T.M.I.

I’ve been remiss in my blogging. In considering the reason for this, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is NOT because I’ve had nothing to say. Quite the opposite. There’s TOO MUCH to say. Family stuff, community stuff, and global stuff bombard me and I struggle to keep up. I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this way.

Life is messy — like the spent sunflower seeds in this photo. Everyone’s “mess” is a bit different. My mother, who is declining into dementia, has been the greatest focus of my time and energy for the last few years. My own involvement in social activities, like church and chorus, has taken a turn during the pandemic and I’m reassessing my priorities and assessing my own needs. Too many details to mention or even fully grasp are whirling inside my brain. Messy.

Some days, all I can do is focus on the simple things — the things that bring a sense of momentary peace and beauty — like the crocuses in this photo. Today, my “crocus” will be venturing outside in the retreating drizzle to start turning over the dirt in my garden beds. That’s all. The mess of life will still be here when I’m done, but that’s okay. Maybe it’ll feel a little less daunting. I encourage you to do the same if you’re feeling overwhelmed. Give yourself permission to focus on the crocuses. And have a blessed day. 🙂

Lesser Things…

The first lines of this poem emerged in response to an ugly family situation. The poem sat unfinished for months. Then I began to read the book Left To Tell, by Immaculee Ilibagiza, a survivor of the Rwandan holocaust in 1991. Soon after, terrorists attacked in Paris. I finished reading that amazing book, which describes love and forgiveness in the midst of horror and hate, just before the mass shooting in San Bernadino, California. And we’re all  aware that in addition to the violent acts that grab news headlines, there are ongoing struggles in this country and in the world at large fueled by racial, social, gender-based and religious bigotry. This poem is my response to hate on all levels…

Lesser Things

There are lesser things
than love, my friend,
and we have tried them all:
retaliation,
righteousness,
striving to recall
every misalignment in
the history of time.
We carry
bricks of sadness
for a world of our design.

The feathers of a goldfinch,
are as gifted
as a hawk’s —
in daily plight and purpose,
beauty won’t be lost.
Who’s to say
which of these
is wholly the more blessed,
for each deserves
a liberal flight and each one
craves its nest.

A single act
can bridge a gap or magnify
a fault.

There are lesser things
than love, my friend,
and we have tried them all.