Rain

Rain streams down the window pane,
echoing a mourning deep within me.
Dank, dismal liquid carrying a message –
no matter that other days bring cleaning
in that water – for the rain
is an outer reflection of insecurity today.
You are too far away, and last night
the phone was silent – your comforting
voice fell on other ears.
So quickly I move toward casting aside –
belief in myself, in you, in us,
is shallow indeed. Needing constant affirmation.
I grow scared if a song drifts across the radio,
crying of pain . . .and think that soon
it shall be mine. Come home,
sometimes I am fine when you are away –
when you are away – today I am scared.
I miss you, am scared for us,
call me, come to me, hurry home
that I might be comforted within your arms.

In the end … We only want not to be forgotten

https://TheCommons.wordpress.com/writeanythingwednesdays.

Lately, whether I’ve been feeling sorrow at the huge holes in parts of my life or the fact I’ll be 60 this year, I’ve thought, off and on again, about the likelihood of my being remembered when I am gone. I’ve moved about 15 times in my life. Most I knew have forgotten me, of that I am sure, even when I have not them.

I have lived alone for the past 20 years and am a private person. Who will remember me? With a gentle spirit, one who doesn’t waves, do I have a presence? Does a pond, clear as glass, with nary a ripple to mar it’s surface, have a presence?  Unless the fishing is really great, will others choose

We all want to think we have made a difference in those we knew and hence, the world, in ever expanding ripples. My mother was a fiercesome, generous, loving, gregarious woman whose death filled our large church. My Dad,a quiet,gentle soul, had fewer people even though he had been a beloved pastor there in years back. My mother died at her desk of a massive heart attack. Believe me, she could give people heart attacks, me so on a regular basis. But she was also generous, pro-active, and a self-starter who created her own businesses, one of which still runs through my sister. My Dad drifted away into demensia for the last 12 or so years of his life, loosing his presence word by word – a sin for such a smart, wise person. But who do you think I have thought so much more of? The person I had the most issues to work through … Mother.

My children are fabulous people who have been achieving successful, happy, fulfilling lives. But it is their Father they will remember more. Not only is he nearby, but he can do the most for them. I love them with every breathe I take but in the end, it won’t matter. I am the passive pond, 3,000 miles away, with nothing to leave them when I go.

There is no real end to this piece. Only the future can answer these questions. A homeless, mentally impaired, nonviolent person will likely be forgotten before he even dies. I’ve worked with the elderly, in these later years, within Memory Care units and I can tell you, most of them are obligatory marks to be checked off the calendar on certain holidays or birthdays. And many have been warehoused there and forgotten. Nursing homes are even worse.  People can be mere chattel there.

I once knew a wonderful woman who died at 104. She lived in my mother’s residential home for the elderly. Her many progeny lived all over the valley she lived in. In the years I knew her, I knew of 2 people who visited, extremely rarely. That was over a 17 year period. She was gentle, Godly, and kind .. . and forgotten.  Another woman I knew had been placed in a mental hospital with a nervous breakdown. Her husband died, she couldn’t be released unless to family but all her family was in Sweden.  Although fully lucid, gentle, Godly, she was forgotten in a ward of 40 women – all stark raving lunatics and forgotten as well.

So in the end, are we forgotten? Most of us, yes. The detestable or the famous ones who created much good in the world, theirs are the lives which will go on with a resounding ring. We push our heads out of the earth, blossom, and provide our smell and beauty. And then die. But, like a single blossom, quickly forgotten. I guess the world and its people must always be future facing for our race and the world to continue. So cheers to the forgotten ones. May many blossoms grow where they lie. https://TheCommons.wordpress.com/writeanythingwednesdays

If Only I Had My Dream Job

First, and this has nothing to do with the prompt, every time I sit down with my laptop, my cat, Spike, jumps up on my chest, sticks his face two inches from mine, then settles in.  As he is 26 pounds, it is a little hard to see around him and continue to work.  He can ignore me all day but the laptop is Pavlov’s dog to my one and only.

Now for the prompt:

Since I was thirteen, I wanted to be a missionary.  Even when I was exploring other religions, I wanted to be … only I called it a humanitarian.  I envy those who have the money and health to pursue this need.  I am working on the health (although it often works on me) but money is still a major factor.

My minister’s husband has gone on an annual mission for the past 17 years.  He is taking this year off but as he is the minister of a wealthy church, he is taking me on his next trip.  I am thrilled!  My daughter went on a two year mission to Malawi and I envied her so much.  I lived, as much as she would let me and telecommunications would allow, live vicariously through her experiences.

Now it’s going to be my turn!  I’m not sure where we are going – it doesn’t matter.  I just want to be of service.  I am also developing programs (if the Church Council and Board of Trustees give me the go ahead) to do this year and longer as interest allows.  I also want to re-establish a Women’s Club with the intent of drawing in the few middle-aged women we have. (But at 60, can I really call myself middle-aged?  I’m entering the next phase already) So much of my church is elderly.

I have done acts of service all my life, but on a one-on-one level primarily.  This is my heart . . . and I so want it to be so. So pray for me, all you so inclined, that these mission and service works take wings and fly!

Oh, and the second part of this is for an article on each of these be published and paid for so I can keep paying it forward.  Getting better skilled and getting paid for what I love to do anyway would be the icing on the cake or should I say nourishing food for hungry stomachs.

 

 

 

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend lately.

Authors are retiring their old works and peddling them as new. If you are like I was, but will no longer be, you see a favorite popular author’s new book and grab it only to find you’ve read it years ago. That might not be a problem for people who reread books over and over again but I’m not one of them. There are too many books I want to read to waste time reading the same words.  

I guess I am gullible but not anymore. Shame on the Publishing Houses and Authors who practice this practice. If you want some respect, go out and earn it.

Program for Parents with Young Children

Somewhere in the world it’s still Wednesday . . . right?  Hoping so because I can barely remember what week it is – scratch that – I Can’t remember what week it is much less what day it is.  I judge the days by whether it’s a work day or not.  I work part-time so that is an easier judge for me.  Nevertheless, I have trouble in this area.

I’ve been feeling an overwhelming need to contribute  to the world.  To volunteer, to write something, anything with meaning to someone more than myself (Not that this is).  I’m hopefully going to start a group for parents and children at my church.  We are a poor, small, and largely elderly lot in a colossal, stone church with magnificent Tiffany windows that is also elderly and in need of repairs.  It is my hope that younger families and children will become interested in joining although that is not my primary focus.

Young, stay at home parents are frequently isolated, lonely, full of questions out of answers  and bored with the daily routine. When I was younger, there was a program in our town where parents would meet once a month for a program while their children were babysat.  The program each month would focus on a different aspect of importance to parents. A speaker might talk for 20-30 minutes, followed by a question-answer period. Topics could include: Saving for College funds, When to get a tutor for your child, First Aid, Budgeting for childhood expenses.  There are plenty of relevant topics to draw from.  (If any of you have suggestions, please let me know).

Children would be in a separate area with minders who have been background checked. Activities would be provided for participation. At the end of the parents’ time, there could be a potluck lunch.

Out of this, a couple of programs could evolve.  First, a babysitting co-op could be developed.  A parent needing a few hours off could find another parent in the co-op to babysit.  The parent would then owe the co-op a number of points which would need to be eliminated by babysitting for someone else in the group.  A small steering committee would keep track of the data and ensure quality care was being given. For instance, if a babysitter talks on the phone or works on a computer the entire time, watches inappropriate (adult, violent) shows,  or is using drugs or alcohol during babysitting sessions the person could be eliminated from the program or warned, depending on the severity of the issue.

Another program I would hope to see emerge from the program would be playgroups that met weekly or every other week at different parks or places in the area. My children were in a playgroup from the time my oldest was five months old until he entered kindergarten.  The playgroup mothers continued to celebrate births or other special occasions after the kids went to school.  We even had an annual mothers’ weekend away at the beach.

There are a couple of more ideas I have for this population but they can wait a while.  The nice thing is, once started, my contribution would be obtaining speakers while all else could be run by the parents.  I’m past those years so it would not be appropriate for me to be involved any more.  As I said, suggestions are welcome.  Puleaseeee . . .

 

 

The Lord’s Guidance

Lord, I ask you to guide me.
I am lost . . .
I have squandered the life you gave me
by being afraid to live.
Fear has dogged my every step.

Dreams I’ve turned to nightmares.
People see me as fragile,
how self-created is that?

Lord, help me out of the quicksand
I am sinking in before it goes
above my nose.

Help me have the strength
to free myself
from my self-created prison.

Inside is a published author of books,
a healthy person –
someone to give to those in need.

A woman who has the right
to find love and a lover.
Someone who wants me.

There are many facets of my being
and I only show the worst
the helplessness, the sorrow . . .

Release me from the burden of myself.
Show me what it is like to be free,
confident, inspired –

for I can not find my way out alone –
not without you.

 

 

 

 

 

Revirginated

I suspect certain women become re-virginated.  It is a physical, mental, and perhaps spiritual state of mind and being.  No, for all you wise-asses out there, they don’t go in and request a new hymen. (Although they could if they wanted I suppose). But, that vagina might tighten up some.

For some, it could be the result of countless years alone. .  by choice or not. For others, a woman might need time to regroup after a bad relationship or rape. But whatever the reason, I think a woman needs to develop a space within herself for her own purposes and not a man’s. I’m not anti-man – but I am certainly pro-woman. In fact, this could well apply to lesbians – after all, women have relationships with both, either, or neither.

I think the process applies even more to a woman’s mind. Time, the eternal healer, needs to grasp a woman’s heart and gently enclose it, protect it, until the time a woman is ready to share it with another. We all need time when our hearts need mending – as if embraced by a loving parent and rocked in that old chair, being sung lullabies and playful songs until the heart is eased.

So if you need to – Re-virginate.  It could be the best thing you can do for yourself, to take back ownership of your body.

The small and large, the Lord sees them all

There are days when the most you can do is observe. Look at the clouds and see pictures in it. See the contrast between small grasses and the glory of water and sky, all part of God’s creation. All for us to cherish and protect. To be able to look the children of this world in the eye and know I did all I could.  I am just an infinitely  small piece of dust and water yet I have a job here.  To glorify the Trinity and thank them for the magnificent world they gave us.  And to be a gardener and garbage collector, to show what we have at stake to loose, and to safeguard this world for our children. So I have to remember baby steps.grass against sky water scene MD

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