Category: Life

Life · poetry

Framing a Moment

Sally7 Comments

Look. Take a snapshot and frame a moment:
[The deer too near the road frozen in fear]
[Tourist on black tarmac, the bestowment
Of a lei, Hawaii’s first souvenir]

A magnifying glass serves as a frame
That convex lens enlarging [blades of grass]
If dry, the grass might swiftly burst in [flame]
[The magnifier aims sun rays en masse]

I can make [a frame with fingers and thumbs]
And raise them high, see [bits of sky and cloud]
[Wispy white] turns [thunder gray] as [storm comes]
See [lightning flash], hear thunder crash too loud

The best of poems (I think you’ll agree)
Capture something intangible and small
A dumb thing overlooked you wouldn’t see
Unless there was a frame that brooked it all

Be mindful. Stop whatever else you’re doing and notice. Allow yourself to be seized by this…

~~ Frederick Buechner, The Remarkable Ordinary

This is my response to this week’s W3 Challenge. The Poet of the Week instructed us to write a poem that utilises internal rhyme where possible and keep the length between 8 and 16 lines.

Blather · Life

Before HIPAA

Sally3 Comments

I’ll admit — it’s a semi-irrational fear that I have of getting a fishhook stuck through my skin.

It may date back to the days when my father’s office was just off the Emergency Room. HIPAA hadn’t been born yet. I would cut through the Emergency Room to get to his office.

Which was a trailer.

Yes, it’s what you picture — the kind of structure that fills trailer parks.

When I got into the trailer, his office was on the left, opposite his secretary’s desk. Sometimes she was transcribing his dictated notes and would let me listen to his voice on the transcription machine as he said things like, “The patient was a white female, age 47, who presented with…”

Clearly another HIPAA violation. But HIPAA wasn’t a thing then. And I wasn’t paying attention to the words as much as his voice.

True story: These days I recognize people by their voices. More than once I would have walked right past my high school boyfriend had he not greeted me by name.

The other day, another person that I knew years ago walked past me and said, “Hey, Sal!”

The words got my attention, but the voice identified the speaker. I immediately knew him.

I mean, seriously, most men over the age of 70 look remarkably similar to me: gray hair or balding, scruffy beard, blue jeans, etc. Add a baseball cap and I’m sunk — until I hear their voice.

But I digress. I guess that’s how it is with stream-of-consciousness writing.

So, as a kid, I would cut through the Emergency Room on a daily basis. My pattern was to swim at the gym after school and walk to the hospital for my ride home. I would wait for my father to finish his day and we would walk together to his vehicle which was ALWAYS parked in the farthest spot available.

“It’s good exercise,” he would say as I complained about walking to the car.

One time, I saw one of my classmates in the ER. He had stabbed a pitchfork through his foot. Actually, through his work boot, and his foot, and out the other side. He was crying and cursing, obviously not having a good day.

I remember his name — but I won’t say it here. HIPAA and all that, you know.

The fishhook thing must date from those days. I think I saw someone in the ER with a fishhook in their cheek.

My father said, “They’ll just push it through and cut the barb.”

He made it sound easy.

But then, he didn’t have a fishhook in his cheek.

I remember my father explaining to me how the manure pitchfork through the foot presented a particular problem because of the risk of infection. Should they just pull it out? Cut the tip and pull it out? I think that’s what they did.

It doesn’t matter. The prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday wasn’t pitchfork. It was hook.

I can’t decide if I like stream-of-consciousness writing or not. It feels like a bunch of blather.

What do you think?

Life · poetry

I Am Lost

Sally7 Comments

A song to the tune: Beecher (aka Love Divine, All Loves Excelling)

I am lost —
Oh, can you help me?
To the airport I must go —
I don’t know
What language you’re speaking
Yet, to you, I tip my chapeau
You are one who knows this landscape
I am sadly ignorant
Yet, I trust you
To be honest
With this poor itinerant

I am lost —
Oh, can you help me?
I don’t know which way to turn!
Status quo?
Or major adjustment?
It’s so hard for me to discern!
Do I take some easy way out here?
Do I battle through some strife?
Someone, please, tell me what the way is
To steer safely through this life!

I am lost —
Oh, can you help me
Find the way to where I should be?
Life for me
Is so confusing
Do I make choice A or B?
C does really have some merit
D — I have ruled out thus far
Making choices
(Can I share it?)
Is so very hard for me

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s easy-peasy, right? Except when it’s not. Write no more than 250 words and use the photo for a prompt.

Life is a struggle. I know, I know — this only happens to me. But it happens to me a lot.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Life

Q is for Quiet

Sally4 Comments

Silence is the absence of sound and quiet the stilling of sound. Silence can’t be anything but silent. Quiet chooses to be silent. It holds its breath to listen. It waits and is still.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

The other day I was talking with a friend in the driveway when a flash of blue caught both our eyes. We followed it to the upper branches of a sugar maple.

“It’s not a bluebird,” my friend said.

“No. I know this one,” I told him. “It’s an Indigo Bunting.” I knew this because one had flown into the glass of a window and lay stunned on our deck some years ago. I took this photo to identify it and wrote a less-than-titillating post about it called “Bleh“

Aren’t the blues stunning?

What has this to do with quiet? Well, my favorite time of day has long been early morning. I get up before the sun to sit with a cup of coffee, a book, and a journal. I need the alone time. I need the quiet time.

Of late, I’ve been using Merlin to identify the birds that join me one at a time in my early morning quiet.

The robin is nearly always first — and monopolizes the conversation. I laugh when it’s the first — you know, getting the worm and all. But it’s quickly joined by sparrows and vireos, wrens and woodpeckers.

And indigo buntings.

The other morning, the bunting was outside my window and I snapped this photo:

Years ago, I had held one, stunned, in my hand and later watched it fly away.

Every morning now, I hold my breath in quiet and listen to the birds, remembering the resurrection of one, and marveling at life.

family · Life

Chrysalizing

Sally4 Comments

“Most highly creative people can remember ‘a moment, an encounter, a book that they read, a performance they attended, that spoke to them and led them to say, “This is the real me, this is what I would like to do, to devote my life to…”‘ says psychologist Howard Gardner.

That moment of memorable, dramatic contact with an activity of fascination is known as a ‘crystallizing experience.'”

Scott Barry Kaufman and Carolyn Gregoire, Wired to Create

Nothing crystallized for me
Instead, I chrysalized
Crawling into a pupating state
Of home
And children
And family

While my peers were
Making their mark
On the world
Through education
And career
And the upward mobility
Of recognition,
I was making soup
On the woodstove
And washing yet another load
Of laundry.

I folded shirts
Matched socks
Baked cookies
And bemoaned my untidy house

I read books
Upon books
Upon books
Aloud to my children

One by one
They left home
For higher education

One by one
(all eight of them)
Graduated
Found jobs
In their desired field(s)
Emerging from their chrysalides
To live adult lives

Meanwhile I
Am sorting
Through boxes of papers
They had written:
Poetry
Stories
Notes
Academic research

And I cry
Not for sadness
But for joy

They are beautiful people

Now it’s my turn
To crawl out from this protective shell

What will I be?

Life · Writing

Decision Making

Sally8 Comments

My youngest daughter is faced with a challenging decision. She and her current roommate are moving into a new apartment. It’s two bedroom, two bath, but one of the bedrooms has a bath attached while the other bedroom would use the common bathroom.

“The one with the private bath is clearly the better one,” she told me. “How do we choose who gets it?”

Draw straws? Flip a coin?

One of her sisters suggested they each bid on the room. How much more would they be willing to pay for the room with the private bath? Later, though, she said that would kill their friendship. Both girls would feel resentful — one for the privacy, the other for the money.

I asked dilemma-daughter again the other day. “Did you figure it out?”

“No,” she said sadly. “This is so hard!”

And yet I think we both know that if this is the hardest decision she has to make in her life, her life will have been pretty easy.

It’s less about making the right decision, and more about being able to sit with whatever decision is made. She will have another hard decision next week, next month, next year. Another opportunity to move on and not second-guess.

I think that’s called living.

This is my post for Stream of Consciousness Saturday, where the prompt was “Straw.”

It’s been a while since I’ve participated in this weekly prompt, but I’m trying to get those creative juices flowing again.

Life · poetry

Red Herrings

Sally9 Comments

A life full of red herrings
Misdirection left and right
The shoulds crop up — they’re stinking
Misguiding smell and sight

You shoulda done this, you shoulda done that
Path strewn with stinking fish
I look around and listen
But can’t say what I wish

No one has lived my life but I
And I’ve lived it best I could
I say to those who shoulda me –
Have you stood where I’ve stood?

In truth, I do not say those words
But I struggle ‘neath the weight
For had I chosen different paths
What would be my fate?

Honestly I embrace my life
With all its faults and flaws
And when someone says shoulda
I just take a breath and pause

This week’s W3 prompt:

Write a poem that gives voice to what is usually left unsaid — a buried truth, a silenced voice, a hidden struggle, or the quiet ache of the heart. Let your words speak for what the world tends to overlook: an internal conflict, a marginalized experience, a truth tucked between breaths.

You may write from personal experience, an imagined lens, or even embody the voice of an inanimate object or force of nature. All forms and lengths are welcome — whether you choose free verse, haiku, sonnet, prose poetry, or something entirely your own.

Optional: Weave in metaphors of sound, silence, echoes, or resonance to deepen your imagery.

This prompt invites vulnerability, transformation, and truth-telling. Let your poem be a space where the unspeakable is finally heard.

This is my response to the W3 prompt. No one should look back at their life with shoulds. (See what I did there?)

Life · poetry

Personal Creed

Sally39 Comments

Life is hard for ev’ryone
Stumbling. Deaf. Dumb. Blind
Focus NOT on Number-One
Be thoughtful. Be kind.

Humans can be inhumane-
Ground up by the grind
Bearing Christ or Mark of Cain
Be thoughtful. Be kind.

Weary, weary, so exhausted
Brawn, might — must I find?
No! None should feel accosted!
Be thoughtful. Be kind.

God, let me be supportive –
Let me know Your mind
Not strong-armed or extortive
Be thoughtful. Be kind.

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge. The Poet of the Week, Murisopsis (Val — congrats!!) challenged us to write a poem using the theme of our Creed or Spirituality. The poem must include a refrain.

I opted to keep trying Celtic forms. This one is the Cro Cumaisc Etir Casbairdni Ocus Lethrannaigecht.(Try saying that three times fast!) Below are the rules

  • Quatrain (or four-line) stanzas
  • Seven syllables in lines one and three; five syllables in lines two and four
  • Lines one and three end with a three-syllable word
  • Lines two and four end with a one-syllable word
  • Rhyme scheme in each stanza: abab

gratitude · Life

TToT — February 23, 2025

Sally3 Comments

What am I thankful for this week?

  1. Health — yes, I’m pretty close to 100%. I even went swimming the other day.
  2. Swimming — I think swimming is one of the best exercise out there. The only downside is that you have to get wet.
  3. Birthdays — Am I thankful for birthdays? Really? I struggle with my birthday, not because of the number ticking up, but because it’s too much attention. Okay, so, if no one remembered my birthday that would bother me, too. In the meantime, I have to smile and seem flattered that people remembered. Last year, I was traveling on my birthday. I think I need to plan to do that every year.
  4. Cinnamon rolls — I treated myself to one from Schneider’s Bakery on my birthday. I think they have 3000+ calories, but they are delicious.
  5. Frederick Buechner — Ten years ago, when my brother passed away and we cleaned out his apartment, I found a box full of books by Frederick Buechner. I wrote about it in a post called Vultures. The other day I started reading The Yellow Leaves which is a collection of his essays. I find myself copying bits into my journal, like these words he wrote describing an encounter with FDR — “… even the mightiest amoung us can’t stand on our own. Unless we have someone to hold us, our flimsy legs buckle.”
  6. Brian Doyle — I’m reading a collection of his essays called Reading in Bed. It’s filled with Brian Doyle’s brilliant wit and pithy practical writing advice, like this today: “The first great editor I worked for gave me a gnomic speech about how we do not use the word hopefully to begin a sentence here… then I worked for a genius editor whose driving theme was say something real, write true things, cut to the chase. More advice I have not forgotten (hopefully).”
  7. Sunshine — finally. Glorious. Much appreciated
  8. Pens — I love good pens, so a package of new colored pens was the perfect birthday gift.
  9. Bird/squirrel feeders — cheap entertainment.
  10. Cats — They are interesting creatures who allow us to love them. They deign to permit us to give them attention. Of late, one of my cats follows me into the bathroom in the middle of the night. You may pet me now, she says.
gratitude · Life

TToT — February 15, 2025

Sally6 Comments

Ten Things of Thankful — for what it’s worth. I’m still not feeling 100%

I am thankful for 1sick time at work. Nobody even questioned my taking Monday, or working shortened days Wednesday through Friday. (I’ll get to Tuesday in a sec.)

“Do what you need to do.” “Take your time.” “It’s important that you give yourself time to recover.” These were all things I heard from my co-workers, along with offers to bring food. It was nice to feel seen and cared for.

On Tuesday, I had jury duty. I thought about calling and telling the court I was sick, but thought that sitting in a courtroom wouldn’t be physically taxing and if I went I wouldn’t have to use another sick day. Here are my jury duty thankfuls:

2The system — Big picture, I think it’s a pretty darn good system. There were ninety random people thrown into the courtroom that day. I recognized several: a physician, two swim-moms from my coaching days, a homeschool mom, and a retired greenhouse director. The randomness, the mix of backgrounds and education levels, all seemed to set a good stage for putting together a good jury.

(Sidenote: when accusations are made about “rigged” juries, I’m not sure how that can happen. The two attorneys can be pretty thorough sifting out people who may have serious biases.)

3The chairs in the jury box — I was called in the first round. The chairs were pretty darn comfortable. They were wide, cushioned, and they swiveled.

4Lunch — I didn’t bring lunch. My appetite has been off. As it turned out, though, we all had to leave the courthouse from noon to one. Fortunately, I knew where I could go in town for an easy lunch. At a little coffee shop, I got a bowl of soup which was perfect.

5 I didn’t get selected for the jury. It was a sexual abuse case involving a father and his now-adult daughter. Honestly, I would have done it as a civic duty, but I’m glad that I didn’t have to listen to that testimony.

6 The Kingston Trio — I have a friend with a functional CD player. “Got any CDs?” he asked me earlier this week. Actually, yes, I do — shoeboxes full. I brought him an odd mix of Scottish music, the Beatles played by the Boston Pops, and The Kingston Trio. Oh, The Kingston Trio — I LOVE The Kingston Trio. It had been years and years since I had listened, but I still knew every word of every song. For your listening enjoyment, here’s a sweet Kingston Trio song:

I read multiple books at a time. Non-fiction, for the most part, so it’s easy to read a little section and then let it simmer in soup-pot at the back of my brain. Three books/authors that I’m currently reading and am thankful for: 7The Yellow Leaves by Frederick Buechner, 8Reading in Bed by Brian Doyle, and 9Draft No. 4 by John McPhee.

From my window, I’ve been watching a flock of 10wild turkeys gathering daily near the river. They strut around. Some roost in the trees. Occasionally one will spread his wings wide in a gesture of big-ness. I am terrible at estimating distances, but I’d say that it’s more than a football field away. Turkeys are pretty unmistakable, though, even from that distance. Anyway, I finally dug out my father’s binoculars so I could really observe them — and I set the binoculars by the window. Of course, I haven’t seen the turkeys since then. Still, I’m thankful. And I’m ready.