READING IN DECEMBER

It tried to snow, but only rain came down

when they were reading from a Christmas book.

They felt the season’s cheer, although the town

was soaked with so much grayness that it took

imagination to discover peace

inside the weather. All they did was hold

each other close, and read, and feel a piece

of quiet happiness inside the fold

of their comforting arms. The rain still fell,

but what they read was full of warmth and bright

serenity. They read inside a spell

of joy, and rainy weather seemed a pure delight.

   

ONE GUY'S ALPHABET: A is for ABEYANCE

"Sunset from the Studio", oil,
by Jamie Williams Grossman

      If the word “abeyance” means temporary inactivity, as one dictionary says, then I’m a believer in abeyance. I’d like to hold everything in abeyance about every two hours, at least – just breathing in and out for a few minutes and letting the planet spin where it will without me moving a single muscle. We have a stone wall in our backyard, and it strikes me with almost a sense of envy that the stones are always in abeyance. They simply sit in silence where they have for several hundred years, doing nothing but being good stones. As I’m writing this by the window, I can see the stones outside. They’re not restless, not checking off a list, not flying from one activity to the next. No, I like to think they’re holding eagerness and frenzy in abeyance. The world and my life look quite peaceful when I watch those stones. In fact, I’ve decided to do just that for the next few minutes. I’m holding this writing in abeyance. Back later . . . maybe.    

ABDICATING

"White-crowned Sparrow", acrylic,
by Peter Mathios

    According to one dictionary, to abdicate means to give up being a queen or king, and sometimes I would love to stop trying to be the king of my life. In fact, I wonder if the best way to live is to let life itself be the king instead of little me. Life, in all its vastness and mystery and supremacy, surely knows more about what’s best for me than I do. Me trying to be the king of every second of every day is like one wave trying to preside over the whole ocean, or a single star trying to rule the endless universe. Each moment of my life is fashioned from an immeasurable number of sources and causes, and it seems bizarre to me that I sometimes think I can control all these forces, waving my scepter like some kind of clueless king. I indulge in this silly charade every day, but occasionally I decide to set my make-believe crown aside and let the only real ruler, the everlasting universe -- some call it God, some Allah, some simply Now -- hold sway. Always, its astonishing what this remarkable Queen-King can do.

ABANDON

 

"Morning Ride", oil,
by Mary Maxam

    The word “abandon” often carries a negative connotation, but I occasionally catch myself living with a positive and useful kind of abandon. As a noun, the word can mean living with a lack of inhibition or restraint, and every so often I feel myself sort of sailing loose from my moorings and making a few moments or hours into an impetuous escapade. I’m usually a fairly logical and predictable person, but now and then I like to live like a sailor with good sails, supportive winds, and no schedule. Even a few minutes of living with abandon – perhaps singing old songs as I ride my bike, or mixing mints and grapes with my scrambled eggs, or skipping with my grandchildren – can balance the seriousness of life with some wholesome whimsy and gladness.

DRIVING HOME

Driving home, we saw the sky all gold

and pink. It seemed to want to wrap and fold

us in itself, as if the sky could be
a friend, could love us for eternity.

"Blazing Sky".
acrylic by Kimberly Conrad

WHATEVER

      

"Warm Sun on the Garden Wall",
oil, by Roxanne Steed

Visiting my grandchildren at their house in the countryside today, I started messing around with some small stones on one of the many stone walls on the property – just sort of seeing what structure I could create in a few minutes. I had no design in mind, just the desire to do something spontaneous and set the stones wherever my hands wished them to be. If someone had asked me what I was building, I might have said “whatever my hands wish” – or maybe, like so many young people today, just “whatever”, perhaps with a suitable shrug. However, there would be no spirit of indifference or exasperation in my “whatever”, as there often seems to be when I hear the word spoken. If I said “whatever”, it would be because whatever I build with those small stones would be something special to me. I guess, in a way, I’m a whatever kind of guy. Whatever a day brings, I try to see what it has that can help me. I know that whatever happens a minute from now is the truth for that moment, and whatever thought I have at any moment helps me, somehow, be exactly who I’m supposed to be. It’s a good word for me. I’m more likely to smile than shrug when I say “whatever”.     

LIVING LIKE LEAVES

     As I was watching some leaves skipping in the wind this way and that across the grass this morning, I thought about the back-and-forth skipping my life often does. Time and again, I seem to bounce around from plan to plan, promise to promise, goal to goal – happily giving myself permission to change my mind, double back, rethink things, take a new trail. One fine idea gives way to a finer one. One second I decide to take the trash out, but then, in a flash, I do the dishes instead. At 9:00 I know exactly what I want to do this afternoon, but at 9:01 a

"Autumn Landscape", oil,
by Heidi Malott

more wonderful plan appears. Back and forth, here and there, this and that, one thing and then another. Leaves let themselves loose to the winds, and so, sometimes, do I. Life shifts and skips second by second, and – usually with a smile – so do I. 

WATCHING THE FIRE

He watched the flames surround the logs and flare

and fall back down. He didn’t think, review

his list, or plan ahead. His only care

was watching sparks and smoke fly up the flue,

and then to who knows where? Could pieces of

this fire float out to distant lands? Might planes

pass sparks that came from this small hearth, and love

it like a special sign? Could fears and pains

in far off towns be cured by sparks that flew

to them and shined as brightly as they shined

among the flames?

                   

                  His life now seemed brand new.

The flames were like the thoughts inside his mind.

WHEN HE RETIRED

(A Sonnet)

When he retired, he missed his students’ care

and kindness, all their little gifts of true

respect which always helped him see and share

their goodness. Every day was fresh and new

when students shared his classroom and his love

of books and words. But, in retirement

he had someone who seemed to be above

all things that came before. They turned and went

their way together, sharing happiness

and worry, giving gifts of seasoned joy

and understanding, which they used to bless

each others’ lucky lives. He was a boy

with her, and she was now his steady girl.

He lost his students, but he found a pearl. 

  

QUIET MORNING

It was a quiet morning,

perfectly made for making happiness

in partnership. The trees

seemed to be joyous

in each other’s presence,

bringing their branches

as close as possible,

and the blueness of the sky

seemed happy to hold its light

lightly just above the houses,

as if in friendship, while

she and he shared words

"Morning's Promise",
oil by Roxanne Steed

with kindness across a table.    

AMAZEMENT

He is full of amazement.

It amazes him, for instance,

that he is lucky enough to be alive

on this fine-looking planet,

lucky to look at his wife

raising the blinds on another

amazing morning, lucky to listen

to the furnace filling the house

with warmth. He admires

so much – the way his pencils

seem wonderful for writing,

the feel of his flannel shirt,

the unfurling of a friendly day.

Amazing! he says to himself,

and sips his remarkable coffee.

  

THOUGHTS ON VETERANS DAY

"Grateful Thanks", watercolor,
by Julie Ford Oliver   

I am not a veteran, and, like most of us, I despise war, but this day, when we honor the men and women who served to keep safe our freedoms, is a very special one for me. I am beyond grateful for the liberty I am lucky to enjoy here, and for the faithful protection provided by our armed forces. I wish we didn’t need women and men with weapons watching around the world to safeguard us from attack, but contempt and loathing for our country does exist, and I’m glad we have good soldiers, sailors, and flyers ready to fight for all of us. I’m lucky to live in a land where freedom can be found by anyone, and I give thanks today for that freedom’s defenders.     

PUTTING HER GARDEN TO BED

A sonnet

He cleared his mother’s garden in the fall,

the one he planted in her memory.

It was a special place for him, a small

reminder of her thoughtfulness. At three

o’clock he finally finished. All the piles

of withered blossoms lay in heaps beside

him, but he smiled because her loving smiles

seemed right beside him too. She had supplied

him with the love to last a lifetime, and

the garden was his way of saying thanks.

When spring arrives again, a fresh new land

of flowers will arrive for her. Whole banks

of blossoms will be flourishing in ways

a mother's love is given-- in bouquets.

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

"Morning Grace",
oil
by Roxanne Steed

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

(a sonnet)

The wind was howling and the trees were bent

and almost broken down. The day was fierce

with autumn’s spirit and desire. It sent

a message meaning winter’s chill would pierce

their world soon, but they were snug and warm

with summer in their hearts. They hoped to buy

a painting full of comfort. In a storm

of snow, the painting would be a bright sky

of summer in their home, a sunny day

above their mantel, a scene so full 

of August light that it would chase away

the season’s icy mistiness. To pull

themselves from winter back to summer, all

MIRACLES

MIRACLES

"There Are No Minor Miracles"
oil, by Carol Keene

“Why! who makes much of a miracle?

As to me, I know nothing else but miracles . . .

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle.”

            -- Walt Whitman, “Miracles”

         There are thousands of things I’ve never seen –stars over Asia, rivers in a rain forest, the sun setting on icy cliffs. I could prepare a plentiful list of sounds I’ll never hear, places of splendor I’ll never see. I could spend a dozen days just counting the marvels I’ve missed.

         On the other hand, I could, instead, spend those dozen days listing the little and large spectacles I’ve been lucky enough to witness. In fact, it would take me dozens of days, months maybe, to review the astonishing events that have flowed through my life day after day. Have they all been grand and glorious, like mountain sunrises? Nope, but they’ve all been miracles, from the dust that sits beside me on my desk in appealing patterns, to the way wind whips tree branches around on a fall day, to the 80-year-old lady with squinting eyes who lost two husbands but is doing Scottish dancing several days a week, to the two leaves that just fluttered past the window where I’m typing these words with my old but incredibly lively fingers.   

REJECTION

He sent some poems away to magazines,

and soon they all returned with frowns, and said

they were rejected. He was sad because

they were his friends, these modest groups

of simple words, and so he set them in the light

and let them glow again the way they did

when they had first appeared inside his mind

like lilting dancers or singers singing songs

he’d never heard. They seemed to smile again,

these small unwanted poems, and so he smiled,

and then the world spun again and sent

him several new and tuneful twirling poems.

GREAT STORIES

I was saying to Delycia this morning that the recent events in the life of one of our friends would make a great story, and shortly after, I found myself thinking about some other great stories surrounding us. There’s the story of why the sun shines the way it does day after day, the story of how night knows just when to start its stars shining, the story of this spinning, handsome earth and its inhabitants, the story of a single spider on a shaking web beside the house. There’s the story of how a new breath brings new life to both of our lungs, the story of our muscles somehow showing our bodies how to move, and the story of our bones bearing our weight with reasonable ease. These are stunning little everyday stories that make our lives – and all lives -- great in different and distinctive ways.  

SHE HOPES SHE CAN HELP

"Coffee Shop",
watercolor,
by Nita Leger Casey

She always tries to pour a perfect cup

of coffee. She cares about her customers,

about their sorrows and their unfolding

futures. The steam from the coffee

floats upward like her feelings for Frank,

who comes in at five minutes to five every

morning to improve his life a little.

She hopes she can help him by handing him

a flawless cup of coffee as the sun lifts

itself and lets the new day start. She

smiles because she knows there will be

another customer for her after Frank.

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

If you follow a thought,

you could find where it goes

and what it does.

It’s fairly easy.

You can simply stand somewhere,

perhaps on a promising morning,

and just release a thought,

be it scary or joyous,

worrisome or soothing,

and just watch where it goes,

and then follow it.

Stay close enough

so you see its special colors

as it steps along

through the universe of thoughts,

and soon enough,

it will slip off

into nothingness, and then,

standing restful and

separate from your thoughts,

you can set another one free

and follow it, just

for fun and instruction.

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

You could speak to strangers like

you love them. You could carry

someone’s loneliness and discover

you can do it. You could speak

a friend’s name and know it would

be known by the birds in her garden.

You could give the gift of listening

to someone who’s struggling, and you

could struggle, when you have to,

like it’s not a struggle, but a test

you’ve studied for and will ace.

A PERFECT MORNING

A PERFECT MORNING

"Morning at Pratt Rock",
acrylic
by Jamie Williams Grossman

It was a perfect morning. The lamplight

in the living room looked precisely

like it had to look, and the table cloth

was wrinkled in all the right places.

His fingers were impeccably old, his

breathing whistled in quintessential ways,

and his heartbeats splendidly shuffled

on this thoroughly immaculate morning.

SIGNALS

"Morning Moon", oil,
by Carol Keene

SIGNALS

The sky stood up one morning

and made a signal to him,

like people might make

when happiness is holding them.

It was a September sky

with blueness so bright

it brought him a blessing

as he sipped his coffee,

and he signaled back

to the sky that he too

was happy and hoped

the sky and he

would stay that way. 

Saturday 9/13/14

Thursday 9/11/14

Wed., Sept 10, 2014

I DONT NEED MUCH

“I DON’T NEED MUCH”

(Elizabeth D., age 62)

“I don't need much. The sun shining

for even a short time on a dark day

is fine for me. A glass of shining water

in my hand, a piece of toast

perfectly prepared, the sound of footsteps

in soft snow - all these are enough

to bring a feeling of fulfillment.

I eat my meals from a small plate

on a small table. One simple window

in the kitchen lets in a lovely light

which always seems to surround my table

and my small plate with optimism.”

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

"Intimate Friends":,
oil on birch panel
by Gerald Schwartz

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

Walking with his best friend on a summer day

is a new beginning for him. It’s a way

of getting gifts from the sunshine,

a way of seeing a sure sign

that there are more smiles than smirks

in this world. He feels the works

of love inside them as they walk,

hears the sounds of quietness as they talk.

He sometimes feels like he’s flying,

especially when the trees are sighing

in friendship while they walk. The gate

called Peace opens for them. They create

a brand new world for each other, a rebirth

each moment of him and her and the earth.

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

(what Millie, age 69, said at Rocky Neck Beach)

 

"Leading Edge", oil on panel,
by Robin Cheers

I lost a loved one years ago,

but this beach will be with me forever.

I live in a small house now,

but this sandy shore is my home,

this holy place of pretty birds

and waves that wash ashore

with so much style. My son died

of alcohol poisoning at seventeen,

but sometimes I still see Stevie

sliding toward me on the surf.

He bought a surfboard at fifteen,

and flowed with the waves

as gracefully as anyone ever has.

Now, I come to this beautiful beach

to live my elderly life

with the smoothness of Stevie’s surfing,

to see the gracefulness in life

that doesn’t need beer to be seen.

THE CLEAREST LIGHT

(what Jennie O., age 66, a clerk at the supermarket, said)

“I see lots of sad people at the store,

folks who have forgotten how full of kindness

life can be. I can’t blame them, of course,

since I’m sure they’ve seen enough suffering

to switch off all the light in their lives.

I like my job because maybe I can bring

some sunlight into their overcast lives, just

for a second or two. Simply a smile from me

can maybe make someone see the kindness

that cares for all of us, always, except

that sometimes we don’t notice it. I send out

my friendship to every shopper, especially

the ones whose sorrow seems to surround them.

I hand them their receipt, and a smile,

because kindness is the clearest light.”