Thursday, January 31, 2013

Universal credit

In the way of all things, I know someone is going to explain to me that the phrase "Universal credit given to all other professionals" makes complete sense.  For now, however, my mind spins with all the possibilities for the accumulation of universal credit, no matter what profession I embrace.

Among the details
Of continuing education
Available to those
In the counseling profession,
I find the following:
Universal credit
Given to all other professionals.
Where does the credit come from?
The Universe?
Who counts as a professional?
And bottom line:
Who really cares?
I wonder if this is attached
To all continuing education events,
If the Universe is indeed in charge
Of the distribution,
Where are the credits registered?
I rather like the idea
Of Universal credits.
God only knows.
Only God knows

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

I met people all day in different spaces

Usually I write in the morning, but this morning I barely made it out of bed in time for morning ablutions, breakfast, and making it to my 10:00 AM appointment.  Now it is cold and snowy.   This is one of those significant days, where everything was planned, at least time-wise, yet unrehearsed.  I am now home for the unplanned part of the day.  Soup for dinner sounds like a good idea.

I met people all day
In different spaces.
Here it is 4:44 in the afternoon.
I consider writing the day.
It passed
Before I knew it.
There is more yet to come.
I met people all day
In different spaces.
I will have to figure out
Where to sit in my consultant*s
New office:
I went with the sofa,
But the sofa is now
In a different place.
Maybe next time
A chair
Perhaps the floor.
At noon I lost track of my lunch partner.
We waited for the other
In a different part of the restaurant
For twenty-five minutes.
Both of us
Had full view of the only door
Into the place.
The funeral brought me
To new places yet,
Despite the familiarity of the space,
The liturgy
The people.
Now I know there is a place
I Want to Walk as Child of the Light
In the service
When I die.
I imagine when I die
I will meet new and old people
In different spaces,
In unexpected places.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Time left open

Sometimes circumstances help me practice waiting.

Tonight a client does not show.
I write this in the time
He left open:
Clock ticking
People leaving Zumba in the basement.
I think on the life of today
Pray for tomorrow.
I open my journal
Fill two pages
With open time.
I prepare for the next client
To appear.

Yesterday I waited
To leave the clinic.
All the doors were locked.
The last remaining key
Was in someone*s pocket.
That someone
Was in a meeting.
I checked every door.
Each was locked.
I called my daughter,
Settled down,
Settled in.
I waited for the key,
Thought on the day,
Prayed for tomorrow
Time left open
Until it was time
To leave.

Paperwork Queen

Part of my learning these days is to fill in the blanks while standing on my head, to figure out the logic behind the forms so I don*t have to learn each piece by rote.  Of course this assumes there was some logic to begin with.  I admit I hear the Red Queen shouting in the background:  Off with her head!

Yesterday I learned
I will never be a paperwork queen
Or princess,
Or probably even
A paperwork vassal.
The GAF score is meant to be
The DLA divided by two,
The two do not measure the same things.
The highest score in the past year
Must not include today*s score.
Of course
Is different.
I will never be the paperwork queen.
Of course
The queen sets the rules,
Is never questioned.
Hers is the new logic.
Off with her head
Shouts the Red Queen
The quintessential ruler of all paperwork.
Off with her head.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Brain exercise

My mailboxes (snail and e-mail and Twitter) are swamped with different ways to exercise my brain, to calm it down, to change it up and switch it out.  Brain exercise seems to be the latest thing to take control of aging, and face it: more of us are living longer and longer.  The baby boomers (including myself) are a large group.  My namesake aunt who died at 92 did the NY Times crossword most days.  She is my anecdotal example of reasonable aging.  She was also an editor for years at the University of Chicago Press and was one of the authors of the Chicago Manual of Style during her time there.  An impressive accomplishment.
The last couple weeks have shown me once again that some of us still die far too young.  Whatever we can do to forestall death in all of its forms seems worthwhile.  The latest thing seems to be brain exercise.

The latest thing
Is brain exercise.
The latest thing
Is that Alzheimers
May be forestalled,
Even prevented,
By exercising one*s brain
With crosswords and Sudoku,
Finding different routes
To take to work,
Different places
To park the car.
The latest thing
Is to find new paths
Through the forest
Of getting older.
More and more of us
Are getting older,
Living longer.
Some of us,
As always,
Die far too young.
The latest thing
Is brain exercise.
If only
If only
We exercise our brains enough
Then everything
Will come out right.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

All are safely gathered in

Now it comes:  the ice storm.   One hundred percent here, though I suspect it will not play out the catastrophic proportions in the forecast.  The family has returned home, earlier than I expected.  It seems a sleepover is planned.  Surprise: no school tomorrow.  A teacher institute day.  Nothing to do with the weather.

All are safely gathered in:
My loved ones.
It seems we will now be hosting
A sleepover
In the midst of ice.
I listen to the rain
Against the windows.
Now I wait for a phone call.
It may come
Or not.
I suspect the crisis
Of yesterday morning
May have subsided
By now.
Still I wait.
I listen to the rain.
I practice calm
With the cat,
My loved ones safely
Gathered in,
Honey vanilla chamomile tea
In hand,
Rain on the window.

Waiting for ice

The ice cometh.  The chance is one hundred percent (they say), as if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat.  My beloved has gone out to pick up our daughter from a church gathering in another community.  They are ending early... due to the ice.  The prediction is one hundred percent possibility of ice.  As if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat in my lap.

I wait for ice.
It draws the lines
For the morning decision
To attend the middle service,
Look for salt trucks
All the way home,
Eat breakfast,
Read the paper
With the cat
Changing laps at feline whim.
I wait for ice
Peruse the ailing ash tree
In back,
The downy woodpecker
On the potentially dying branch
I wait for ice
In the warmth of home
And cat,
A kitchen almost done.
I wait for ice.
I pray it will not come
Until all are home and safe again.
Until all are safe indoors
Taking turns
With the warmth and weight,
The sheer cat presence.
Waiting for ice.

Saturday, January 26, 2013


Coming out of today*s Domestic Violence training, I caught the end of NPR*s Day Six program.  Apparently a proposal has been made to change the point values of particular letters.  Except I only heard the end of the report.  I wondered all the way home about the fate of Q.  Thank God for Google.

A proposal has been made
To change the scoring
In Scrabble:
75 years old
And counting.
Z would be demoted
To six points,
X to five.
Only Q
Would stay the same
The prized letter
Among all letters.
The Source letter
For a primary document
Still to be found.
The all-knowing Being
On Star Trek
Next Generation
And beyond.
The prized letter
Among all letters,
Particularly when it lands
On the triple word score.

Friday, January 25, 2013


I am wired anxious.  It seems to be the way my brain is wired.  A natural predilection which does not make staring at what remains to be done, to be seen, to be heard ... well... it does not make it a comfortable place.      Yes I do believe that God is in charge of that big pile of remains in front of me.  Some of the pile is mine to consider more carefully.  Most has been allocated elsewhere.

It remains to be seen.
It remains to be heard.
It remains to be discerned.
So much  
I gaze at the snow,
Consider what I must do,
Consider what I must leave
On someone else*s plate.
If it is not mine
God has surely decided
To allocate it
For whatever reasons
In that unfathomable pile of things
That are not mine
To decide
To do
To wrestle with.
I gaze at the snow.
I offer the remains.
I watch the ducks.
It seems I am doing
Almost nothing
But consider
The remains.
They are not mine.
They remain to be seen
They remain to be heard
They are in the pile
The pile

Real snow

It is light snow, yes, but finally the real stuff.  Today is a home day, an inside consider the prospects home day.  My beloved is off interviewing someone for a new position.   My daughter is in school.  It is the cat and the turtle and me.  Yesterday was enveloped in anxiety tinged with sadness.  Today is outlined in snow.  Finally the real stuff.

Here it is finally:
Real snow.
It covers the grass,
Gives dimension to the black branches
Out back.
Snow clings to the tops
Of all things outside.
It asks to be drawn
In words,
In charcoal drawings.
It demands
To be gazed upon,
Run through with abandon
Like the squirrels.
The ducks climb the hill
Across the way,
Gather for the spread corn,
Corn which finally has a reason
For being.
Real snow.
Finally there is purpose
For winter things,
For winter white,
Finally real snow
To cling to everything

Thursday, January 24, 2013


It seems this gauze of snow hardly counts, over a month into winter.  Still... it*s pretty, such as it is.  Snow will always signify winter to this Minnesota girl.

A gauze of snow,
A beginning for a season
Which began over a month ago,
By the length of light,
By days and nights,
A gauze of snow to show:
This is winter.
I wait for the cardinals
The starlings
To show off
Against the white gauze
I wonder
If it will last.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013


Hopefully the cardinals and the starlings will learn to live together in the back bushes.  We are all part of the Cosmic series.

Red is the new front door,
The paint on the kitchen walls,
The accent color
For almost
My entire wardrobe.
Now red waits
To be ordered
In double-glazed one-inch ceramic tiles
Named for the planet Mars
In the Cosmic series.
Red are the cardinals,
Now returned to the back bushes,
Despite evacuation by the starlings
The starlings are also part
Of the wider
Cosmic series,
Bits of starlight
In their feathers.
Perhaps the birds will learn
To live together
Hope for all of us
In the wider and widening
Cosmic series.
Beyond tile.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013


It wasn*t until a couple years ago that I realized starlings were marked with stars in their feathers.  I had lumped them in with grackles and other birds of less interest.  Now they fill the back bushes, having sent the cardinals, red and flashy, packing.  Hmm.  Today the backsplash decision may be made.  I*ll believe it when  the tile is put in place.  Will it match the cardinals?  Will it be closer to the color of sparrows?  There are good reasons for both.

The starlings fill
The back bushes.
They have sent the cardinals
I wonder about the pecking order
Among the smaller birds.
By size,
If not by appetite
Are obviously
But when starlings show up
Their sheer number,
The flecks of starlight
In their feathers,
Send the cardinals

Monday, January 21, 2013

Potential cardinal

This morning brings a day off, and new things to pay attention to.  I consider the range of things I might write about.  So much of the morning writing ritual now asks:  Is this my struggle?  Is this mine to write about?  Now the male cardinal is back in place.  It seems he is mine to consider.  His comings and goings.  I think I see the paler female on a branch up and to the right.  She is nowhere near as flashy.  Of course not, I think.

The family sleeps
Except for me.
The splotch of red
In the back bush branches
Must have been a cardinal.
He was so still,
I considered he might be
A piece of red ribbon
Blown there after Christmas.
When I returned
With the cup of coffee
Warm in my hands,
The branches spare and brown,
Showed no potential cardinal.

He*s back
He*s back
And behind him,
The ducks march in the sun,
The squirrels play their endless game
Of chase
On the lawn.
While I was distracted
The cardinal flew
Or maybe
He was really
A piece of red ribbon
From a Christmas package
After all.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Best for last

This was the first sign that Jesus performed.  He saved the best for last.

The best wine
Came at the end
When all the guests
Were almost spent
With celebration,
The bride and the groom
Collapsed with the joy
Of everyone gathered,
The days of dancing.
Then and only then
Was the best wine delivered,
At the end,
A sign that the celebration
Had only
Just begun.

Saturday, January 19, 2013


I am getting ready for day two of Domestic Violence Training.  I contemplate the creatures who share one particular branch of the ash tree in back.

This morning
The squirrel sits
On the hawk*s favorite branch.
I wonder if he knows.
I wish I were small enough,
Agile enough
To sit on that particular branch,
Fluff my tail,
Like the squirrel,
Eat breakfast,
Like the hawk,
Fifteen feet in the air
On a branch.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Clear-eyed day

Enough said.

I wait for days
Such as this.
The electrical currents in my brain
As they should.
Maybe even better.
I wait for days
Like this.
I see the ducks scrabble for corn
Across the way,
Keep my eyes peeled
For the hawk*s return,
Watch the light travel
Illuminate bird
After bird.
The cardinals
Gather in the back bushes,
Male and female cardinals.
I know they are singing
Even with all the doors
Shut against the cold.
I know they sing
Their unmistakable cardinal song.
I sing indoors
Harmonize with the cardinals,
The quack of the ducks.
I wait for clear-eyed days
Such as this.

The new refrigerator

The new kitchen is not quite done.  The contractor called this morning, wanting to install the backsplash tomorrow.  We have not made the tile choice... the last piece of the kitchen quilt.  It is now scheduled to be installed a week from tomorrow.  It does help to have a deadline. Meanwhile I sat with a client this week who had made one small, though wonderful, decision.  We illuminated it.  We practiced what might come next  Next on the homefront is helping the old refrigerator take the next step out the front door.

The new refrigerator
Has a spot for everything
Two or three spots
For the unnecessary.
Already I imagine
What the wine rack
On the door
Might hold.
Probably not
The new refrigerator
Does not offer a magnetic place
For those necessary notes
Or even the unnecessary ones
That covered the front and side
Of the old refrigerator.
The old waits to be cleaned out:
A metaphor for something
I know.
Everything is.
The old refrigerator still stands
In the living room.
It is one step
From the front door.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Weather signs

My tendency is always to push through things.  This is not necessarily bad, except perhaps when the outcome may be a seizure.  Yesterday the sun seemed incredibly bright, even with my sunglasses.  When I got out of the meeting, the sky was completely gray.  Of course, in retrospect, this means a weather front came through, which also means a change in barometric pressure.  Today it is sunny again.  Today there is more to pay attention to, even if I don*t want to do so.  Today I took the morning off.  The afternoon brings two new clients to meet.  

The sun was so bright
I squinted as I drove
All the way to Geneva;
Gave thanks for sunglasses,
Offered up a small blessing
For a shorter drive
Than it might have been.
When the meeting was over
I found the sky
In gray.
I gave thanks for
What would be
A paler drive,
No need to squint.
On the way home
I realized
The internal signals
Matter at least as much
As the external.                          
It seems I still need to learn
To balance attention
With attention outward.
Halfway home
I bought a bowl of baked potato soup,
Ate it slowly
Until the internal weather cleared.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Everywhere I sat

Thought I*d sleep in this morning.  No.  Funky dream.  Everywhere I sat the sun was in my eyes. Hmm.

I dreamed I had another room
Next to the room
I use
For therapy.
It was furnished
With white furniture.
Everywhere I sat
The sun was in my eyes.
I couldn*t see a thing.
The door to the hall
Had a window
Open to the rest of the church.
No shade.
There were no blinds
On the outside windows.
The sun shone
Through every window.
I wondered if this was the room
I started
Or ended in.
Maybe both.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Death gathers us differently

Went to a memorial service yesterday.  The husband of a colleague had died unexpectedly.  It was interesting to me who showed, even who didn*t show.  It is always a surprise.  Always.  Next time it will be a surprise as well.

Death gathers people
No invitations
To speak of,
Word of mouth or newspaper.
These days:
Disparate social media.
Death gathers us
It is always a surprise
Even when expected.
The people who gather
Are often a surprise,
The people we had not planned to see
This week
This month
This year
In this setting.
Death gathers us differently,
The segments of our lives
Almost always
Until it happens

Monday, January 14, 2013


I am facing some decisions, things I do not wish to approach hastily.  The question of what is necessary looms large.  These are not huge decisions, but I know they carry weight, more than the weight of the looming kitchen backsplash decision.  Thank you to my friend*s reflection on St. Francis (thank you, Matt)
I was given a leaping off place for today.  A blessing.

Preach the Gospel.
If necessary                                                      U
Use words.
You will notice I did not title this:
Or even
St. Francis may have said this,
Then again,
Maybe not.
Necessity is the mother
Of invention:
An aphorism
Of unknown origin,
Sometimes ascribed
To Plato,
Then again,
Maybe not.
I hit another crossroads this week.
What is needful,
Remains unclear.
So I wait.
I would like a line-up
Of great saints and philosophers,
Wise sayings.
I am not in a pulpit
These days.
These are my words.
If necessary
Others may read them
Or not.
These days I have the lady in red
Who feeds the ducks.
These days
I have a sharp shinned hawk
Twenty feet from my window.
He dismembers a small bird,
Maybe a mouse
In full view.
These days the sun
Speaks to me
St. Francis or Plato or even
Some unknown source
I look for the Good News
In it all.
I seek
The necessary.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Reasons I was late to church this morning:

I am good at coming up with reasons.   Very good.  I am also good at naming what was good about arriving late, after the fact.

The cat asleep in the crook of my arm;
The silence of the house;
The rest of the family
Somewhere to the South;
The warm water
Of the shower;
The cup of coffee
Warm in my hands;
The car encased in ice;
The endless freight train
Three blocks north of church;
The parking space I often take
Occupied by someone else.
Probably someone
On time.
I would have been on time
Except I simply wasn*t.
I might have been on time
But simply

Saturday, January 12, 2013

The return of the lady in red

The ducks are now waddling up the lawn across the creek in back.  The lady in red has once again laid out the corn.  She seems older this year.  Of course she is.  So am I.  Now I have a kitchen that matches her jacket.

I am back in my old place
At the dining room table.
The lady in red
Just fed the ducks.
She moves older
This year.
White hair
A little bent
She still manages
That bucket of corn.
Her jacket
Matches my kitchen.
I knew there was a reason
For red.
Here she comes again
With her black and white
Spotted dog
A shorthair
By the looks of it.
It feels good to be back
In the morning routine
Even if I am not
Hefting corn
For the ducks.
I am older
My hair whiter
This year.
My kitchen matches
Her jacket.

Friday, January 11, 2013


The only thing I had scheduled for today was cancelled... so I went grocery shopping and, on a whim, decided to get a flu shot.  I get one every other year or two it seems.  Then I came home and watched a sharp shinned hawk eat a mid-afternoon snack as he sat on a tree branch right outside the dining room window.  I think it was a sharp shinned hawk anyway... couldn*t see his knees much less his shins.  Every day that is graced with a hawk sighting counts as good.

I got the flu shot today
On a whim.
It was available
At the pharmacy
Next to the milk cooler
In the grocery store.
In the little inoculation room
There was a list
Of possible inoculations.
I perused the list just like
I consider all the yogurt
In the yogurt aisle.
I always choose Yoplait Light,
The fruity kind.
My beloved chooses
Dannon Coffee.
I considered my choices but still
I had already paid
For the flu shot.
I chose the flu shot
On a whim but still
I remember the ad
I read yesterday.
It said the pharmacy
Was my best bet
For an unspoiled inoculation.
When it appeared right there
Next to the milk
Two aisles over from the yogurt
I figured
Why not?
Indeed why not?

Even as I make good decisions

I think I finally figured out the coffee thing.  No coffee after noon has finally morphed into one cup of coffee in the regular sized cup of coffee in the morning.  Not a Venti Starbucks coffee.  Of course it helps when I make one cup at a time.  Thank you, sister Jane, for the reminder.  Two members of my beloved coffee-drinking family are off on a road trip this weekend looking at colleges.  I made one cup of coffee this morning through the plastic drip cone, the kind that sits on top of the coffee cup.   This accomplishment has not stopped me from walking around the kitchen with a magnet to see the possibilities.

Even as I make good decisions
I figure ways
To compromise them.
No caffeine after noon
So I can sleep at night
Suck down as much coffee as possible
Before the clock hits twelve.
No magnetic surface
In the kitchen
Is a surprise
But in retrospect
Means less clutter
A Very Good Thing.
Then I find myself
Walking around the kitchen
Seeking that one magnetic surface
That Must Be There.
I know there are other ways
I do this
Even as I pat myself on the back
For good decisions,
Even good decisions I never made
But found
Shining on every stainless steel surface;
Surface which,
By the way,
Requires its own special stainless steel cleaner
Along with its most excellent
Non-magnetic properties.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

The quilt that is our kitchen

My first client is at 3:00 so I am sitting in my old place at the dining room table, surveying the ducks, and gazing on the new kitchen.  A friend observed (thanks, Rick!) that we were piecing the kitchen together like a quilt.  That seems apt.  We are piecing things together.  With all the stainless steel it comes as a surprise to me that none of the surfaces are magnetic.  This is probably a good thing, but it does take some getting used to.

The quilt that is our kitchen
Has the coffee pot and toaster
Pieced in.
There are school books
On the counter.
Oh yes
I remember this.
The quilt that is our kitchen
Has no magnetic surface.
We have moved
All the necessary notes
To the playroom door,
The one that leads
To the cold room.
It used to be the garage.
Now it stores my old office,
The theological books,
Three old computers.
The door is the only steel surface
We have left
For the important notes
Which used to go
On the side of the refrigerator
Or on the steel front door.
Now we have one door
For the important clutter:
The necessary school notes,
The blood tests three months hence,
Assorted pictures.
The quilt that is our kitchen
Requires order.
No magnetic surface.
None at all.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

The more I know the less I know

As I acquire more and more certifications (the next one is Domestic Violence Training), I realize I could list them all on my business card or outside my door, or post them on my office walls.  I do not plan to do this.  I will not leave this world with my letters and certifications connected.  These blog entries and reflections will likewise disappear.  This does not mean I will stop learning or writing.  Both seem necessary parts of my vocation.  Still, it seems I will move on to the next frame of existence with no letters at all.

The more I know
The less I know.
The more training I get,
The more letters listed
After my name
On the door,
On the business card,
The less any of it matters
I expect to have a completely blank slate
When it comes my time
To die,
Whenever that is listed
On the Master Calendar.
The more I know
The less I know.
This does not mean
I try to learn less.
Quite to the contrary,
My plate is full and fuller.
The letters line up in neat rows
After my name.
Yet still
The more I know
The less I know.
In the end
The letters will all evaporate
Like so much morning mist.
Even these reflections that I write
Every day
Will disappear
Like the dew on the grass
Goes to the sun.
I will die with no letters
At all,
Completely unencumbered.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Slowly the swing returns

I have been away from this place for 2-1/2 weeks.  The space feels good.  It welcomes me back like I*d never left.  I wait for a client who may not show.  All this means is that my beloved and I will go backsplash shopping sooner rather than later.

Slowly the swing returns.
The kitchen makes its way
Into a semblance
Of order.
We will look at more backsplash possibilities
This afternoon
Between clients.
The nursery school
Outside my door
Has left for the day.
The afternoon nursery school
Down the hall
Offers children*s voices
At a distance.
Slowly the swing returns.
I wait for client number one.
I give it fifty/fifty
Whether she will come.
Slowly the swing returns.

Monday, January 7, 2013


Back to my Monday routine.  This time I am writing before I go to the Clinic, so I can post here and list it on Facebook.  The Clinic is a non-Facebook space.  Good discipline, I think.  Today, after a rest, I see the light shining on a snowless landscape, listen to the cat catching his toenails in the rug.

And so
There was time to rest
Amongst snow and sister
And dog.
It is time
To return to the rest      
Of the world.
So I see the light
Through the window
No snow
No sister
No dog.
I see the light through the window,
Prepare for work.
Listen to my beloved
In the shower.
Here I write
In a different chair.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

The Visit

This is the end of a season of visits.  Today, on Epiphany, I go home after visiting my sister in Santa Fe.  I will actually retrace my flight path tonight, arrive home in the dark of night.  Even flying back the way I came, it seems another way.  We are always different after a visit, if we have been paying attention.

A courtyard sits
Outside my window,
A small tree with tiny
They wait in the snow.
A cup of coffee warms
My hands.
It is Epiphany
The Coming of the Kings
Soon and very soon
And I,
Our visit finished,
Will go home
By another way.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Winter Saturday morning, Santa Fe

I wish I could identify the scent, but it seems I can*t.  Once again I am reminded that smell is our only unmediated sense.  It does not go through our brain to be processed.  It just is.  Again this scent smells like what I know heaven smells like.   Not mediated through the brain... I*m not sure heaven ever is.

I woke to the same scent         
I remembered from two summers ago,
Except it is winter
With snow.
It seemed to be
On my pillow
Except it wasn*t.
It was also not
On anything else
I smelled.
I went on a scent hunt
Through the bedroom.
My sister says she smells roses
When Mary arrives.
It was not roses I smelled.
Like last time
Just like last time
It smelled
Like Heaven.
It is winter.
There is snow.
Heaven still makes itself

Friday, January 4, 2013


Dreamed this morning about distributing creamer instead of consecrated wine.  Seemed appropriate in a breakfast setting.  I awakened as I was getting ready to anoint everyone Virginia Reel style.  Today I understand Jane and  I are taking the High Road toTaos.  Haven*t been there since I was 12 (and Jane was 16).  Peaceful here.  Nice snow covering.

It is peaceful here.
It fits the end
Of the Christmas season.                                                    
My morning dreams had me
Out to breakfast
With my sister.
I asked for extra creamer
And served communion
To the entire restaurant,
Table to table.
When I turned around
Everyone was lined up
In two rows
Like the Virginia Reel.
I knew they waited
For anointing.
Good thing my oil stock
Was in my pocket.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Short adventures

I am sitting in guest room of my sister*s home, writing.  Soon I will take a nap.  This trip promises a series of short adventures.  Talking with the woman on the short flight from Dallas to Santa Fe was the first or perhaps second in the series.  Here*s to you, Charlotte.  May your second adventure, which only you can write about, prove to be wonderful.

It is cold.
There is more snow here
In Santa Fe
Than Chicago.
The woman I met
On the hop
From Dallas
Was of course
Unlike anyone
I have met before.
We are both it seems
On short adventures.
When I think about it
There was so much
We didn*t say.
So much remains.
The leg from Dallas
To Santa Fe
Is short.
It is fitting
For a short adventure
Before the other adventures
(Sure to come)
Find their way
To the surface.