded by a frill of petals, 

as bright as the sun. 

So if you have sunflowers 

in the palm of your hand, life will 

be yours to share with me and thee.

“We’re all golden sunflowers inside.”

~ Allen Ginsberg

Two on an Afternoon Walk - Tiny and Gigantic!

Her tiny hand held the leaves gently offering an innocent photo op of autumn

then it was off to the Museum to see gigantic T-Rex and as much as possible!

“Children make your life important.”

~ Erma Bombeck, American humorist

Two Good Feet

Nervous, I wait for the other shoe to drop ~ It could be a soft, light ballet slipper

But……….

It could also be a steel toed work boot!

And if the other shoe dropped ~

It would surely be the work boot!

But…..

How will I know for certain!?

I guess I’ll never really know…

My road is long. There are no signs.

But….

I certainly know how to walk!

I don’t need ballet slippers or steel toes

I just need my hands, my heart and my two good feet.

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart.

……live in the question.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Skill Check

Streaming my consciousness 

on the page ~ squiggles and curlicues try to make sense of thoughts and ideas swirling through my mind.

The tip of the pen, a focal point

on the shape and meaning of 

just the right word.

Spellcheck is my own knowledge - no little red caterpillars in sight.

Grammar does not come underlined with green caterpillars 

No alerts when I might create a line of gobbledy-gook.

Random people in coffee shops and libraries notice my hand moving back and forth 

drawing my thoughts out, 

surprised and pleased to see that ‘someone still writes!

My pen points the way across the page so that

~ right to left ~

I fill each line dutifully until 

I reach the end of the line and then 

like a silent typewriter

my arm moves gently back 

to the beginning of the next line to continue my thought.

Hand writing requires attention 

away from alerts and notifications

so that only my thoughts enter the world 

via a trail of ink or graphite. 

Printing learned in Grade One 

in exercise books with open spaced lines 

shape each A B C until printing gave way to:

Cursive shapes of words.

Spelling and grammar next so 

our primary skill of talking 

could be sketched in the words we spoke ~ 

our learning of language

took a step forward to 

wield our pens like flashing swords.

Too many swords are rusty, 

put down in favour of 

modern hieroglyphics in emoticons and cartoon figures

until we don’t know our words are a part of us. 

Our ideas can be shaped rather that tapped

Tapping is more expedient and efficient 

but do we need to be in a world only expedient and efficient 

or 

do we need the beauty of handwriting 

taking the time to talk on the page.

Maybe both.......

“My spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, 

and the letters get in the wrong places

~ A.A.Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Risk

Nodding ‘hello’ to opportunity

while offering an open hand

accepts both choice and chance.

“To find yourself, think for yourself.”

~ Socrates

If I Had a Spade

If I had a spade

to dig into the ground 

of my past

it would not be silver or gold

If I had a spade

to scrape off dust and dirt

from cardboard boxes of memories

rust stripes would decorate it.

If I had a spade

for the archaeology of drawers

filled with cards, cords, and bags of stuff

my hand would be a much more resilient spade.

If I had a spade

to retrieve wordy jewels

shelved in the darkness of my mind

my pen would breathe new life into old plans.

“Archaeologists only look at what lies beneath their feet. 

The sky and the heavens don’t exist for them”

~ Agatha Christie, Murder in Mesopotamia

Salt Spring Island She Shed Tour 2018 - #10

The afternoon was getting on and we decided to miss a couple of She Sheds. So on to #10 on our program to visit Judy Weeden’s Pottery Studio where we discovered a most classic and sophisticated work. Dyes in shades of blues, greens, deep orange, black and lavender with designs fanciful and geometric gracing her lovely pottery. I hesitated only briefly before purchasing this lovely mug. I can wrap my hand around it just right, and it holds just the right amount of early morning coffee. After a bit of research at judyweeden.com I learned that Judy Weeden is a "studio potter with 42 years experience" which is evident in the quality of her work. 

“I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter’s hand.”

~ Janet Fitch, White Oleander

See a gallery of Judy Weeden’s wonderful work at judyweeden.com.

Fundraising event for: Saltspring Women Opposed to Violence and Abuse

"I'm Stuck!"

“I’m Stuck!” 

“I’m Stuck.” Even with all the tapping of keyboards, mail robot rolling up and down between out cubicles, phones ringing and just trying to focus on my own work I could hear the insistent whisper. The new girl was fresh out of school and had taken this job making cold calls to customers all over North Amerca. I really had been keeping an eye on her since meeting her the week before as my next door cubicle neighbour. She was very tall and very thin. If she had a bit more weight on her, she could have been considered willowy. Pale brown hair hung straight and loose past her shoulders with bangs that were crying to be trimmed. I remembered a delicate face and long lashes that her demeanor hid from the world.

“Can I help?” 

Tannis jumped as if I had fired a gun in the air. Everything on her desk jumped. The computer keyboard went sideways and the mouse clattered to the floor.

“OMG. Who are you?”

“We met last week at the staff meeting. My name is Horace Atchinson. I am in the cubicle right beside you. I heard you say you were stuck.”

Tannis spun around in her chair. 

“I am literally stuck. This chair won’t move, except to swivel. Is that how the boss keeps you at your desk? Wow, that is hilarious. Yes, you can help. Can you pull me back from this desk so I can stand up? 

Horace, always the gentleman, tugged politely on Tannis’ chair. Then he tugged a bit harder. Then he just yanked it while Tannis pushed against the edge of her desk. Horace stumbled backwards. Tannis fell forward, face on the desk, knees hit the floor. Her glasses flew off and slid across the room.

“What on earth? These chairs have never given me a problem. Oh, I see the problem now. You must have raised the chair after you rolled yourself under the desk.”

“You are amazing to figure it out so fast! I have to have my chair up high because I’m so tall. Are you always this amazing?”

Horace helped Tannis to her feet and looked up at her almost losing his balance again. She did at least have a beautiful smile. 

“Now that we’ve got you unstuck, let’s call the Maintenance department and get your desk raised so this doesn’t happen again.”

Tannis grabbed Horace’s hand in both of hers, pumping it up and down. 

“Thank you thank you thank you. I just know that you’ll be able to help me with everything. You are just amazing!”

Horace extricated his hand from Tannis’ grip and backed toward his cubicle.

“Please call on me if you need anything. Oh, but I’m busy for the rest of the day, so please just send me an email. And..and.. I leave early today as well. Oh, here’s Joe from the Maintenance department.  Must get back to work. Good-bye.”

“At times, you need to be forceful to get things that are stuck unstuck.”

~ Christine Quinn

Author's note: Edited February 05, 2024

A Hands On Job

Nursing is a hands on job

Many times, many hours

Hands on the computer
Hands on medicine and intravenous
Hands on ….

  each contraption we are given to use where no curiosity exists.

All the in-between times
Hands on brows furrowed with what if’s 
Hands on trembling hands reaching for answers
Hands on shoulders beaten down by life.
Nurses are curious about the most effective ~ 

    a pill, a machine or a hand up.

Nursing needs the gentleness of a healing touch.

“In the end only kindness matters.”

~ Jewel

Hands

A tiny hand fisted and soft
Challenging the new air
Outside of the womb
Reaching for something solid
Gentle touch of a wondrous parent
Instinct wraps the tiny hand around finger and heart

My adult hands were once soft and reaching
Stretching into life for meaning and connections
Learning and growing into real world ways
Instinct deep inside the bones waiting for expression
My adult hands have worked many tasks with nuanced meainings

One hand a rudder to steady and guide
The other, a grip for the tools of the task
The challenge to me has been how to use my hands
These appendages we are born with that stretch into open air
And grip a giant finger with our tiny soft hands

Our hands, like antennae into this strange new world
Instinct and intuition are like two hands
Coming together to express emotion, applaud in wonder
In our deepest sorrows or in marvelous joys
Our hands join as one in Namaste.

“Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone’s hand is the beginning 

of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.”

~ Vera Nazarian,  The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration.

Right vs Left

Left handed when newly awake
Right handed in two hours time

Right arm and right hand may jump and release.
Left hand, as back up, prevents accidents!

Epilepsy’s effects but a flip away 
when brain shifts from sleep unto wake

Right handed ease for the rest of the day
Next day's dawning: left hand picks up the slack

~~~~~

This poem was inspired by an odd suddenness of movement in the early morning.  It occurs at about the same time I would ordinarily have my seizures, thus I have equated it to an effect of epilepsy. There is no indication of its veracity, however I am cautious. I assume that my sleep quality has been poor, that I may have forgotten to take my pills, and in general am not as stable as  I need to be. Fortunately, I have had few of these incidents in the last couple of years. I did speak with my neurologist.  He didn’t think they were related.  I am recognizing them as red flags that attention is needed to my sleep quality and habits. 

Author's note: