Poetry and Poets

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Can any poetry be dismissed if it is inspired in one’s heart? ~trish

I sometimes express myself through poetry, so did my mother. She wrote many poems in her 87 years. Most of hers were about her faith and God’s love for her. Mine tend to be about life, my crazy thoughts and experiences.

For more than twenty years I wrote a Christmas poem as part of the holiday tradition with friends. It was right in there with, and as expected as, the turkey and plum pudding. At the urging of my Auntie in 2017, I created a small illustrated book with them all.

When I was little, I would memorize long poems and bible verses. Once I remember reciting all of Luke 2:1-20, the nativity story of Jesus, at a church Christmas event.

I still remember “The Duel” by Eugene Field that I memorized in 2nd grade. “The gingham dog and the calico cat, side by side on the table sat.” Also “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson. “I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, and what can be the use of him is more than I can see.”

I have collected many poems since then. I gathered them from clippings and hand wrote copies of ones I found in books. More recently, I search the internet to find poems that helped me through a particular joyous or trying time. Here are just a few.

As far as the great poets, I have to admit I have not dug deeply into a lot of their work. I have a book of Walt Whitman poems. I connect with Emily Dickerson’s poem, ‘Hope is the Thing with Feathers.” We must always have hope even in the harshest of times.

I have a verse taped above my desk from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It was printed on a set of stationary I bought in the 70’s. “Friendship like the flight of birds cannot be put in written words, Never yet has poet penned, all it means to have a friend.”

Another poet I like is a newcomer. He began writing around 2015 during a faith crisis while suffering from depression. His work is real and raw about the human condition and his questions and doubts about life. These are questions that touch us all. He has written a series of books called, “Hey God.” In these books, he poses his questions to God. He then writes what he perceives God’s answer would be. His name is John Roedel.

I have a few that I have connected with in different phases of life. I love the poem, “The Song of the River” by William Randolph Hearst that gives an analogy of life and death.

I adopted the poem, “May Our Friendship Last Forever,” by New York Poet Nicholas Gordon, as a poem for me and Chrissie. I send it to him every year on our anniversary.

A short verse I read everyday, because I have a worn handwritten version of it that I made over 30 years ago in my closet, is by G. Sterling Leiby. I keep it there as a daily reminder to not dwell on the past. I tried researching more about Leiby. I didn’t find much except that he wrote short verses that appeared in the Wall Street Journal and other magazines.

As for a favorite, which is not really “the favorite” but one I have favored for a while is transcribed below. It provoked a lot of thought and inspired me to dig deep for inner strength, to look to myself for happiness first and it made me realize no one can make you happy unless you are happy with and like yourself. It is, “Comes the Dawn.”

The poem itself is surrounded by controversy because several people claim to be the author. In 1973 a woman named Veronica Shoffstall claimed she wrote it when she was 19. Several other women have also claimed to be the authentic author. Others (those who are in-the-know about poetry and literature) say the poem is one half of a longer poem “Aprendiendo”, which was written in Spanish by Jorge Luis Borges (24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986), an Argentinian poet, writer and essayist.

I first read it in the early 70’s. My memory says it was in the book, “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” that came out in 1973. However, I can’t find any information that the poem was included in its pages. That book started a firestorm itself, but we’ll save that for another time.

Comes The Dawn

After a while you learn the subtle difference,
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning,
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts,
And presents aren’t promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats,
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn,
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.

It’s Over Now

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My oldest brother died last Tuesday, July 22. Since then I have been tossing thoughts around in my head. I knew I had to write something. I just didn’t know how or what I wanted to say. It is complicated.

As adults, we had very little to no relationship. I would say polite contact, the past few years it revolved around our aging mother. She passed away four years ago and since then pretty much nothing. I would send him a message on his birthday. Sometimes he would respond, but usually not.

I often questioned myself why I even attempted to stay in touch, because as a child I was abused by him and the other one too. I guess mostly I wanted some kind of resolution to the past, but I feel he wanted to forget it, sweep it under the rug, hide it in the closet. That’s where a lot of family secrets go.

There were a lot of family secrets and dead bones in our family. I’ve written about them before. This post – https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2020/09/10/sexual-abuse-teen-moms-and-family-curses/ – questions whether these acts were a curse on our family line. If so why is the girls who suffer the lifelong side effects?

When I was little, I looked up to him. He was five years my senior, handsome and smart. The abuse started when I was maybe 10 years old. It continued until he left for the marines at age 18. He went on to “make” something of his life, I guess. He had a long career in the Marines; started as a private and moved up to warrant officer and then a commissioned officer. After the Marines he went back to school and got a teaching degree. He taught handicap children and from what I heard from my mother, he was highly loved and respected.

Good for him but he never wanted to put the past to rest. He never addressed what happened. I know he did not have an easy childhood. He was 5, 6 maybe even 7 when he witnessed verbal and extreme physical abuse by our alcoholic father on our mother. Were we all just damaged goods and we damaged each other?

The last time I was in the city where he lived I texted him to see if he wanted to meet. It was four years ago actually, just after our mother passed. He didn’t attend her funeral, but my mother had told me he was sick and she would understand. She had been telling me he was sick for years, and she understood why he never came to Texas to see her. Anyway, he didn’t want to see me then either, not even for coffee. He told me he wasn’t “public ready” and declined to meet.

So why did I make all these attempts? Maybe I wanted some closure, some explanation, some sign of remorse, hoping for some request for forgiveness? Anyway it is not coming now.

The Friday before he passed his wife called to tell me that his days were short. She said he requested very little but asked her to call and let me know. OK, she let me know. Was it an effort on his part to reach out before he died, to settle the past? Evidently not. I wrote back and asked if he wanted me to come see him, but recalled that he did not want to see me in 2021. I told her if she thought it was appropriate she could tell him that,

“I always loved him and I release him from any harm or hurt from he past. I only want this journey to be peaceful and full of joy on the other side when he is reunited with mother…”

Not forgiveness but letting go.

I did not hear back from her until Tuesday. She sent a text that said, “Andy passed away this morning.”

This all left me with so many mixed emotions. There is nothing left to resolve on this side. I want to move on. I am sad and angry at the same time. Tears may have welled up for a moment but I did not even cry. I wondered was his passing even worth my tears? It sounds harsh, mean and cold. However, he lived his life and I lived mine and his is over now.

One side note about my brother. He was born the same day as Princess Anne, Queen Elizabeth’s only daughter. He died the same morning as Ozzy Osbourne. What a contrast.

Summer 1968

Famous or Remembered

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Never, ever, ever have I ever wanted fame.  As an introvert I prefer the shadows to the limelight.  Furthermore, if I am put in an even mildly public situation, I turn to jello.  Please do not point me out. Do not ask me to stand in front of a crowd. By all means, do not expect me to speak. I feel uneasy, I stumble over my words and I cannot form one coherent thought.  All of this leaves me looking like a socially awkward simpleton.

Other than being an introvert and wanting no attention directed at me, one of my mother’s mantras that was drilled into my head was, “Fool’s names and fool’s faces are always seen in public places.”  The message here was, “Do not do anything to draw attention to yourself.”  Especially anything embarrassing.

That mantra of my mother’s often comes to mind these days when I see politicians. They all must be equipped with extraordinary large egos. It seems their desire for power, fame and celebrity leads them to making claims which are undampened by reality. Maybe being a fool these days doesn’t carry the same stigma as it did in the past.

On the flip side I do hope to be remembered. Remembered by those who I have extended a helping hand. People that I have listened to or sat with in times of need, people I have given a place to rest, or people that needed help in a time of crisis whether financial or spiritual.

Yes, please remember me. I pray most will remember me fondly however sadly I am sure there are those who remember me disdainfully. In my heart I know I never did anything with malicious intent but sometimes spirits do not align.

A saying I have adopted as a motto was this one my grandmother Alease, wrote in my autograph book when I was 12…”In the garden of your heart, let me be a forget-me-not.”

Remember what you will, just remember.

Every Anniversary is A Step to Healing

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Four years, four years ago today my mom passed from this world to her forever home. I think of her often.

I analyze and reanalyze every significant event from my childhood until the day she passed.

As the years pass, I see more clearly that our relationship was like many other mother/daughter relationships… always evolving, with ups and downs, give and take, frustrations and acceptance.

In the end, I was by her side. I held her hand, I sang hymns to her and I prayed for God to take her home and end her suffering. God answered that prayer on Pentecostal Sunday. The day God sent his Holy Spirit as a comfort to us, he took her home.

I knew her passing was inevitable and I thought was prepared. I thought I had already grieved over the prior few weeks but the moment she passed, I was overwhelmed with unexpected emotions. Our journey was over.

Below is a blog post from several months before she past. I had visited her but because of Covid we had limited visits. In that time, however, we made our peace.

January 2021

No Fight Left … Only Love

I saw my mother yesterday. She was a little confused and in quarantine because of her latest hospital visit. 

Over the years my mother and I have had our shared joy and trials, times when we saw eye-to-eye and many times that we clashed. There were times I felt suffocated and pulled away and times she clung tighter.

The last few years because of her decline into dementia it seemed the clashes were more frequent and heated. I was not-so-affectionately called the “bossyone” In reality, I was trying to enable the very thing she wanted, to remain independent in her home, by making sound decisions and managing her finances. 

An unfortunate fall in 2018 lead her to rehab where she could no longer hide her advancing dementia.

We have been through a process the past three years. Just as infant grows and advances at a rapid pace between birth and four years. It seems dementia takes a turn and in three short years my mothers abilities have declined at a rapid pace.

She had surgery in October and the decline has been even more sharp since then. When I saw her this week she was so frail and helpless, she stared off into space as a newborn does when it is seeing the strange new world for the first time. She found comfort in being held, holding my hand and was soothed by the sound of music – the old hymns she would play for hours. The words to those she has not forgotten.

We have gone from my birth and total dependence, to growing, changing, challenging, disagreements, coming together, growing apart, to facing the honest truth of our relationship. Then it reversed: growing apart, coming together, disagreements, challenging, changing (especially in my views about her illness and motives), to her growing old and total dependence on others.

Now she just wants to be loved, be safe and protected. We have come full circle from the newborn daughter a mother held in her arms 65 years ago to yesterday as a daughter held her innocent elderly mother in her arms.

I braided her hair and put the pearl necklace on her that my auntie sent. Girls should always wear their pearls.

There is no fight left, what is left is only pure love.

The Way to Isandlwana

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One year ago today I was in South Africa traveling to the Isandlwana Battlefield. In January 1879 it was the site of the first major encounter of the Anglo-Zulu War.

This trip was part of a group tour with the graduates of the 1973 Nottingham University Mining Dept. It was a 50 year anniversary/reunion for them. Ten guys and their wives including my husband Chris and me.

To be honest when I read the itinerary included this stop, I thought it was really a guy thing. I was not interested, but it was their celebration and after all they were all guys, therefore it was a stop of interest.

We started the journey on the seaside in Durban and travelled 5+ hours by coach to Isandlwana. The countryside was beautiful and I took many pictures of the villages and locals along the way.

We stayed at the Isandlwana Lodge. The lodge is cut into the rockface of Nyoni Rock with an expansive view of the mountain and battlefield below. The entire lodge is shaped like a shield, and built with rock and thatch to resemble the native huts. Per the Lodge’s website, the lodge was opened in 1999 and was formally opened by Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi, a direct descendant of King Shaka.

Just the beauty of the lodge and the serenity of the surrounding area made this a magical place. Hard to believe this magical serene space witnessed a brutal horrific battle.

The whole sordid story is too long and complicated to recount here but for three days we had the most magnificent guide, Thulani, who told the story in such captivating detail that I wish I could have recorded the entire visit.

In a nutshell it goes like this: 1) British Empire decides they want Zululand; 2) the Zulu King doesn’t agree; 3) war ensues; 4) over confident British commander camps at Isandlwana; 5) Zulu King and his forces overpowered the armed British with only spears and shields; 6) a majority of the 1700 British troops were killed; 7) after a series of battles over the next several months the British gain control of Zululand; 8) in 1887, Zululand was declared British territory.

In walking the battlefield, I was surprised to see most all of the monuments were to British officers and troops. Well, makes sense as most of them were erected by the British after they took control. However one would have thought in recent years there would be monuments to honor the Zulu warriors who fought for their land.

I asked Thulani and he told me that a monument had been dedicated to the Zulu’s in 1999. It was commissioned by the KwaZulu Monuments Council to commemorate the Zulu army involved in the battle and it was unveiled on its 120th anniversary.

It was a large replica of a necklace of valour worn by deserving Zulu warriors. Just two months before our visit the monument was cut into pieces and stolen. A small section that was left had been moved to the porch area of the small museum.

Istock photo of Zulu Monument

So that’s the story. One year ago I surprised myself by a visit to a place I thought I had no interest in seeing. Not only was I in awe of the beauty of the lodge and surrounding landscape, I also learned about the sad history of the land.

A SuperMAN Story

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Today is national Superman Day, but more importantly today is the birthday the Superman/SuperSON in my life.

At age 6, he was Superman everyday. He created the whole outfit from Underoos, pajamas and red socks which he wore under his clothes everyday. When he was not incognito, his cape consisted of a large red towel.

We lived in the Denver area and I worked in a secure building for Citibank. One day he was sent the door by his dad to let me know they were there to pick me up. He rang buzzer and security opened the door to let him in.

He was covered in a long sleeve shirt buttoned to the very top and long pants to cover his real identity. He told the lady who answered the door, “I’m really Superman! Do you want to see?”

Luckily, I showed up before he completely blew his cover.

He was fearless. This picture was taken in 1981 at barbecue at our house. Just moments before, a friend, Brad, had hoisted him onto the roof. Thankfully, I intervened before he decided he could fly.

These days he is more of a Batman fan. I even set a custom Batman ringtone on my phone for him.

Superman or Batman, he is a super hero in my heart. Not just for me but for countless others whose aid he came to over his many years of public service.

He has always brought joy to my heart, made me smile, made me proud, and let me know I was loved.

Happy Birthday Aaron Kelly!

Feature photo: DC Comics

April 12, 2025

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Tonight is the first night of Passover. Other than the significance of this special holiday, the fact that Passover falls on this date takes me back nineteen years when my paternal grandmother ascended into glory on April 12, 2006 – the first night of Passover.

Remembering Alease Virginia Andrews today and giving thanks for Passover, a day that foreshadowed God’s salvation from everything that holds us in bondage.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2023/06/02/just-one-more-time/

Jacque: A Modern Woman of the 60’s Generation

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My first job was at Pixie Preschool in Tampa, Florida. I was 16 years old. It was about 2 miles from where I lived. I rode my bike to work with my son Adam in a child seat on the handlebars. My boss was Jacque. She was a single mom with two children, the youngest Andi, a girl, had a disability. She suffered a lack of oxygen during birth, and although her speech was slow, she was very clever.

Jacque started her own daycare partially because it would enable her to spend more time with Andi and guide her development. It would also give her interaction with other children. She did not want Andi isolated, unable to attend school, the way children with disabilities were in the early 70’s. It was only in 1975 that a federal law was passed that provided every child with a disability to a free, appropriate public education.

Jacque was a very modern women for the time. The Helen Reddy song, “I Am Woman” was popular at that time, and it was the epitome of Jacque. She was independent, a business owner, smart, confident, liberated, empowered and funny.

Jacque was probably in her early to mid-30’s. She was part of the 60’s generation women’s rights movement that effected so many changes for women in the west. In 1960, women were given the right to use the pill as a contraceptive, obtain credit in their own name without having their husband co-sign, until 1969 women could not attend Yale or Princeton and could not attend Harvard until 1977, and it wasn’t until 1973 that women could serve on juries in all 50 states.

Growing up in the south Texas, the women of that age who were in my life weren’t quite as liberated as Jacque appeared to be. I was excited to be around her and learn from her.

I have a few pictures of my days there and the children. Strangely enough while clearing out some things recently, I found a Christmas card picture of Jacque’s kids, Greg and Andi. Greg would be in his 60’s now as I was 16 and he was 9.

Looking at the picture, I wonder where they might be today, and how life evolved for them.

Today is International Woman’s Day and although it has some controversial origins, it is a day to celebrate women. Jacque was one woman who helped shape my life and help me see the possibilities for the future. Today I honor her. She would be in her 80’s now. I would google her but I can remember everything about her, except her last name.

Revisiting – No Fight Left ~ Only Love

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In this month of love I am reblogging this post about one of the last sweet visits I had with my mom.

It was a January visit and I came down because she had a brief hospital stay. When she came back to the nursing facility, she had to be an isolation because Covid protocols were still being practiced.

I am so thankful I had these few days with her, even though visits were limited to one hour because of Covid.

After this visit, I came home and did not return until Mother’s Day in May. When I saw her, she had declined dramatically.

We had no conversations, and she was in so much pain and agony. It was hard to see her suffer.

This one day in January was a beautiful final chapter of the era of dementia. It was a healing day for me and it helped me walk with my mother through her final days.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2021/01/10/no-fight-left-only-love/

What’s on Your Mind

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I logged into Facebook this morning and there in shadowy letters was a question prompting me to respond: What’s on your mind?

My mind is on the hostages in Gaza. Hundreds of murderers, rapists and terrorist are being release to gain their freedom.

These prisoners are released from Israeli jails well-fed and in good health. But the hostages? They are injured, starved, abused and tortured. How is this happening in 2025 when just 70 years ago the world proclaimed Never Again? Never Again!!!

The hostages that were released last week came with news of this young man (see link). He is one of many remaining in this hamas hell.

Still no news of Shiri Bibas and her two small children. I pray they are alive. What is the reason for continuing to hold such innocent helpless children.

These terrorists have perfected cruelty. Cruelty and evil that is impossible to understand.

My hearts is grieving for them all.

https://www.facebook.com/share/167oipyuZa/?mibextid=wwXIfr

For first hand information on life in Israel and well-thought analysis of the war and lives of hostages and their families follow Forest Rain Marcia on substack.

https://forestrainmarcia.substack.com

Released – Eema is There

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I am watching the release of three young women from captivity. The first of the hostages released in the ceasefire deal between Israel and Gaza.

The newscaster comes on and says…the mothers of the three women will be there at the point of release. Suddenly I am overcome with emotion. I try to repeat what he said and I am so choked up I am unable to speak.

Who do they want the most when they are delivered from the hell after 471 days?

Only their mother, their mom, their mum, their Eema. If only for a moment, only she can bring them to a place of peace. Only she can reassure them, hold them so close that they can hear her heart beat. The first heart they heard while still in the womb. Her heart.

I am praying that at the sound of their Eema’s heart they will be overwhelmed with a sense of tranquility that takes them back to the place of security and protection. A time where they knew no horrors, terror or fear.

In their Eema’s heart they knew only love.

“Hebrew media reports that the IDF has asked the mothers of the three hostages to come to a meeting point at a base next to the Gaza border. From there they are to accompany their daughters as they are taken to the hospital.”
The Times of Israel, January 19, 2025

Eema (pronounced EE-muh): Mother; mom; Website: My Jewish Learning

And So it Ends

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The Lord’s acts of mercy indeed do not end, For His compassions do not fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 NAS

This year, as in many others, I have spent the past few days reflecting on the past twelve months… its joys and sorrows.  

The highlight of my year was in May when Chris and I went to South Africa on a trip with his college buddies and their wives.  I was a little apprehensive about the trip, not knowing anyone, but in the end I formed some awesome friendships.

The country of South Africa was so beautiful, the wildlife, the scenery, the people, the history, it was all an awe inspiring experience. So amazing I can’t believe I didn’t write about it. I did upload photos and some narratives as we travelled on my photo blog.

Part of the reason I didn’t write about my trip as soon as I returned, was because I was instantly plunged into a healthcare issue. I required surgery within only a few weeks that consumed all my time, concentration and energy.  Thankfully everything was sorted out with surgery and a few months of recovery time.

In September, I made a whirl wind trip to Texas starting in Austin. I visited my cousin Debbie in a nursing facility. I saw her daughter my 1st cousin once removed and her new baby (1st cousin twice removed). I had lunch with my friend Debbie just south of Austin. Then, I drove 170 miles to an area just outside of Houston.

That evening I had a lovely dinner on the shores of Lake Conroe with a lady who worked with me 26 years ago. It was warm night and so relaxing listening to the water lapping against the rocks. We laughed and shared stories together as if no time at all had passed.

The next morning I got up and met my niece for breakfast along with her mom and my three grand nieces. After breakfast, I drove north and stopped in Centerville for quick visit with a childhood friend. Finally, made my way to Corsicana to see my sister.

Paulette and I spent several days catching up and visiting friends and family. Together we completed a long overdue task at mother’s grave. After having driven over 600 miles in a week, I drove to Dallas and flew home. It was a full busy trip. I got home tired but with a heart full of love.

Sadly the review of every year ends with memories of those we lost. The most tragic loss for us was in November when 17-year-old son of a dear friend drowned. Hard to accept and understand why someone dies so young. 

Additionally, in the past month, two friends and my sweet cousin, Debbie, passed away.  I am so thankful I had that visit with her in September.

For the past several years, at the new year, I read the poem God Knows. A poem written by Minnie Louise Haskins in 1908. More about the poem and my thoughts in this blog post from 2020.

This is the end, and tomorrow I begin again looking ahead to 2025. I do so heeding the guidance given by Ms. Haskins.

“And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” 

And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.

And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

Christmas

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For 35 years Chris and I have celebrated Christmas with the same friends on Christmas day. One year quite by accident a tradition was born of writing a poem on Christmas Eve.

I have over 30 of these poems, some funny, some reflective, and some downright Scrooge-ish. In 2017, compiled all these poems into a book that I had printed and gave to some friends and family.

Over 20 years ago, I gave up all the traditional wrappings of Christmas, no tree, no lights, no cards, and no frantic preparations. However, I still find meaning and reflecting on the end of the year and the season of peace and hope. 

Sharing this poem from 2007 and wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and happy holiday season in whatever way you choose to celebrate. May you have joy, faith, hope, love and most of all Peace.

Sometimes Life Gets You Down

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I am down tonight, it has been building for weeks but tonight I feel it intensely. It is a combination of many things. 

The first week in November, the 17 year old son of a close friend died in a drowning accident. 

He was a bright, kind, and joyful child.  In his obituary his parents wrote;

“He will be remembered for his unmitigated joyfulness, his natural curiosity, and his wholehearted enthusiasm. He lived fully. In his seventeen years of life, he traveled extensively and visited many places including Belize, the Galapagos Islands, Fiji, New Zealand, and Samoa. He enjoyed exploring and experiencing the world… He loved camping and felt at home sleeping under the stars. He could be found cooking homemade meals for his family, teaching himself to play the piano, or gaming with friends. He did not squander his life. He stepped into it with a big smile and his wonderful curly hair, awake and wholehearted.”

No doubt many have heard, “No parent should ever have to bury their child.” It is true.

Secondly, my son who has been battling IBD and autoimmune pancreatitis for 14 years has been in the hospital for a month. He came home today, but he is not well. 

He was equally a charming child. He had a magical childhood as well. He traveled the world with us. He raised chickens (they were his pets), then he became interested in aquaculture. He formed a website for the reef community at 14, he started a computer cloud company at 20. He had a bright and promising future when IBD reared its ugly head. At 22, his colon perforated while he was in the hospital. He was bleeding internally. After 3 surgeries and 8 weeks in hospital he came home. A year later he nearly bled to death after a scope procedure and biopsy.  Then year after year it seems the problems just piled on. 

Today he is on a lot of medication, he’s in a lot of pain, and it seems the medical community has given up on helping him. It’s incredibly sad when you have to fight a disease and you have to fight the medical community too. 

I have prayed so many prayers for my son. The other day I pleaded with God, I asked, what is the answer? Is there anybody that can help him? So far the answers have not come. 

Added to this, I got a call this morning that my cousin died. I just saw her in September. She was five years older than me in the last 15 or so years we reconnected and became closer.  She was beautiful, she was intelligent, loving and kind.  

She was a RN and with continuing education, got her masters degree. She worked for years at the VA hospital in Albuquerque as a counselor.

Sadly, several years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and declined very quickly. 

When I saw her in September, she was unable to carry on a conversation. When I arrived, she looked up at me and smiled. I said to her, “Hi Debbie, it’s your cousin, Trish”  She looks straight at me and replied, “I know.”  That was the most comprehendible conversation we had that day. 

I asked her to take a picture before I left. I held up the phone and smiled to take a selfie.  She leaned her head over to touch mine and shut her eyes.

I am forever grateful for the visit that day. When I got home in Washington, I reflected on my visit with her. I felt she would grieve if she understood, she would not want to live that way.  I told my husband I never want to live that way.  Just existing with all dignity and autonomy lost. 

Finally, it is winter. It is dark, dreary and cold outside. I feel dark, dreary and cold inside.  

A slowly brewing state of grief, downheartedness, and sorrow in my soul. 

Praying this season in my soul passes quickly. When winter is over I pray I will see and feel the new hope of spring. 

Deborah Ruth – Rest in Peace

Exploring Comfort Food: My Favorite Meals

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All you have to do is look at me and know that I love food. There are some foods that I can bring to memory that I imagine I will never have the opportunity to savor again.

When I lived in Korea there was a dish called Bulgogi, meaning “fired meat.” It is thinly sliced marinated meat then grilled or stir-fried. It was so tender and sweet yet spicy.

In Florida, I loved the boiled peanuts you could buy at the roadside fruit stands. They were boiled in a huge kettle and the stand owner would scoop them out with a strainer and put them in a triple lined paper bag. I know it was not really a meal but after eating nearly the whole bag it felt like a meal.

Finally, I love Mediterranean food. One of the things to look forward to when traveling to Israel is the food. Especially shawarma, which is marinated roasted meat, a variety of picked or chopped veggies topped with garlic or tahini sauce all wrapped in a warm pita.

However, overall the best meal I have ever eaten is a combination of many meals I’ve had on Thanksgiving or Christmas Day. Roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and yeast rolls loaded with butter. My mother would make southern cornbread dressing and celery stuffed with cream cheese and olives. She also made ambrosia, supposedly the food of the gods, made with many layers of sliced oranges, sugar, shredded coconut, and maraschino cherries. All this was topped off with sweet potato pie.

Maybe because we only had this meal a couple of times a year it made it special and highly anticipated. Unfortunately, the only thing that is low-calorie in this meal is maybe, the turkey!

I have never been able to duplicate my mother’s cornbread dressing but might have come close. In the past thirty plus years we have had a British Christmas dinner with friends. Still with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy and yeast rolls loaded with butter, but the cornbread dressing has been replaced with Chris’s chestnut stuffing. Different, but awesome in its own way.

I have also experienced a new side dish, new to me anyway, it is called bread sauce. It is made with white bread, milk and spices. It sounds strange but is so good with turkey and gravy. The sweet potato pie is replaced with plum pudding, also known as Christmas pudding. Not a creamy pudding we think of but a combination of dried fruit (raisins, prunes, apricots, currants), suet, bread crumbs, eggs and spice all mixed together, aged and then cooked in a sealed container in a water bath. Plum pudding is something I have never acquired a taste for… It comes out looking like a dark brown to black fruit cake. It is doused in brandy and set afire then served with rum sauce. I do eat it though. I get a very small amount, drench it in the rum sauce and hold my breath and eat. I don’t let my lack of love for plum pudding spoil the day. It is all part of the tradition.

The thing that makes the Thanksgiving and Christmas meals taste even more awesome, if that is even possible, is the fact that over the years I have enjoyed it with many people I love. Everyone knows that everything’s better with loved ones beside you.

Gratitude

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GRATITUDE: “If you concentrate on finding whatever is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” — Rabbi Harold Kushner
Looking back through the history of just my life, I am wondering if I can find good in every situation? This is a tall order. It cannot be done with my own power but only by endeavoring to see it through the lens of God’s eyes.
Yes, there were hardships and obstacles that dominated my youth but they helped form who I am today. In many ways I think those experiences help me look at others who struggle with a compassionate heart and less of a judging mindset.
In the bigger picture of things I AM SO BLESSED. I really have nothing to complain about, yet I do complain. Praying my grumbles are be at a minimum today.

Giving Thanks

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Thankful Monday #1: With the deepest love and gratitude, one person I am eternally thankful to is Chris. First and foremost, for loving me and my sons; for providing stability, for his hard work, for his generosity to others, for his optimism that never seems to fade, for loving me even when I was unlovable and never giving me reason to doubt that love. His love has helped me to trust again and not fear rejection or loss.

More importantly, everyday I thank God for the big things and the small things in life. I thank him for provision, for showing me again and again that He is ever present. I thank him for the blue sky, for the peacefulness and beauty after the snow, for the multitude of flowers, for the people He has put on my path to help through this journey.

He arranged reconnections that brought parts of my family back together and chance meetings of friends in the most unlikely places. I thank him for the basics of life, food, shelter, friends. I thank Him that even though I toss and turn in my doubts, He never has given up on me.

“Thankful that in this ever changing world there are some things that remain the same and bring balance to my life. Day and night rise and fall; the seasons change, sunshine comes after rain, young people still fall in love, children are born and the old pass away. There is a rhythm and flow to life that encourages me to tune out the noise and remind myself I am not in control of these things but a never changing God is and He never forgets to take care of the details.” ~ Me 11/ 15/ 2021

Photo Credit: Megan Watson at UnSplash

Rants and Raves

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Sadly, I try not to rant, but this is where I am…

My little town again… On Facebook there is a page called North Bend Rants and Raves. For weeks now people have been posting about the elections, calling each other names, making accusations about each other because of their political choices and generally spreading vitriol and hate.

I made a post where I said I was shattered because it seems civility and respect are dead. I linked a message from my blog with a verse that I wrote about hate and how it spreads. In the blog post, I mention my belief in God and how I believe ultimately God is in control. Two bible verses about hate were also quoted.

The post was up for a couple of days when one of the “moderators,” Jake, said it seemed like my post should been my personal page because it just about “god.” So I comment back that it was a rant about Hate in our community.

Within hours, my post was removed. So I made a new post that said something like this; Rant: You’re free to post here and spread any vitriol you want about anything and anyone, including your neighbors unless you mention God. I don’t have the exact wording because that post was blocked.

So the only rules on the page are: “This is a forum where you are welcome to post complaints and compliments about life in North Bend. Post freely, but don’t be an a-hole.”

I don’t think I was being an “a-hole.”

All I wanted to say was that after this election, we are all neighbors in the same community and we should respect each other’s views. Everyone’s views are formed by their life experiences and their perception of the world we live in. Our views do not make any of us more right than the others. In the end, I hope we can all come together and live as a community whatever the outcome.

I’ve thought about this for the past few days and I sadly have come to believe that my post, with the mere mention of God, was not something this moderator could accept. Even sadder, the only thing worse that saying something positive about Trump is supporting the belief in God.

I’d like to think that in seven days it will all be over, but I fear not because this divisiveness has been building for years and it may be too late to turn it around.

I still believe God is in control and I am thankful I can still say it here without fear of censorship.

How British Charm Won My Heart: A Love Story

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Today is officially mine and Chris’s 41st anniversary. Honestly, I cannot comprehend how time has flown by so quickly. When we were first married there were people making bets that it wouldn’t last a year. Well, we just had to prove them wrong! Tovah Feldshuh, American actress, singer and playwright gave this advice on marriage, “You know how to have a successful marriage? Shut one eye, and don’t leave. Some of it’s fun and some of it isn’t. It can be challenging, but you do not leave the field of play.” We are still on the field and here is the rest of the story.

I met Chris at work in August 1982. I was going through a divorce and started a new job at International Ground Support Systems in Denver. They did underground engineering consulting. It was a small company with three engineers, a welder, and two laborers. Chris was one of the engineers and when I started, he was working on a job in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. He would check into the office daily, so we really met over the phone first. He, as anyone that knows him appreciates, is very out going and friendly and he has a great British accent. So naturally, I was instantly curious about this guy.

I had worked there about a month when Chris returned from Canada. The business was in a large metal warehouse and the front part was in a sectioned off into offices. I was in a small cubicle near the door with big windows to the outside and a small reception window inside. The first time I saw him, he came bounding through the front doors. He stopped at the reception window and poked his head through to introduce himself. He looked like he had been on an all night binge. He was disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled and when he smiled it revealed two missing teeth. NOT A ALL HOW I IMAGINED HIM! After he left I thought …hmm, maybe we could be good friends.

I don’t know exactly when my perception changed, but his charm did win me over. I know we were a couple by Thanksgiving because we had a big dinner at his house. There was a small issue though, and it was that technically, Chris was still married.

His English wife had left and gone back to England three years prior when he moved from Virginia to Denver. They had not been in contact for quite a while. Chris wanted to get married but had to locate her and somehow negotiate a long-distance divorce.

I still tease him because at one point he suggested we just get married because no one would know or care. Obviously this was before the internet and everyone’s personal life can be researched worldwide. I politely declined. I told him I did not want someone coming twenty years later and claiming everything and besides that was just wrong and downright illegal!

It did take a while but we were married a year later. I have to say that British charm and accent has opened many doors for Chris. When Josh was little he’d go to the store with Chris and come back to tell me that the lady at the store was flirting with daddy. He’d relate that the lady would say, “Ohhh… I do love your accent.” Seriously, it still happens all the time!

Yeah, the accent and charm may have drawn me in to start with but it is his intelligence, later his faith, his love and the care he gave to me and my kids, his generosity and his passion for helping others that has kept me in love with him. All those physical things I judged him by at first where just temporary surface distractions. Chris has been a loving and devoted husband and we have stayed faithful through the good times and the bad.

My most treasured Valentine card from him wasn’t a card at all but a letter that ends this way…

Slowly, many we love leave us. Then one day we wake up and our dearest is gone too.
    “That come the twilight should we lose our way
    If as we’re walking a hand should slip free
    I’ll wait for you,
    Should I fall behind
    Wait for me….” [1]
But having loved, we are not alone. We still talk to one another however one cannot hear the answers. At least not out loud. If we look around, we see the signs that, once known, love never dies.

The link below is from 15 years ago about on my thoughts on marriage.
https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2009/10/08/marriage/

[1] Lyrics from Bruce Springsteen song . “If I Should Fall Behind”

Celebrating Birthdays

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Birthdays, to date, I have had 69. Strangely enough, I don’t remember, not even one from my childhood.

I don’t remember my 21st birthday. At the time I lived in Anchorage, AK, and I had two children. I know I didn’t go out and have the first “legal drink” because I rarely drank alcohol until I was in my fifties.

At 30, all I care to remember is that it was a very sad day. On this birthday, I had been living in Washington State for a little over a year. I had moved here with Chris just months after we married. I thought it would be a new and exciting change for me. I always dreamed of Seattle and thought it must be a magical place from watching the 60’s TV show, “Here Come the Brides.”

The alluring theme song just made me want to go there and see for myself.
“ The bluest skies you’ve ever seen in Seattle,
And the hills the greenest green in Seattle.
Like a beautiful child growing up free and wild
Full of hopes and full of fears
Full of laughter full of tears
Full of dreams to last the years in Seattle.”

I came here with lots of dreams for a full life but just like the song goes there were fears and tears as well.

On my 30th birthday I had a fifteen year old son who was going through his own trials. Hard to be fifteen but being uprooted and moved to a new state compounded those issues. It was hard on both of us.

I had a cake, but it was no celebration. Someone took a picture anyway.

Thirty

Fast forwarding through the next 20 years — I have no recollection at all of any celebrations. But, 50, that was a birthday to remember.

Chris and my friend, Sho, secretly conspired together to give me a wonderful birthday weekend. The day before my birthday, Sho and her partners in crime (Yohanna and Rita) took me out on a long day trip to the Olympic Peninsula. Naturally I became suspicious as the day went on and on. It soon became apparent that we were not headed home and I was not sure what the end game was.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at the Manresa Castle in Port Townsend. The castle was built in 1892 by a local businessman and first mayor of Port Townsend, Charles Eisenbeis. After his death the castle was remained empty for the next 25 years. Then in 1927, it was purchased by the Jesuit priests who used as a training college. In 1968 the building was sold again and converted to a hotel. The hotel is rumored to be haunted but it seems all old hotels have that status.

I was told were going to have a girls weekend not just an outing. When were in the lobby checking in, I looked up and saw Josh, my youngest son. That’s when the surprise unfolded.

Chris had invited many of my friends to a weekend birthday celebration. He reserved rooms for them all (of course with Sho’s help) and organized a catered buffet dinner in the dining room.

Along with Chris and Josh were my older sons, Aaron from Denver and Adam from California. Friends from my church family were there, Jennifer, Karen, Ann, Madeline and Mal, Phil and Carolyn, and Becky and Pat. In addition these social friends, co-workers and neighbors were there: Tony and Jen, George and Julie, Tom and Jean, Howard and Ruth and last but not least, my old friend Jim came up from California.

It was a wonderful evening filled with love from my family and these special people in my life. Several of these lovely people got up and said lots of really sweet and kind things about their relationship with me. It was a very humbling experience.

One thing I found very bizarre about the event was that my two worlds collided that day. My spiritual family/friends and my secular friends were there at the time and the same place. It was really an interesting coming together of people who knew me in very different ways.

Sho gave me a book to write about my day and thoughts on life with each passing birthday. I have to admit I kept it up for a few years, but fell behind. Below is an excerpt from that first entry…

September 2005 – Wow, it’s my 50th birthday! Who would have ever thought, but it must be true about getting up early as you get older because I woke up at 4:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I laid awake for a while hoping the old hotel didn’t really have any lost souls wandering around. That thought passed quick enough as I had to visit the facilities and nothing grabbed me on my way in the dark.

My dear sweet Chrissie did manage to surprise me with a wonderful birthday at Manresa Castle. Not only did he surprise me he managed to get my sons and about 25 of my most favorite people here as well. Done — all with the help of Ms. Shoshana and Ms. Yohanna. Those two fibbers… more like those two lovers of my soul.

While lying awake in bed I said a prayer of thanks for my friends… I should have more faith and trust, all of my friends love me…. and I am truly blessed by their presence here today.

So here I am today at sixty-nine. How did I get here? I feel like I am about 42, and the realization that I will be 70 next year I find hard to comprehend. The years have flipped by faster than pages in a book.

This morning I once again I woke up at 4:30 and thanks to social media my spirits were immediately boosted by dozens of well wishes from family and friends.

In the 19 years since my 50th celebration at Manresa Castle, some of the friends that attended have passed on, others moved on to different towns and states, and several others just moved on. Thankfully, the majority are still in my life. They are still loving me, supporting me and celebrating me.

I imagine next year at 70 there will be some kind of big to-do. Now I’m thinking if you make it to 70, one really should celebrate. After all life is short and we should really celebrate every year God has granted us.

Number One
Number Sixty-nine