Run, Laugh, Roll My Eyes, Repeat

Lake Sylvia, my favorite running spot

My stomach burns almost constantly these days. It feels like hunger, as if I wrapped myself in a project and worked through lunch. I eat, and the burn subsides for a bit. But it comes back, and I realize that it's not hunger after all. The burn spreads to my chest. Angst? Fear? Anticipation? Um, heartburn?

I need an anthem to give purpose to this sensation. It feels like the prelude to a crisis, anticipation of something momentous. But momentous never follows. Just the burn in my chest, the weight in the pit of my stomach and hours awake at night. No feverish worry. Just wakefulness and a longing for sleep. Pointless, really.

This anxiety has no cause that I can identify. I have decided to chalk it up to hormones, annoying but manageable, at least for now. Occasionally, it leaves me wringing my hands, an attempt to calm the baseless fear that sometimes descends on me, the brief but intense frustration at feeling out of control.

Sometimes, usually on Monday mornings, I awake feeling wholly unprepared to face the day. I lie in bed and pray for peace, for courage. It sounds, and feels, so dramatic. It's not. I crawl out of bed, and by the time I have finished brushing my teeth, I feel capable. I drag myself out for a run, and after six painfully slow miles on the trail I even feel hopeful.

I never quite understood anxiety before. (I probably still don't.) Nor did I comprehend the concept of hope. Anxiety, I could definitely live without. But hope? It feels good. And it makes sense, even if just on a mundane, but essential, level. Feeling gratitude for muttered Monday morning prayers, muddy trails and the critical ability to laugh at myself.

Hello Again, Little Blog

I watched a movie this afternoon, somewhat guiltily, I must confess. I should have spent the time in more productive pursuits, but the movie made me weep, and I found that I needed the tears. More than that, I welcomed the emotion and the resulting desire to somehow frame that emotion in images and words.

I write for a living. For hours each day, I sit at my desk in my upstairs office and bleed words onto the screen. I have discovered a certain mastery of the art of sounding knowledgeable about topics that actually interest me very little.

And yet, for all of the writing I do, I express very little. And as a woman of a certain age, caught up in a chaotic and bizarre dance of hormones, I desperately need expression. I need to explore how I feel about marriage at a crossroads, about watching my parents fade away and knowing with terrible certainty that dementia will find its way to my own door, as well.

I have always found myself through words. The syllables and phrases allow me to frame the world around me and make it my own. Perhaps writing gives me a sense of control. More likely, since control is illusive at best, writing strikes a deeper chord that might just awaken my sense of self after its little mid-life nap.

And so, I find my way back to a neglected blog. My chocolate moonrise has been waiting patiently for me to put aside my disdain of mommy bloggers and posers and simply write for the sake of writing. Hello again, little blog. I've missed you.

100 Days of Poetry: Days 96-100

(Again, I did write five poems for these days, but a couple are best left unseen.)

Recovery

A consequence of aging
Perhaps,
Like failing eyes,
Failing bladder,
And joints that ache,
Emotions and relationships, too,
Falter,
Fall ill,
Or rupture.
Aging hurts the spirit as well as the frame.
Heart attack of a different kind
Left me sobbing and unhinged
On a snowy spring afternoon in Cache Valley,
My marriage uncertain,
My parents fading,
Those I leaned on no longer strong and steady.
Dreams that pulled me forward
Lack the power they once held,
Tattered and weak as they have become.
Something already strained finally tore wide open.

And now?
Now, hopefully, the healing begins.
Scar tissue rebuilding the heart into something new,
Stronger in some ways,
Weaker in others.
I am learning how to recover,
Learning to rest,
Recognizing that wounds of the heart need time,
Patience,
A willingness to step back,
Pull away from society
And slow the pace of life
Until new skin closes gaping wounds,
Until the pain recedes
And the pieces knit together into some semblance of whole.

Sunday Afternoon in Spring

My daughter sunbathes in the hammock,
Turning of the page punctuated by a cough and a sniffle,
Remnants of a late season cold.
I write under a picnic umbrella,
Listening to the breeze rustle newly unfolded leaves.
Blocks away, an ice cream truck announces its progress with "Turkey in the Straw"
Against a backdrop of an occasional lawnmower or chainsaw.
Moths flutter, newly emerged from their cocoons,
Flitting past fading lilacs and the tiny white bells that promise late summer blueberries.
It is a season of layered clothes and forgotten sunglasses,
Of heads tilted back to capture welcome sun.
Last week, I drove through slushy snow.
Next week, I will sigh as I mop my sweaty brow.
Today, I delight in spring.

100 Days of Poetry

I set out to write one hundred poems
Word paintings, tiny snapshots of my life
As winter snows transformed to mid-spring days
As joy, hurt, wonder and sorrow traded
Places on the stage, each dancing her part,
Then passing the spotlight to her fellows.
I have loved observing the days take shape
In verse, teasing out colors and rhythms
Examining the pain, reliving joy,
Letting creativity do her work.

100 Days of Poetry: Days 91-95

Vacation Morning

Quiet house
Unfamiliar and, thus, restful
No assignments
No schedule
Few expectations
Morning tea in a strange cup
Frosted mountains outside my door
Bold sun, shining as if it owns the place
Nooks and crannies to discover in a rented house
Snacks and spices I wouldn’t have thought to buy
Mis-matched decor that somehow suits
Running path awaiting my feet
Freedom and possibility

Morning Run

Towering mountains
Brilliant sunshine, altitude
Weary, but worth it

Today I loved

Running in sunshine through neighborhoods so new the sod still looks like a checkerboard
The first bite of movie popcorn
Gauging our progress by the mountain peaks that tower over Utah Valley
Watching men cook while women chatted
Eating marinated, grilled scallops
Guzzling cold sparkling water after an afternoon in the heat
Passing random farms in the middle of suburbia
Actually beating Brad in a race car arcade game
Kristina’s unabashed delight at her temporary tattoo
A few quiet minutes to write before bedtime

Vacation Sunday Service

Back row luxury
Peaceful anonymity
Simply worshipping

Coming Home

Canyon views
Snowshoe philosophy session
Asian noodles with a chocolate almond chaser
Jane Austen narrates my drive
Wasatch Front to my right
Memories every mile
Comfortably bemoaning politics with Daddy
While Mother listens from the sofa, content
I am home
Unfamiliar bed
Living out of a duffel bag
Hundreds of miles from my house
But remembering a rhythm of my heart

100 Days of Poetry: Days 86-90

Easter

Every burden I have carried
All my sins, heartache, weakness, anger and loneliness
Swallowed up in one unfathomable sacrifice
The God of Heaven bled for me
Entered Hell for me
Remembers me still

Wemberly

My daughter worries
Questions, frets, stews and wonders
Craves reassurance
Like sand in an oyster shell
Rich pearl gathering shape

Mathematics of Marriage

One more late night
+
Two parallel paths trying, and mostly failing, to merge
+
Infinite pointless apologies
=
Zero clue how to proceed

Mantra Time

I will find joy, even on stupid days
I will learn to wait in stillness
I will create something every day
I will run until my legs stop moving
I will remember that God loves me, knows me, has not forgotten me
I will love even when loving feels difficult
I will pray when I struggle to believe
I will choose to lift up, not bring down
I will forgive myself and others
And when I fail at one or all of these
I will shake it off and try again

Utah

Cloud shadows paint hills and valleys from one horizon to the other
Irrigated meadows rise to arid mesas
I imagine flying along the ridge on a horse
(Never mind that I know nothing about horses)
Traversing hills and valleys
Unbroken by trees
Chasing shadows
Pausing in awe when clouds glow pink and orange in the setting sun
A nightly miracle that never fails to steal my breath
Overnight, I traded Olympic moss and dripping trees
For Rocky Mountain grandeur
Even with steel plants belching smoke
Stretches of barren desert
Cities that crawl, haphazard, for miles
Hillsides scraped and harvested
This landscape expands my heart
Lengthens my vision
Inspires

100 Days of Poetry: Days 81-85

(Note: There are five poems from this time period, but one was not written for public consumption.)

Our Lady of Sorrows

Notre Dame
Easter Week fire
Rose window, gargoyles
Nine hundred years of history
In flames

Dirt

Scouring dirty quartz
Dishes, crumbs, unsightly mess
Wipe them all away
I wish that somehow
Windex and white cleaning cloths
Could clean life messes
Possible, perhaps
To find a gleaming surface
Somewhere underneath
But tomorrow comes
Grime returns, dishes pile up
Sigh, wipe, repeat

Therapy Aftermath

There is something profoundly soothing
Or maybe terrifying
About having a complete stranger understand
Even articulate
Feelings buried too deeply for me to frame in words
Tears left me unable to speak
Not a bid for sympathy this time
Just wounds exposed
Speaking my truth
Letting it hang in the air
Perhaps not shared
But at least heard
Am I hopeful?
I don't know
Sad?                                                                                              
It feels like sadness
But I expect time will reveal something else
Right now, I want to curl around the hole in my gut
Close my eyes
And simply exist
Unmoving
In silence

Peaks after Valleys

What a difference a day makes
Awkward discussions bring corrected vision
Putting names to feelings
Letting go of the need for agreement
Releasing the burden of assumption
More tears ahead, I am certain
But today I wake at peace
Light
Reveling in reprieve

100 Days of Poetry: Days 76-80

Living

“I am not always very attached to being alive”
So began the article on suicide
The statement resonates
Strongly, I admit
But suicidal?
I have rarely felt suicidal
And never deeply enough to act
Is it necessary to love life every second?
To drink in every day with gusto?
Because sometimes, hope tiptoes out of reach
Sometimes, disappointment overwhelms
Sometimes, the endless list of expectations
(Usually self-imposed)
Wearies me to the bone
Ennui
Sheer boredom
The conviction that nothing
Absolutely nothing
Will change
Some days, I simply cannot abide the certainty of mediocrity
Or worse
The fear of decline
Of invisibility
On the worst of those days, death appeals
The last great adventure
A release

Reason always pulls me back to safety
That, and pride
I desire to stride boldly into the next life
Strong, battle-scarred and triumphant
Head high
And so I live
Not always because I feel attached to being alive

Rest

Tired, suddenly
Wanting nothing more than a quiet corner
A warm blanket
And leisure to close my eyes
Near society, but not part of it
Rest, without the intrusion of guilt over tasks undone
A soothing background of ticking clocks
Soft afternoon light through the window
The hum of a refrigerator
Melodies at the piano
And the rattle of pans as someone else makes dinner

A peace akin to gazing at stars on a summer night
Reading Jane Austen for the twentieth time
(Satisfied, as always, by the perfect ending)
Or savoring those first bites of newly baked bread, dripping with butter
I'm not sure what "rest" truly means in the heavenly sense
But I dearly hope that heaven includes cozy blankets
Quiet background melodies
Endless stars
And warm bread
With perfect endings and promising beginnings
All rolled into one glorious eternity

Ditching the Comfort Zone

Tiny leaps of faith
Sometimes, just quitting the bed
Starting a new day

Dialing a stranger
Collecting stories for blogs
Seeking shrewd questions

Sharing affection
Tentative, will he respond?
Loving anyway

Crafting a poem
Starting blind, ending unknown
Watching thoughts unfold

Steps into the dark
Seeking fulfillment

Ink

Birds in flight
Soaring over the collarbone and off my shoulder
Wings graceful and powerful
I can envision the tattoo
Enjoy the anticipation of rebellion
Already feel the reminder of freedom just beneath the fabric of my blouse
My little escape when obligations weigh me down
And trees obscure the horizon
A reminder that I can rise above the branches
And fly toward the sun

Palm Sunday

Dusty festival crowds
Noisily cheered a king
Only to condemn Him as loudly within days
Disciples walked away
"Friend," the King said to Judas
"Wherefore art thou come?"
That terrible kiss killed both men
Peter followed, though
Denied knowing Him, yes
But still, he stayed
Women, too, followed the slow path to Calvary
Simon shared the burden of the cross when Jesus stumbled
Mary stood at His feet
A sword piercing her own soul
As it pierced the side of her dead son
The Magdalene wept outside an empty tomb
Pleaded with the gardener
"If thou have borne him hence..."
"Mary"
Gentle
Loving
That voice
Impossible
But the heart knew
"Rabboni"
Master
And the sun rose on Easter morning

100 Days of Poetry: Days 71-75

Spring Break Staycation

Sheer joy, a rarity for a teenage girl
Praying for the happiness to last
Rain just steady enough to soothe, with periods of
Intermittent sunshine
Nutrition optional, treats in abundance
Granddaughter in charge
Bonding over games
Refreshing release from routine
Endless smiles
A new hairstyle every day
Kristina soaks up vacation, basks in family

Counting Blessings

Laughter with friends over amaretto bread pudding, 80s memories and catnip
Belly laughter from a two-year old
Prophets here and now
A happy teenage daughter
Children who love family
The elegance of a black quartz countertop
Plaid pajamas
Hair that curled just right for once
Feeling a little younger than my years
But loving the perspective those years give me
Hope that relationships can mend
Joy of shared faith
Peace at home
Cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, not too sickly sweet
The anticipation of sleep

Papa

The best part about being a grandma
(In addition to hugs
And baby belly laughs
And hiking with a child always primed for delight)
Has to be watching my husband transform into "Papa"
As they play bubbles
And cars
And catch
As she draws on his fingers
Brings him piles of books
Looks up at him with complete trust

This is a role he was born to play
And through her eyes
I fall in love all over again

Avery's Limerick

Spent the day with my spunky granddaughter
She needed some fun so I brought her
To the museum we went
Three blissful hours we spent
She kept marching back to the water

Beginning the Work

Driving home alone
Grateful for solitude
Audiobook dulls conscious thought
Mind processing in the background
Sadness, relief, worry, hope?
Awaiting clarity and willing to let it come in time
Feelings swirling for years begin, perhaps, to find shape
But sculptures take time to emerge
Finding their own form within the stone
I have to step back
Resist the urge to carve and mold
Do I weep?
I almost feel like weeping
Mourning the loss of something undefined
Some pattern I have built my life around
A pattern I will miss only because it leaves a hole to fill
Anticipating
Welcoming
Fearing
Vulnerability

100 Days of Poetry: Days 66-70

Worshipping

I watch the congregation today
From my vantage point behind a vase of roses

A man just released from prison sits with his wife and children
Crisp white shirt and tie
Peace radiating from their faces

Peace, too, on the face of the woman stroking her husband's hand
As he leans into her
And they watch their children perform "I'm Trying to be Like Jesus"
She mouths the words
Most of the parents do
But the children don't need the prompting
And more than one congregant wipes a tear
Children in hair bows and Sunday ties, singing loudly, have that effect

Back in his pew, a four-year old curls into his father's arms
And this is the scene that captures me today
Father and son gaze eye to eye
Sharing a private conversation
While the service swirls around them
And then son melts onto dad's shoulder
Trusting completely in a love that wraps around him as surely as dad's arms

Across the aisle, a middle-aged woman sits with her elderly mother
Both impeccably dressed
Hair and makeup perfect
A bright and determined smile crosses the daughter's face when I catch her eye
No hint of the dementia-fueled struggle that likely prefaced the chapel calm

All of the smiles today contrast with stories at home
Marriages strained at the seams
Crippling anxiety
Fear
Devastations of age
But the peace in the chapel today is real and palpable
An oasis of spirit

Monday Mornings

Trail winding up
Hints of sunshine, ridge beckons
Legs burn, breath comes hard

Views from the clearcut
Cell tower, distant mountains
New growth amid stumps

Cougar tracks? Perhaps
Logging trucks, spent shotgun shells
We are not alone

Running and chatting
Politics, marriage, scripture
We cover it all

Wonderful muddy buddies
Monday morning therapy

Visiting the Grands

Piles of books
Two hearts in sync
Wolf howls on demand
Peals of laughter
Doting aunt working toward "favorite" status
Hugs unlimited
Stairs to climb and descend (backwards, of course)
Vintage Fisher-Price
Extra bowls of mac and cheese
Falling asleep in "Papa's" arms
Bedtime kisses
Dreams of tomorrow's adventures

Fruits of Procrastination 

Late to bed again
Completing one final task
To sleep or to write?

4/4/2019

Toddler gag reflex activated
Vomit-covered car seat
Open-window drive home
Sunshine saves the day

Field trip to Baxters'
Four fluffy cats
Avery falls in love
(With cats, not horse)

Playground with the girls
Fresh cedar bark, ah!
Teenagers play like toddlers
Huge smiles all around

Games finish the day
We build our dominions
Meara wins, beginners' luck
Mom loses while laughing

Not what we planned
The day we needed

100 Days of Poetry: Days 61-65

South Dakota Childhood

(more a sketch of memories than a poem)

Rosebushes soaking in the bathtub
Sledding trails worn in the mounds of snow dotting the playground
Lilac bushes bent into an arch under the weight of yesterday's blizzard
Miles upon miles of sunflowers
Barn cats wrestling in the hay
Two wooden seats side by side in the outhouse
Icicles popping on the wood stove in the mudroom
Disco lights flickering on the roller rink on a Friday night
Muddy stockyards on the edge of town
Walking the alley home for lunch
Teeter-totters all recess long
Sunday school in the attic
Cold locker room showers and colder swimming pool
Looking up and up and up at the high dive
Watching the Sioux Falls girls kill it in gymnastics
Watching the water tower sway above me
Tumbleweeds scuttling along a dusty road
Swimming in the cow pond, catfish nipping my heels
Flat prairie in my rearview mirror
Southern adventures await

South Dakota Memories

(haiku sonnet)

Barn cats in the hay
Wooden seats in the outhouse
Cow pond swimming hole

Miles of sunflowers
Tumbleweeds dance in the wind
Stockyard aroma

Mother's rose garden
Lilac bush heavy with snow
Apple tree mornings

Frigid swimming pool
Sunday afternoon baseball
Water tower dreams

Prairie in our rearview mirror
Southern adventures await

Basketball Haiku

March Madness bracket
Fell apart in Sweet Sixteen
Drat that Texas Tech!

Insomnia

Wide awake, night sweats
2 AM, reset my dreams
Desperate for sleep

Early Spring

Sunshine opens my windows, turns my gray winter mood
Upside down
Nudging buds into flower on the rhododendron bushes to the side of the house
Sending songbirds into rhapsodies of melody
Heavenly artwork reflects on the surface of the lake
I catch my breath at the miracle of spring
Newly awakening
Expectant

100 Days of Poetry: Days 56-60

Benefits of Aging

Image matters less
I am old; I must be wise
Experience informs

Friendship

(a haiku sonnet)

Talking while running
Philosophy in short bursts
Weekly therapy

Perched in my kitchen
Making bread, sipping hot tea
Solving life's problems

Backpack adventures
Yoga on rocky summits
Making memories

Mothers' Day road trips
Escaping for the weekend
Art, nature, food...ah!

Faces of friendship
Women of my heart

Nostalgia

Sitting on the stair, singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane"
Then "Springtime in the Rockies," little boys drifting asleep
Steam and moonbeams surrounding Firehole River hot pots
Fragrant Alaskan tundra under a midnight sun
Dancing to reggae in Lamoille Valley
Watching the tide roll in
Early morning, deserted beach
Ziplining in snow
Prairie thunderstorm
Mountaintops

Happiness

Here and now, learning to be present in the moment
Actively opening my heart, without need for reciprocation
Playing games, watching games...together
Poetry every day
Inconsequential moments adding up to joy
Needed a day off. Wish granted.
Endless possibilities once again visible
Serving on a whim
Sunshine, beautiful sunshine!

Rebellion

I fantasize about
Biting into a Boston cream donut
Getting a tattoo of eagles across my collarbone
Reading all day long in my pajamas
Throwing china plates at the wall
(Not because I'm angry, but because it just looks so infinitely satisfying)
Dancing up the aisle during a quiet church service
Telling unfortunate women with thick thighs that they truly should not ever wear mini skirts
Eating peanuts, gluten, sugar and dairy with abandon
Refusing to cook dinner for a week
Buying full-priced clothes for myself
And posting something rabidly political on social media

But instead of such daring rebellion,
I brush and floss my teeth every day
Count my calories
Set the novels aside so I can meet my deadlines
Leave the china in the china cabinet and throw reading glasses instead
Sit reverently in church (um, usually)
Keep (some of) my opinions to myself
Cook endless dinners
And buy my clothes at Goodwill

Someday, I will rebel for a day
Or two
Maybe even get the tattoo
And the world will fail to notice

100 Days of Poetry: Days 51-55

First Spring Day

(tanka)

Afternoon rambling
Finally, t-shirt weather
Winter snow vanished
Breathing musky scent of spring
Alone, but smiling broadly

Swords and Souls

I will forever shudder
At the memory of my son
Mid seizure on the floor
His brother standing over my shoulder
Eyes wide with horror
Certain he has killed him
As I pray frantically
Willing the eyes to focus
The blue skin to turn pink
The shaking to stop
Pleading for my son to live

This same son
Fell out of a tree and onto a rock
Tumbled down flights of stairs
Twice
Suffered concussions
Twice

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart
With night visions of tragedy
Endless what ifs
And painful realities
A sword shall pierce through thine own soul also, he said
A prophecy for all mothers, it seems

And yet
The bear hugs
The sheer joy of moments on a mountaintop
The silliness of shared memories
The wonder of lives unfolding
Worth every gut-wrenching tear
Every late night wakeful hour
Every doubt that leaves a hole in the soul

Parents and Sports

Watching
My daughter play
Team volleyball, tension
Mounting with each serve and volley
Please win!

Symptoms

So
often dizzy
Two years of sluggish runs
Am I a hypochondriac?
Fix me!

Middle-Aged Woman Dilemma

Awful muffin top
Tight clothes, no willpower
Help me love hunger

Warm Day in Early Spring

(An attempt at a Curtal Sonnet)

Crisp, frosty morning, fresh air afternoon
Finally blinking my eyes in the sunshine
Unaccustomed to light, dripping sweat

Birdsong meets camp chatter, warm weather tune
Grateful for the shade of sheltering pine
Dreams of bike rides and swimming holes, and yet...

Frost again tomorrow, rain coming soon
Keep jackets near, it takes time to refine
a new season, until then a duet

Winter and summer play in counterpoint
Intersecting in spring, graceful vignette

100 Days of Poetry: Days 46-50

Monday Trail Run

(a nonet poem)

Sunshine called me to the ridge today
Mud-caked feet, steep path ascending
New trail, adventure ahead
Lungs burning, heart soaring
Slow, but I don't care
Friends at my side
Deep inhale
Strong legs
Joy

Writer's Block

(a shadorma poem)

poem time
procrastination
thoughts escape
words fail me
creativity run dry
I write anyway

Catalogue of Worries

Always efficient,
My brain recycles worries
No need to reinvent the wheel when depression strikes
Just run through the tried and true list:
First, always, my thin, lifeless hair
Next, the lumpy extra pounds
A shudder for that time, decades ago, when I fell asleep in a client meeting and drooled, literally drooled, onto my shoulder
And a cringe in memory of my concerts (did I really think I could sing? Who was I kidding?)
A groan for the boy in college I never should have dated and whose name I can no longer recall,
A click of disgust for each time I opened my big mouth and said the wrong thing
A sigh for legs that no longer run the way I want them to
Should I go on?
A roll of the eyes
A tear
A weight descending
And then the fog lifts
Quite suddenly
Unexpectedly
Blissfully
Until next time

Pas de Deux

No fairytale marriage in my childhood home
Mother tensed at a hug
Unable or unwilling to relax into an embrace
Daddy was earnest, too earnest sometimes,
And explosive

A meeting of minds, to be sure
Two intellectuals parsing literature and music
Two friends sharing a love of nature
Little visible romance
No fairytale

Forty years in, Mother realized,
To her considerable surprise,
The strength of their marriage
The unmistakable bond

For me, the understanding arrives later, in a quiet moment
Watching a wheelchair dance

Daddy stands, braced against the sofa
Arms outstretched
Hands beckoning

Uncertain, her eyes riveted on her husband
Mother leans forward in her wheelchair
Clutches the outstretched hands
Allows him to pull her forward

For an instant, they support each other
Hands clasped
Then they turn, eyes still locked
And she sighs into the sofa
He tucks the blanket around her
Settles into a chair to read a favorite story

No royal pas de deux has ever meant so much
As two octogenarians
Bent and unsteady
Sharing a dance for the ages

Elegy to the Mother of Boys

Ah, the stench of sweaty football cleats
The din of teammates lining up to devour a pot of chili!
Just last year, teeth chattering, I filmed yet another rainy lacrosse game
I cleaned up bottles and crumbs
Forgotten athletic cups
Pizza boxes left in my car
And turf beads littering the bathroom floor
I stayed awake hours past my bedtime
Waiting to hear tires on the driveway
Forced myself awake to hear my usually monosyllabic boy chat

I have mothered boys for nearly three decades
Navigating the unfamiliar territory of testosterone
The awkwardness of man limbs on a child experimenting with new strength
The mystery of men's fashion
The endless wrestling
The ER visits

And then
One late summer day
My last boy waved a carefully confident good-bye
No more cleats left on the porch to air
No tackles to bring me to my feet with a cheer
No "Charlie in the box" pubescent voices
No youthful arms lifting me off my feet in a bear hug
Missionary, husband, father, grad student, professional
I am a mother of boys no longer
I am a mother of men

Halfway

(A cascade poem)

Halfway through my life I pause
Laughter and tears play a tug of war
The future both beckons and taunts

I dashed madly through my twenties
Raised children for three decades
Halfway through my life I pause

Toddler antics, family songs, random quotes
Aging parents, marriage in transition
Laughter and tears play a tug of war

Can we remember selectively?
Live without fear?
The future both beckons and taunts

100 Days of Poetry: Days 41-45

(Playing with the Tanka form)

Living In a Small Town

Shabby, but solid
Instant friendship, fresh gossip
One stoplight in town
They know my name, love my kids
Primed to leave, yet feeling home

Ode to Tea

Spicy scent, sweet taste
Hot teacup warming my hands
Post-run chocolate chai
Lending loose leaf elegance
To a solitary day

To My Teenage Self

Those legs you hide under ballet skirts and leg warmers?
Celebrate them, embrace their strength
They are beautiful and just right

That luxury car and the $3000 dresses?
Probably never going to happen for you
But if you can learn to count riches in memories and hugs
You will be a wealthy woman indeed

You have goals and standards
I applaud you for that
But a cautionary note:
Allow for wiggle room
Let others bloom outside the boundaries of your expectations
They will surprise you and teach you
Be sure to look for the beauty in life's twists and turns
Some of the best views wait down a side road

Love is a little different than you imagine now
And more complicated
But so much better

And no, you will never find the perfect hairstyle, I'm sorry to say
Search for loftier dreams
Change the world?
Sure, you can do that
You can change the world for one person, maybe just for a day,
And maybe that day matters

Hormones

Hope dampened
Overturning my mood in an instant
Recycling old wounds, old embarrassments
Mimicking sorrow and fear
Only in my head
Nonsense, I know it is
Emotions in extreme

Winter's Epitaph

We loved you, briefly, at Christmas snow
But only icicles shed tears at your passing

Sunday Haiku

Spring forward, who cares?
Sunny skies, Sunday napping
Peace begins the week

100 Days of Poetry: Days 36-40

Regrets

Thinking about you today
Though decades have passed
And our life stories divided long ago

Perhaps you have forgotten that afternoon
Sitting uncomfortably on Old Main Hill
Treading a no man’s land between friendship and love

I mourned the loss of easy friendship
You wanted more
I should have read the signals
In sweet notes and thoughtful gifts
But, eighteen and naïve, self-centered
I drank it in as my due

I liked your sweatshirt
You gave it to me
I thought of Yellowstone on a whim
And we took your car
Camping in the snow
Waking up to a nosy park ranger
And the mountains I loved

I had never held a gun
You taught me to shoot on an early summer day in the canyon

I have regretted hurting you
Long after the hurt faded
Long after you moved on to greater loves
And more deserving friendships

And much as I love to be remembered
And adored
I hope with all my heart
That you have forgotten my name

My Doppelgänger

They say we all have doppelgangers
Doubles
Twin strangers
I wonder where mine is?
Somewhere quite prosaic, perhaps
Just going along about her business
Washing dishes and wondering what to make for dinner
Making a duty visit to an acquaintance
Buying sunglasses from a street vendor in Manhattan
(Because we always forget to bring sunglasses in March)

Or, perhaps she is the flip side of our coin
Making oh so cute crafts with the ladies on a Wednesday afternoon
Talking on the phone for hours by the pool
Or playing the slots in Vegas
Ugh

I'm quite certain I have not met her
Though I always see myself in a painting by John Scott
A woman stands on the temple steps, holding a baby
Looking up at the Savior
Quietly confident, listening
Head tilted up to catch every word
As if Christ speaks directly to her
Among the crowds of eager disciples
She looks poised to act
And yet serene

I am well beyond her age now
And at a closer look, she hardly resembles me
But she caught my eye years ago
And now, passing through the church foyer, I seek her out
I have never pointed her out to a friend
Perhaps unwilling to let the image shatter
The imagined resemblance fade to nothing
Instead, I just smile to myself and give a quick nod
To my secret doppelganger

For My Friend on a Dark Day

In my favorite children's story
Frederick, the mouse, gathers sun rays to warm his fellows on cold, dark winter days
On your cold, dark winter day, my friend, I give you...

The first true belly laugh of your baby
The magic of snow falling lazily on Christmas Eve
The robin's song in early spring
Or the mourning dove calling to the rising sun
Fireflies on a summer night in June
The welcome relief of tears
Hugs without words
Frosted spider webs glittering in the morning sun
Ocean sunsets reflected on the waves
The first bite of food after a day of fasting
A perfect Sunday afternoon nap
The anticipation of a first kiss
Your favorite book, with a cup of hot chocolate
Flickering candlelight
An unexpected visit from an old friend
Flannel sheets on a frigid winter night
Dinner rolls hot from the oven
And the first daffodil of spring

I wish you joy to flood your heart
Peace to ease your fears
And hope to light your path

Prejudice and God

(a Blitz poem)

Shed a tear
Shed prejudice
Prejudice blinds
Prejudice can kill
Kill time
Kill them with kindness
Kindness will triumph
Kindness above all
All alone
All in
In a pickle
In a state
State your case
State your name
Name your loves
Name your fear
Fear mediocrity
Fear nothing
Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing holds you back
Back against the wall
Back in time
Time reveals all
Time will tell
Tell me everything
Tell me now
Now is the time
Now you see me
Me before you
Me-ander through the forest
Forest fires
Forest green
Green thumb
Green with envy
Envy holds you back
Envy no one
One more time
One day more
More happiness
More money
Money corrupts
Money buys fickle friends
Friends raise you up
Friends forgive
Forgive yourself
Forgive God
God will listen
God does laugh
Laugh
Listen

Leavenworth Limerick

One day on a snow-covered hill
A traveler looked for a thrill
And then with a pop
He came to a stop
The plastic sled broke in a spill

Beauty

(a Fibonacci poem)

If
I
Ever
Stop trusting
Life to bring beauty
Show me sunsets on the ocean

100 Days of Poetry: Days 31-35

Awakening

Emerging from dark
Tentative breath, fragile hope
Unexpected peace

Nostalgia

Fresh bread
Hot apple pie
Lilies of the valley
Sudden summer rain on pavement
Inhale

Running

Resistance training after 50 can change your life
Well, isn't that nice!
A few bicep curls and shoulder presses
Add in some single leg squats and bench press
And I will be a new woman!
Never mind that my shoulder has decided to feel its age
Or that exercising indoors quite frankly bores me
I would rather run along the ridge
Zig zag down a steep, curvy trail
Jump over fallen trees
And power up mountains

I remember the thrill of cresting a hill
The conviction that I could run forever
The surge of energy at the end of a long run
The memories plague me as I tire on the smallest of slopes
And watch my friends dash into the distance
While I pant in frustration
And feel my legs refuse to engage

It must be age
Menopause
All in my head
Stress
Adrenal failure
Overtraining
Nutritional gaps
Lack of sleep
Depression
Whatever the name
The fatigue goes on and on
And on
When I cannot go on
My legs slowing
My heart heavy in my chest
The tears flowing in exasperation
The memories taunting me

Winter No More

Today, I sat wrapped in a blanket at my desk and watched snowflakes dart past my window
Just spitting snow, noncommittal and quite pointless, really
Nothing like the magic of snowman snow
I have decided to be done with winter
No more cold wind and grey skies
Switch snowflakes for birdsong
Bring on the sunshine
Peel off layers
Wear sunglasses
Sweat

Prayer

I pray every day
Multiple times
Just awake, I roll onto my side
Pull my knees into the semblance of a kneel
(No doubt, God is a little less than impressed with that bit of laziness)
And pray my way out of bed
A little gratitude
A little "bless me with courage"
Or "please give me energy"
And I'm off

Prayers on the food
Silent, quick
No creativity there
A duty prayer, mostly
Though I like the reminder of being indebted for my daily bread
Appreciate the power of simple gratitude

Family prayers
So often punctuated by giggles
And farts
Bonding over irreverence

Nighttime finds me at my bedside
Truly kneeling this time
Reviewing my day
Perhaps pleading for a child
For understanding
For the ability to love without condition
Sometimes, simply grateful for bedtime
Thrilled to close the curtains on another day
Anxious for a few stolen minutes of reading before sleep claims me

I have never mastered the elegance of prayer
The phrasing that demands attention from the heavens
I cannot imagine that my mutterings matter much to God
But I believe He listens
Occasionally chuckles
Often sighs in exasperation
And always, in some fashion,
Answers
And so,
I pray every day

100 Days of Poetry: Days 26-30

Last Week in Sevens

Gathering with friends, inspiring words, family time
Muffled footfalls, snowflakes melt in my eyes
One more snow day, too many movies
Easy run, easy conversation, catching my rhythm
Sometimes, we discuss marriage counseling on Valentine's
Remembering my professional self, honing my skills
Teenage girls make me smile. Daughters rock!

Ghost Writers

I am a ghost writer
Oh, it sounds tantalizing, doesn't it?
Spooky or perhaps ethereal
I envision writing about young lives halted
About tragedy
Or sweet reminiscence
Instead, I describe email management
Abrasive blasting techniques
And the always-enthralling realm of cyber hacking
(Nothing like a good old security breach to make the skin tingle)

I would wish for a true ghost writer
My grandmother, perhaps,
Dead now these 64 years
I know her only by reputation and the writings of others
Ah, to read her own story from her own pen!
She might chuckle and write the "real" tale of meeting Grandpa
Or describe the anguish of saying good-bye to her children
She might dispense altogether with weighty matters of illness and life cut short
And simply text me a quick Hello from the other side
Life is good here in the clouds, she might write
Had lunch with your aunt the other day
She's settling into heaven nicely
I would text back a pleasantry
(Hopefully witty or insightful)
And ask for advice
I expect she would tell me I'm doing fine
You'll figure it out, she would write
And so I will
Step by step here on the ground
Longing for a hint from above
Imagining scribbles from heaven

View from Below

A bald eagle soared high above me today
Circling the brilliant blue sky with majestic white tailfeathers and head
I wanted to see it as a sign from heaven
A harbinger of relief on the horizon

But just now I find I don't quite believe in signs from heaven
Can't find it in me to hope
I've grown accustomed to silence
Or perhaps the heavenly answers to my pleas
Fall on ears unable to hear

No one to talk to but God
And we speak different languages
I cry and beg and attempt to make my case
And...nothing
A quiet hug would do
A nod of understanding
A suggestion that just around the bend
The forest breaks out into expansive views

If only I had the view of the bald eagle
With majestic white tailfeathers
Circling the clear blue sky
Brilliant sunshine on his back

By Way of Introduction

During chilly, grey winter months
I cling to a lifeline of books
Audiobooks for driving and running
eBooks for guilty moments stolen from work and family
Anything to halt the stream of doubts and worries
Capturing quiet

I cherish family
Value friendship
And despise talking on the phone
Conversations enrich me
Solitude restores me

Confidence, even a touch of arrogance, attracts me
Quiet, unassuming strength inspires me
That, and wisdom
Creativity
Passion
Humility
Faith
Courage
A little audacity
A pinch of irreverence
Laughter in the eyes
Kindness radiating from a genuine smile
And hands poised to serve

I crave beauty
The view from a hard-won mountain peak
The thrill of an unexpected melody filling the nave of a cathedral
Light streaming through stained glass
The sparkle of a dew-kissed spider web just outside my kitchen window at sunrise
I need to gasp in awe
Grin in wonder
Find myself speechless at the view around the bend

Perhaps the occasional awe
The moments of splendor
The glimpse of faith
And the healing balm of stillness
Will be enough

Depression

Damn it! I'm sliding again.
Endless dreariness ahead of me
Persistent nagging of outdated insecurities
Realism askew
Every hopeful thought beat down
Sadness deepens
Sucker punch to the gut
Irritable, so very irritable
On the edge of losing control
Not the woman my family needs me to be

100 Days of Poetry: Days 21-25

Valentines Day 2019

New beginning toward an uncertain end
Pain likely
Work definite
Joy possible

What started on hazy summer days
Trailed through minefields of missed signals
Emotional baggage
Addiction
Judgment
Trust betrayed
Persistent memories better discarded
Stubborn pride
Disdain
Depression
Fear

We cannot return to the Eden of summer days
Rather, garden behind us, winding trail before us,
We begin a pilgrimage
Strangers with shared memories
Hesitant
Afraid
Battle scarred and yet newborn
Daring to hope

Perfect Afternoon Nap

Surrender to sleep
Mind quiet, for once, rare gift
Blissful solitude

Farewell, In Stages

Early signs:
45 minutes to address a letter
Midnight confusion in a hotel hallway
Standing in a nightgown, knocking on her own door
Stumbling on the path
Fingers long accustomed to sonatas
Now hover over the keys, unsure
Stories repeated
Friendly faces now unfamiliar
No more solitary walks
Then no more cooking
Phone calls grow shorter and shorter
Do you want to talk with your daughter?
No, I'm tired
Sleep
And more sleep
Heart attack forgotten
Why am I in the hospital, anyway?
Once fiercely independent
Now childlike
Where is Norman? endlessly
Her north star
Feet that once hiked mile upon mile now shuffle
Or fail entirely
Falling again
And again

I learn to announce myself
Learn not to ask questions
Questions like, Is it snowing?
Or, What did you have ‪for dinner tonight‬?
Hundreds of miles separate us
Each visit closes another door
Perhaps this next visit will be the one
The visit that finds me a stranger
Daughter no more

Favorite Dreams

Flying, of course
Because, really, is there any better feeling?
Powerful arms, beating back the air
Soaring over forests or cities
Or turning flips up by the ceiling
Zipping from room to room without touching the floor
Something about the view from above
Leaving the dust and detail behind and soaring
Freedom
Control
Distance

Or those lovely dreams of a secret door
Opening to a new wing of the house
Fully furnished
A little messy, lived in
But mine
My space to explore
My treasures to uncover in random cabinets and unexpected rooms
Delightful discovery
Potential
Home

Tuning

The oboe plays an A, and the orchestra follows suit,
Strings, horns, brass, wind
A glorious cacophony that stirs a dusty pile of memories
Orchestra room at the end of rehearsal
Each musician playing a different melody
All combining somehow into a messy mass of music

Dimming lights in a concert hall
The concert master points to each section in turn
More a call for audience focus than a useful tuning session
And yet
Mozart, Brahms, Dvorak, the lot of them
Would mean nothing to me without that first A from the oboe
Hanging in the air
Beckoning

100 Days of Poetry: Days 15-20

Meltdown

"F---!"
Over and over again until the urge subsides.
I wish I could conjure more vile words,
Something stronger,
More powerful,
Vile enough to chase the fury,
The fear.
This is not a new word,
Not rare enough to suit,
And my screaming merely leaves me hoarse,
Unsatiated,
Numb and without direction.
I fear
   routine that traps me
   a relationship slipping out of reach
   an eternity of sameness
   having nothing to hope for
   the inability to excel
   the trap of debt
   mediocrity
I fail even at rage.

Today Via the Senses

Chocolate chai to ease into the day

Hot enough to satisfy without scorching

Just enough cream to make the chocolate bloom

Spicy, smooth warmth in my throat

Hint of rose lingers in the office air

Sweetens an afternoon of budgeting

Suggests a promise of spring

Icy snow in chunks under my running shoes

Gray skies lift at the western edge

Golden ribbon just out of reach

Water streams over my face to strike my chest

Temperature just below the pain point

Burning away, just for a moment, the anxiety and discontent

Text chime

Happy grace note to end the day

Missionary photo warms this mother's heart

Life, Interrupted

We encountered a beautiful robin today

Or, rather, he encountered our window

Thunk

I thought perhaps a friend had tossed a snowball to catch our attention

Calling us out to play

But no snow sliding down the glass

Just a plump bird lying on the step

Almost lovely in repose

Neck at an odd angle

He was disoriented, I suppose

Thinking of home

Or marveling at the snowflakes

(A rare sight here)

And then, suddenly,

Thunk

And life abruptly halted

That is the death I would wish for

If I had a choice:

Flight, free and marvelous,

Interrupted without anticipation

Snow Day

Snow covers a multitude of sins
Flakes, fat and slow,
Blanket rust-cankered forms below
Snow covers a multitude of sins

Flakes, fat and slow,
Mute my delighted cries
Melt in my eyes
Flakes, fat and slow

Mute my delighted cries

As the world falls still
Hushed from house to hill
Mute, my delighted cries

As the world falls still
Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day
Magic hums, routines go astray
As the world falls still

Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day
Snow covers a multitude of sins
Discarded plans and unworthy might-have-beens
Blissful timing on an otherwise ordinary day

Snow covers a multitude of sins
Flakes, fat and slow,
Blanket rust-cankered forms below
Snow covers a multitude of sins

To Do List

• Buy milk (I know you aren't a fan, but you are aging, and your bones will thank you.)
• Take out the trash (Don't forget to toss those worries you stubbornly refuse to give up.)
• Call your mother (She still knows your voice, and that might not be the case next week.)
• Change the sheets (Nothing comforts like clean flannel on a cold night.)
• Mow the lawn (Just kidding! Try shoveling the driveway instead.)
• Go on a date (Seriously. Right now. You need it. He needs it. The rest of the list can wait.)

Toddler Dance

Hurtling through life
Hither and thither
A plethora of dreams spilling out of her pockets
Tumultuous hair flying
Eyes sparkling with jubilation
Naked arms flung with abandon
Fingers outstretched
Snatching the essence of joy
Whirling
Twirling
Spinning
Unwinding
Drowsy in an instant
Tumbling in a heap
Chubby hands curled beneath her cheek
Reposing on a jumble of scattered dreams
Grinning even in slumber

100 Days of Poetry: Days 1-14

Inspired by my artist friend, Jenny Loughmiller, and her 100 paintings in 100 days, I decided to write 100 poems in 100 days. I should note up front that I don't often write poetry and that my only formal poetry training consists of one or two classes with Dr. Robert Brewer (wonderful professor) at Utah State University over 30 years ago. With that caveat...

I had some technical difficulties at around Day 15. I was able to recover some, but not all, of the first 14 days of poems. It's just as well. The lost poems are mostly haikus written in the wee hours of the mornings while on vacation in New Orleans. These are the poems I recovered from the first two weeks.

Glitter

I bought sparkly earrings today
At Goodwill
For $3.
I walked in to buy a small wallet
To take on a trip I cannot afford
And hold money that I should spend on more sensible things
How, then, did I end up with glittering earrings
That hang nearly to my shoulders
And will likely fall apart the first time I wear them?
Sometimes a woman needs to sparkle,
If only for an hour,
In the middle of an otherwise unremarkable life.

Pride

My pain cuts too deep for empathy

You want to help, but you cannot
Watch my heroic struggle, witness my tragedy
Pity me, applaud my strength, standing tall
Silent tears glistening, face resolute, shoulders square
Do I inspire you? Wrench your heart?
My pain alone, my badge of honor.

(Assignment: choose one of the 7 deadly sins. Write a 7 line poem, 7 words each line.)

Aging

Apples
In January
Fruit laden trees
Forgotten branches gnarled, mossy
Empty of leaves, too old
It seems, to carry vibrant fruit.
And yet, unmistakable and bold,
Dozens of red apples
Defy winter frost
Carry life,
Promise

Green

My children ask my favorite color
Green, I say
The green of a gathering of ferns
Deep in the forest
Forgotten, almost, but not quite
Even by the sun.
A green that carries the scent of rich, loamy soil
And fresh spring rain,
A green that would sound like a cello
Playing low and mellow
That is, if it had a sound other than silence,
Broken by the sudden notes of a mourning dove at sunrise
"Green" seems a prosaic term for a color layered with promise and memory
But how else can I capture the breath of a thousand mornings,
The wonder of a clear mountain lake after a long hike
Or the color of peace?

Approaching Joy

Chasing joy
No longer sheltering beneath an umbrella
Welcoming rain on my face, chortling out loud
In sheer delight. Changing course in an instant,
One direction fast on the heels of another.
Then, halting for no reason to do...nothing
Not joy yet, but tuning in, approaching

Feet

The gene pool did me no favors when it comes to feet
Dad's digits curl this way and that
Mother's great toes lean against their neighbors for support,
Bunions rendering stylish shoes impossible.
Of all the traits to inherit, I got the bunions.
Brilliant musicianship? Kind heart?
No, just bunions
On size 9 feet, no less
With hair on the toes
Add a toenail broken half off by too small running shoes
Unsightly injustice

And yet,
I have danced across stages,
Climbed mountains,
Run trail after trail.
I have paced midnight floors with a baby in my arms,
Walked away from unproductive pain,
And stepped to the side of faith.
These feet stumble and fall out of rhythm
They ache for naked freedom
And they carry me forward, step by step.

New Orleans Mix Tape

"Ursulines Avenue!"
Muffled voice over the steady whoosh of the Canal streetcar on its track
Faint music grows louder, signals the approach to the French Quarter
Curbside brass bands channel Louis Armstrong
A single saxophone serenades tourists through a sugar haze at Café du Monde
Revelers call to friends
"Hurricanes at Pat O'Briens!"
Slow footsteps on cracked sidewalks
(No one walks quickly here)
An occasional Southern drawl against a backdrop of East Coast
And a smattering of French or Spanish or Czech
The world gathers here
To drink in the music, the bourbon
Competing tour guides on dimly lit street corners
Call out dramatic stories of ghosts, vampires and voodoo
A polyphonic mix tape for lives in time out