My Love...

If trust is blind, I shall not see.

If love is kind; envelop me...

If faith is true, then I believe.

If loss is mine; I shall not grieve...

When days are long; I'll hold the sun

and kiss the moon when they are done...

My love is out of wishes spun.

As true today; as when begun.

Path of Tulips...

Dearest Spring:

I long for your sweet sounds. Sweet smells. Sweet sights. Please visit as soon as possible. You have sent small signs that you are almost here. The dew sparkles gently in the early hours. The birds play their songs. Green stalks struggle through the still hardened earth.

There is a dawn that lies waiting for you. For your warmth and your gentility. For the colors you bring. She is becoming impatient, she longs to shine again. Wrap your dewy blanket around her and shower her with your light.

From the Vault...

I've decided that occasionally I will pull something from "The Vault" that I have written and shared and perhaps some that I have written and put to the side. My goal is to not preview, just to post.

July 10, 2005:

London Calling...

A fairly innocuous morning. I slept a tad bit late (it is summer after all). Then, off to drive my daughter to her friends house for the day. A quick exchange of a hug and a kiss and wishes for a good time. I watch her as she runs across the yard to greet her friend, her dark hair flying in the summer breeze. Life is good.

I turn out of the driveway and meander my way back home admiring the suburban lawns with their lush greens and pretty flowers. I turn on the radio hoping for some nice music to enhance my rather good frame of mind. Instead I am assaulted with the news of the terrorist bombings in London. Suddenly my sense of peace and tranquility is overtaken with the surreal feeling that nothing is in the right place. Things are askew. If you have lived through the death of a loved one it is something akin to that certain out of body feeling that accompanies it. All at once I am transported back to September 11, 2001.

I had just returned from New York City. Coincidentally it was the first trip I have made since 9/11 where I did not visit the World Trade Center site. Somehow I, and life, had moved passed that time. Quite honestly I did not even give a thought to the fact that I was in the city over the fourth of July (something that even last year my mind would have pondered). Typical I suppose to be lulled back into a feeling of security and to somehow forget the horror of that time. Until the news bulletin and the sound of London calling...

In the deep hours of an early American morning as most of us were sleeping, hundreds of people were experiencing terror in its most cowardly form. I wonder how many of those that died watched their child as I had that morning and had the same thought that I had that "life is good". Or, even more sadly, how many missed that opportunity on what would be the last day of their lives?

That afternoon it began to rain in my little corner of the world. It has rained nonstop since. The dark skies remind me that nothing in life is too good to be stolen away.

White Noise and "Dark Shadows"...

When I was small I couldn't sleep.
Correction: When I was small I couldn't sleep by myself.

I was terrified of any space occupied by me and me alone (whether in light or dark, although dark was worse). It didn't matter where I was, when my head hit the pillow the terror would strike. Being the youngest of three I was always shuffled upstairs first. Alone. As the room got darker the noises in my head got louder. And they told me I was doomed. Yes, doomed.

And so it was that my oldest sister would accompany me to our room and read aloud just long enough for the noises to quiet down and sleep to arrive. In the 'Allen' tradition of the absurd the usual fare was Edgar Allen Poe. Interesting choice for a small child turned insomniac by fright. But I loved every minute of it. And I would drift off to her voice reciting The Raven or The Conqueror Worm. Ahhhh sweet sleep!

When she (abandoned me) left for college, I was left to my own devices. I tried to read to myself, but it was hopeless. My mind still shifted awkwardly into dark places. So I did the only thing I could do. I bought a TV. With it's soft glow and constant murmuring I'd drift off to sleep. Eureka! Well, not quite.

A few years ago, my method ceased to work. With all the channels on the menu, there was always something of interest to choose. Suddenly I was thoroughly 'engaged' and wide awake. Not good. Not good at all. Where is this leading? To my second Eureka: I needed something familiar, soothing, engaging yet not 'too' engaging. Something on a 'loop', so if I fell asleep I wouldn't miss anything. Complicated? Yes, but I knew I'd find the answer.

And so I did. My 'white noise' became "Dark Shadows". All 1,245 episodes of creepy bed-time stories at my beck and call whenever I should need them. Which is, in truth, every night. My family laughs at my treasured collection. I suppose the series is a bit archaic in this day and age. But, like long-lost friends I can always rely on the voices of Barnabas or Quentin to gently guide me into dreamland.

So, they can mock at will. Because my nightly date with the supernatural 70's is so much better than the alternative; which was to kidnap my sister and force her to read me Poe every night on command.

For: Denise, who doesn't know how close she came...

Sometimes a few words can get the ball rolling...

A suburban backyard in 1981. Nothing out of the ordinary; hedges neatly trimmed, shed door opened, the smell of roses in full bloom nuzzling the edible smell of coconut tanning oil. It was summer and “the living was easy”. Two girlfriends in bathing suits that were much more forgiving on teenaged bodies. Old school beach chairs that left indelible red marks and sagged with every turn of the body. A coke in an orange Tupperware cup, melting the ice under the hot August sun. Springsteen on the boom box vying for air time with the traffic on the busy street…

She turned to me and asked me about a certain friend of mine. A ‘boy’ friend that had pretty much occupied my every strain of thought for close to a year. Why, she wondered, weren’t we dating? I didn’t have an answer to that but I stumbled to try and find one. Truth was, I wasn’t sure myself. She wanted to tell me why it was a good idea for this boy and I to get together. And to be honest, I wanted to listen to her reasoning. This wasn’t an ordinary girl, she was one of those amazing girls that other young women look up to. She had it together. Beautiful, smart and special. Where she walked, magic followed. When she spoke that day, I hung on every word and it all made sense to me. And then, between the street sounds and the music she said the words that truly changed my life: “I wish someone would look at me the way that he looks at you…”

Two weeks later under a crescent moon on a beach overlooking the Boston horizon this ‘boy’ who had been my best friend for so long leaned forward to kiss me. And me, the shy girl who had been given a dose of courage on that earlier summer day kissed him back.

Almost thirty summers have come and gone. Summer roses have died and been born again. Coconut oil replaced by sunscreen for the kids. Yet there are times when I look at him when he doesn’t know and I still see what my friend saw all those many years ago. And I am young again...

3/15/09
For: Maureen (the cool friend) and Ken (the best friend/husband)

Why Blog?

I started a blog in 2005. It was geared towards random thoughts and observations that I found humorous or interesting. Since I'm completely left of normal these little snippets of the mundane were probably only understood by me. Which was fine since no one followed my blog anyway. A fun little past time that kept me engaged when staying up far too late (which I do on a routine basis).

In December of that same year while preparing for a holiday visit from my sister I got the phone call that she had passed away in her sleep. To this day I can't quite wrap my mind around the fact that at one minute I was making preparations for her visit and in the next she was gone. It seemed like only a moment lapsed between stocking my refrigerator and standing in a cold cemetary saying a last goodbye. I forgot about the blog I had started and it died as well...

Recently I was ruminating about her loss and I wondered if she had shared all of the stories she had within her. Had she been able to tell her son about her first date? first love? the day of his birth? Her years were short, so perhaps she couldn't tell them all. But I hope so much she shared some. Being a story teller myself I couldn't imagine leaving my children without them knowing my story.

Perhaps I wonder because there are so many times that a song will play, a poem read or a picture seen that brings to my mind a question for my Mom or Dad. I'm left to fill in the blanks myself so often. So why blog?

To share small moments. Fragments in time that even I have sometimes forgotten. As they come to me I hope to place them here. So that some day, should I be gone, those people that care will be able to visit here and perhaps in some small way visit me...

For: Deborah. I miss you every day.

Simplicity...

Simple Gifts...

'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free,
'tis a gift to come down where we ought to be;
and where we find ourselves in a place just right
it will be in the valley of love and delight!

When true simplicity is gained,
to love and to learn we will not be ashamed,
to turn to turn will be our delight
and by turning, turning we'll come round right.

'Tis a gift to be gentle, 'tis a gift to be fair,
'tis a gift to wake and breathe the morning air,
to walk every day down the path that we choose
'tis a gift we pray we may never lose.

When true simplicity is gained...

'Tis a gift to be knowing, 'tis a gift to be kind,
'tis a gift to wait and hear each other's mind,
and when we speak our feeling it may come out true
'tis a gift for me and a gift for you.

When true simplicity is gained...

'Tis a gift to be loving, 'tis the best gift of all,
like a warm spring rain bringing beauty when it falls,
and when we use this gift we may come to believe
it is better to give than it is to receive.
When true simplicity is gained...

Shaker Elder Joseph Bracket, Jr. - 1848