Reflection - Mid Winter Day

Fading light on a mid winter's day on Cape Ann
Fifteen hours of rain, hardly north east winter
The light illuminates the golden marsh grass
The marsh waters reflect the color of the afternoon skies.

Inside
safe
warm
lost in thought
comfortable - yet - sensing loss
not definable

Nature's beauty lifts my spirit
The light is ever changing
Showing scenes most often - unseen
Evolving
Moving

In the midst of this
I can only feel
Comfort
A unique sense of at oneness.

And I am thankful
For this moment.


R

Mom's remembrance of a dinner party.

Mom and Dad were newly married and living in a small three
room apartment in Jackson Heights. She loved to have friends
over for a "fancy" dinner and use all the beautiful wedding gifts
and her sterling silver flatware. Her parents always had extra people
around the dinner table and of course her Father would carve the
roast and serve the main courses from the head of the table. And her
Mother would sit at the opposite end and trade retorts with her husband.

Mother had invited three couples to dinner. To accomodate eight at table,
they had to open the dining table into the living room and elbow into the
table. It was a small aparment. The table was set perfectly, and Mom had
all the food assembled in her high style, showing off those precious wedding
gifts. So the roast beef was placed at the head of the table by my Dad and
Mom said to Dad "Dick would you please carve and serve the beef." And
Dad nodded and obliged her.

Dad had grown up in Ohio. His Father had died when he was eight years old.
He was raised by his sister who had to abandon college after the death of her
Father and by his Mother who never relented on her anger at the early death
of her husband. Her children would support her and be with her always. She
played the long suffering widow until her death at age one hundred. She
represented all the duty centered behaivor of the Victorian Age.

Dad began to struggle with the roast. And Mom made several trips to the kitchen
for a "sharper" knife, Dad chased the roast all around the platter, trying to complete
his task. It soon became evident to all that he was a.) not an experienced carver and
b.) that if he continued butchering the cow in this manner there would not be
enough to go round the table. Dad seemed non plussed. The guests were trying to
control their anxiety. And Mom finally said, "Dick, I think I'll complete the carving
in the kitchen!" There was an unasperated sigh of relief among the guests.

Little known to Mom was that Dad had never carved a roast before. In his
frugally managed growing up, his Mother had prepared and doled out the
portions in the kitchen and presented the meager serving on plate directly to
her very thin children. Mom was unaware of this until the summer visits to
Ohio became part of our childhood.

At future dinner parties Mom decided to carve in the kitchen and let Dad do the
serving from the head of the table. And I remember growing up with a Dad
who never learned the craft of carving, but was always ready to try sometimes
with success, but not always.

When Art Transforms and Informs Life.....

Home from annual meeting at church - always too current and often forgetful of past
contributions from those who tirelessly worked before the current year to plan the
ease of today's protestations of success. I am not bitter or surprised,  and here's the but...

I arrived home to see that that which I thought I'd missed yesterday was actually today
and on line to see - the Bavarian Opera in Munich's simulcast of Verdi's great opera
"Don Carlos." Coming from annual meeting to enter Verdi's world at the scene of the
auto-da-fe was somewhat - how shall we say - unusual? But oh the grandeur and truth,
I stayed with the succeeding scenes and grew anew to the great depth and compassion
of this work. A superior cast of artists ignited this both human and grand offering, I was
moved and elevated to a newer plane of understanding and realization for the
complexities and wonder of this work.

And as we journey as believers, this is the text and music that can enable us to move in
our own time to deeper understanding and commitment. And is that not the work of great
art in our lives?

I feel blessed to see this and offer it to others. I wish that you may seek and see what
I see. Otherwise my words fall on deaf ears and my hope is to open those ears to bring
them to hear what I hear.

R

Chasing the Creative Spark

Trying to begin something new. Sometimes the process is like trying to
get a dampened match to ignite. Powers of concentration take flight and I
experience an Internet take over. Then a little quiet contemplation. Then...
I'm thinking about that match again. Perhaps I should take an enormous
deep breath and exhale slowly onto the head of the match, but I think I've
tried that in the past and it is like opening Pandora's box and seeing something
even more unorganized that my thoughts at present. Its a conundrum or in present
speak a "no win situation."

Oh, the muses are so flighty. Why is it that I can lie in bed semi-awake and the
creative juices flow and great text is present and in the morning the light is
bright and the thoughts are fading? Is it just a lack of concentration or aging
taking its effect on my dwindling gray matter?

Last evening, I participated in a public reading of a couple of my blog entries
along with some other more declared and experienced writers. I found it totally
unfrightening. And that is odd for someone who would rather just listen in the
back row and avoid public exposure and/or the failure it can often engender.
So risk can be both alluring and oddly intoxicating. This is new for me. I am
comfortable reading others words, but when it comes to my own - that is really
something I usually run from. Is my current willingness to risk growth or developmental?
I'm not sure yet, but taking the risk feels good just now,


R

Part the second - New Chapter?

Today - my first Social Security check arrived. I am feeling more fully
retired now, at least I feel I should feel this way. Funny - but last night
I was on line at linkedin and sent out over sixty invitations to join my
personal network. You know, its a way of being in touch with folks you might not friend on facebook because the relationship is a little different.
Wow - some people actually jumped in on the prospect of being on my and therefore expanding their networks. Is that a sign of the economic times or
something more? I don't know.

But a dear friend replied that she did not choose to join my network since
she believed I was retired and not offering myself to the employment market.
I replied that perhaps I just might want to be considered or might be
considering some part time work to add something to my coffers. I still don't have a personal answer to her query.

So, the question sits. And an old song title comes from my inner being...
"What are you doing for the rest of your life?" And the answer is -
How the hell do I know? I am just being, just now. And is that all so bad?

R

New Chapter?

This past week my first pension check arrived. Next week my first Social Security infusion arrives. That makes me retired, I guess. Since the phone isn't ringing and I'm not pursuing a new position - I am finally at leisure.
My job ended in early July, so until the present time I have just been either unemployed or practicing retirement. Perhaps the latter option is closer to reality.

But just what makes one retired? Who defines that? And what might be the
required criteria that one would choose to hear? Well, my ears are deaf to that! I'm just trudging forward as usual. There really is no actual, definable difference in my life except that I no longer have to commute too many miles, worry where to park the car and then labor in a position that is really not that rewarding.

Ah, there is a difference. I get to choose every minute of my future. I can waste or use time as I see fit (or fitless!) One might say I finally have
control of my options and therefore I get to write my next chapters.

Oh to be sure, there are the same financial worries, but some things just don't change. The BIGGIE is the "control" piece. And in that is all the difference!



R

The Interview

My God Daughter had an assignment to interview someone and write
a theme based on a subject that came up in the interview. Who to
do this with became the bigger decision. There were many adults
to choose from starting with her Mom since she was most readily
available. The subject was to be a witness acount of something that
actually happened that had meaning to the person. War and other
traumatic events always play well. But who to interview.

Her Gramma Charlotte got the call. Surprised she was and needed time
to think about it and call her back. That's when my phone rang with
the question - what can I talk with her about? She didn't want to
bring up things about the wars she had lived through and then something
from early childhood in Philadelphia came to mind. I assured her that
this was a good story and had legs of learning in it.

So, the story about her enrolling in a new school in the fifth grade
when the family had moved into a new neighborhood. Moving was a
normal thing in her growing up as her Dad was a travelling salesman
and his work lead to new markets and often many new jobs. Times were
tough too, and work was where it was - not necessarily in one's
backyard.

Her neighborhood school was not available as the few remaining spots
were being held for other possible pupils in this majority Jewish
neighborhood. Mom and her brother had to travel far from their
neighborhood to the next school with openings. It was an
african-american majority school and Mom was one of but a handfull
of white students. This lasted but one school year and then the
family moved again. The experience was not one of book learning but
survival. Mom knew the sin of discrimination first hand now and in
the opposite direction from what was the usual, more "accepted" way.
This was in the early to middle 1920's.

Revisiting this story has helped me understand more deeply some of
the scars my Mom carries and what the impact of such discrimination
can do to a child in their most vulnerable, formative years.

An interesting window. And now to wait and see what the God daughter
will bring of this to her theme.


R