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.

fiction · Writing

Skeecher

Sally12 Comments

“Mom! I can’t find Skeecher!” Jeremy yelled.

Mom turned from the sink. This was the third time this week that Skeecher, a strange statue that Jeremy had unearthed in the garden, had gone missing.

Last week when she had sent Jeremy out to pick rocks from the newly-tilled soil of the garden, he moaned about the work like any normal 10-year-old. But when he came running in holding this dirt-covered statue of pot-bellied humanoid, he was anything but annoyed. He was delighted. Why Jeremy named it Skeecher was as much a mystery as the thing’s origins.

“Did you look on your dresser?” It sounded like an obvious place, but that’s where Skeecher was yesterday when they went to look.

“No! I looked there. AND the window sill. AND the closet,” Jeremy said, listing off Skeeter’s previous hiding places.

“I’ll help you find him” she said, drying her hands and heading down the hall. She opened the door to Jeremy’s room, and there was Skeecher standing in the middle of the floor.

“Is this a joke?” she asked.

Jeremy didn’t say anthing. He just scooped up the figure and hugged it.

The next day, while Jeremy was at his friend’s house, Mom heard noises in Jeremy’s room as she passed. She opened the door to see 6-foot tall Skeecher leap onto the desk and shrink to his normal size.

She ran in and grabbed the statue. His body still felt supple. His eyes blinked open and met hers.

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a challenge with only two rules: 1) no more than 250 words, and 2) inspired by the photo.

I know, I know — I’ve been MIA, but the creative tank has been low. Life.

And I realize this is an incomplete story. Again – life.

Don’t you think life is just one big incomplete story?

Faith · family · poetry

Grammie

Sally12 Comments

My grandmother was a worrier
(Or, some would say, a prayer warrior)
She fretted all the time
(probably from womb to Easter tomb)
Her immigrant family worked hard
At menial jobs for which they were hired.
They moved up the social ladder.
Education, honesty, and faith would lead her
To a comfortable American life.
You would think she turned over a new leaf!
But she worried and worried and worried,
Though her faith in God never wearied

This is my submission for the W3 challenge this week — brought by the host with the most, David himself.

Here’s the challenge: Write a poem using pararhyme throughout—where consonant sounds match but the vowels shift (e.g., fill / fell, stone / stain). Let this half-matching quality reflect a theme of incompleteness, near-misses, or strained connection.

Can I say that it’s not even a near miss to be a worrier and a person of faith?! The two stand in stark contradiction to each other, and yet, that was my grandmother.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · poetry

N is for News

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We’re all of us caught up in our own small wars, both hot and cold. We have our crimes and passions, our failures and successes. …

Maybe there’s nothing on earth more important for us to do than sit down every evening or so and think it over, try to figure it out if we can, at least try to come to terms with it. The news of our day. Where it is taking us. Where it is taking the people we love. It is, if nothing else, a way of saying our prayers.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

The W3 prompt this week is to write Waltz Wave, which is a single, unrhymed stanza of 19 lines with the following syllable count: 1–2–1–2–3–2–1–2–3–4–3–2–1–2–3–2–1–2–1. The poem’s theme should be “Strength and Vulnerability.” (Thanks, Suzanne!)

This probably doesn’t totally match the theme, but it sprang from watching/reading/listening to the news, so I’m putting it here with the Buechner quote, and giving it the title of “News”

A
Power-
ful
Person
Blusters on
Without
A
Shred of
Awareness
How his actions
Impact the
Country.
I’d
Rather
Read about
Leaders
Who
Really
Care

A to Z Blogging Challenge · family

M is for Money

Sally2 Comments

There are people who use up their entire lives making money so they can enjoy the lives they have entirely used up. Jesus said that it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. Maybe the reason is not that the rich are so wicked they’re kept out of the place but that they’re so out of touch with reality they can’t see it’s a place worth getting into.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

My father used to tell me that I was the richest person he knows. Then he would add with a smile, “and maybe someday you’ll have money.”

Honestly, money has never been a motivator for me.

Is that because I’ve always had enough? Maybe, but…

Having enough money may mean

  • prioritizing
  • discerning wants vs. needs
  • delaying gratification
  • budgeting
  • living within one’s means

I was a stay-at-home mom. I used to joke with people that my husband and I had a good arrangement — he earned the money and I spent it. That’s truly how it worked.

I did little things to bring in extra cash: I baked cookies and sold them to a local business. I coached swimming. I officiated high school and college swim meets.

We also saved on spending. I made Christmas gifts or shopped thrift stores for them. We rarely ate out. Clothes were passed down.

I look back on all of it and see what my father saw. We were so rich.

During the process of divorce, our financial arrangement came back to haunt me. So many people cautioned me on “looking out for myself.” I hated being in that position.

But I will say today that I am still rich in the ways that matter to me.

Earlier this week a Russian couple brought me some chocolates from Russia as a thank you for something I did for them last summer. Another woman brought me a bag of thumbprint cookies from an upscale bakery in Boston — as a thank-you.

I guess sweets are a form of riches — but, for me, it’s the sentiment behind them that I appreciate.

On a regular basis different people poke their head into my office just to say hi or to thank me or to give me some little something. I have so many cards and chachkies on my bulletin board. Last week I came in to find flowers on my desk.

I am rich indeed.

A to Z Blogging Challenge

L is for Loneliness

Sally2 Comments

To be lonely is to be aware of an emptiness which it takes more than people to fill. It is to sense that something is missing which you cannot name.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

Being alone and being lonely are two very different things.

The worst kind of loneliness is what I think of as “Rudolphian” — as is Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. He isn’t accepted for who he is because he’s different. As such, they never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games. That’s the lonely-in-a-crowd loneliness. It’s very much a what’s-wrong-with-me loneliness.

At the same time, introverts recognize their own need for solitude. Being alone is a place to regroup and recharge. It’s a place to gather thoughts.

Thomas Merton said, “As soon as you are really alone, you are with God.”

Being lonely can come from being excluded, but being alone can lead to the place of recognizing how included we are in something far bigger than anything we can imagine.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith

K is for Knowledge

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Knowing something or somebody isn’t the same as knowing about them. More than just information is involved. …When you really know a person or a language or a job, the knowledge becomes part of who you are. It gets into the bloodstream.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

BUT, Mr. Buechner, what if the person that I am learning about and that I am getting to know is me?

It can’t get into my bloodstream, because it is my bloodstream!

I read a piece by Dorothy Day yesterday that said, “‘How can you see Christ in people?’ … It is an act of faith, constantly repeated. It is an act of love, resulting from an act of faith. It is an act of hope…”

How can I see Christ in me? It is an act of faith, constantly repeated. It is an act of love. It is an act of hope.

It has been a rough few weeks months years. My divorce is final. The papers came in the mail this week. It makes me question everything. How well did I know this person to whom I was married for over forty years? I knew about him, but did I really know him? Did he really know me?

I realize that I don’t even know me — but I’m working on it.

I realize, though, too, what grounds me. It is faith. It is acts of faith, constantly repeated.

I’m extending the A-to-Z Challenge into May. Maybe even June and July – we’ll see how long this takes.

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?)

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith

J is for Justice

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Justice does not preclude mercy. It makes mercy possible. … Justice is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry of things.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

I didn’t see this coming, the way a Buechner book would become a backdrop to commentary on the state of our country — but it has.

If you’ve never read anything by Frederick Buechner, let me tell you a little about him. He is a Presbyterian minister and the author of 39 books. He is witty, funny, insightful, and ultimately so very kind. So kind. One of his last books is titled: The Remarkable Ordinary: How to Stop, Look, and Listen to Life. I haven’t yet read it, but I think it sums him up.

I loved this quote on justice when I read it. I can picture Justice and Mercy sitting on a teeter-totter, balancing each other. Yet here, under Trump 2, Justice has leapt from the see-saw, leaving Mercy to crash to the ground with a teeth-jarring thud.

The news is on in the background as I write — a mistake, I know. I’m semi-addicted these days. I can’t look away, even though I know I should. What’s going on in this country is neither just nor merciful. There’s no sense of poetry in anything that’s going on.

I have to confess that I didn’t see what’s going on in our country coming either. I counted on the balance of power in our government and the work of God in people’s hearts.

Yet, here we are, withholding food, drugs, and aid from people in need. Sending aid workers to Myanmar in the wake of a disaster — and then firing them! Canceling student visas and sending them back to their home country, some of them weeks shy of their graduation. Punishing, punishing, punishing anyone who disagrees or has disagreed with this administration.

Almighty and most merciful God
Where are You?
The sky is turning black
As are the hearts of my countrymen
Must we sit in a tomb for three days
Before there is a resurrection?
Or is insurrection on the horizon?
My God, My God — why have You forsaken us?

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it — that 2000 years ago, the Jewish people were looking for an insurrection to free them from Roman rule, and they got a resurrection instead.

What does God have in store for us?

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Writing

I is for Imagination

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If you want to know what loving your neighbor is all about, look at them with more than just your eyes.

Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

I recently started a writer’s group at the senior program where I work.

We’ve had two meetings, but only one person — the same person — has come each time. The last time we met I was feeling so overwhelmed with life that we hardly talked about writing until at the end when we were talking about all that’s going on these days. Something clicked in my brain.

“This,” I said, making a grandiose gesture with my arms to indicate the world in which we live, “is why writing is important. Writing helps us understand.”

It was at just such a time as this that I started this blog, although it wasn’t the country in turmoil. It was my mother’s dementia. I was having a hard time processing it.

Just like I’m having a hard time processing what’s going on today.

Writing taps into something — surely there is a word for it — that unravels the knot.

I think it has to do with imagination — with seeing with more than our eyes.