Applesauce

Amazing the things that are found when one memory is unpacked. Unpack one today and see what comes.

My daughter thinks

She will make applesauce today.

I remember the Foley food mill:

All those apples

That made their way

Through it,

The finished product

With whipped cream

And a sprinkle

Of nutmeg

On top.

Of course back then

It seemed Macintosh

Was the order of the day,

No fancy apples;

Back then when the eggman

Delivered eggs

From the trunk of his car,

And corn

When it was in season.

I don’t remember

Who delivered the apples.

I do remember

The Foley food mill

Being allowed to make applesauce,

Then the pleasure,

Whipped cream and nutmeg

On top

The mixing it all together

Before the first spoonful.

Fifteen binders

Somehow it seems wrong to title any of my reflections. Someone may be predisposed to not take from them what they need to read. Take what you need. Release what you don't. May your life be filled with more than fifteen binders. May you not save those binders, but instead, fill your own, and then... give them away.

I have fifteen zippered binders

Of reflections,

Each in its own

Plastic page.

Then there’s the blog,

Some of which are in

The binders.

Most are not.

I tell my daughter

She may decide what to do

With anything I leave behind,

Even the reflections.

They’re all on the blog

She says.

Oh no they’re not,

I say.

What do we leave behind us?

What do we leave?

Everything encased.

Everything left.

Fifteen binders

Filled with life.

Everything does not fit

On a blog.

I know that.

I know.

Everyone has way more

Than fifteen binders

Full of life.

There is no vault

To save it all.

Lavender

The kitten prowls in search of grandfather cat, hiding on the speaker box. The house smells of lavender. Me... I am here. It is not as simple as it looks.

The house smells of lavender.

The kitten sits

On the tweed reindeer.

I read poetry

Of being here,

Simply here.

I think

If it only were

So simple.

Day five of Christmas

The wise folk are on their way

Lavender

Kitten

Tree

Wise folk

Me in a chair

With directions

On what I need to do

Until Florida next week.

Lavender

Kitten

Tweed reindeer

The cats play chase

Around the Christmas tree

Me

I am here

Here I am.

Lavender

Lavender
Lavender.

Ice day

May make it to the grocery store... eventually. Not even a day for walkers, such as me.

We may not go out today.

The daughter made it to Elmhurst,

Says she may come home.

We will spread salt

On the walk,

Food for the birds

In back.

The duck lady has launched her corn

Across the way.

I wonder if ducks slip

On ice.

We are home with the tree,

The cats,

The turtle.

Today is an ice day.

How lovely is this?

So...the day after Christmas, with the nativity on the front table, the wise men waiting to arrive, the tree decorated. the presents opened... the day after Christmas she calls and tells me the Second Coming is now. How lovely is this.

How lovely is this:

A call from a friend

Who says

The Second Coming is here.

Do I feel the difference?

Do I see him?

I hold my cup of hot coffee

In the dinosaur mug,

Warm in my hands,

Watch the duck lady.

She waits for snow

To feed the ducks,

Checks her corn supply

Every morning.

Jesus has come again,

Duck Lady.

He is already here.

Jesus is here.

How lovely is this?

More tree

The floor is strewn with ornaments, even though we mostly decorated the top of the tree. The cats each have their separate love of the Christmas tree. Grandfather cat loves the assembling, with everyone on the floor, unfolding branches. The kitten waits until everything is completely assembled.

Our tree shakes.

A kitten face appears

Among the ornaments

Next to the star 

On top.

I can almost see

The kitten disappear.

The smile remains.

It is the tree

For cats, Christmas is the tree.

The kitten has only climbed

The Christmas tree

Once.

She spends today

Freaked out

Occasionally attacking

Grandfather cat

Under the tree.

Christmas for cats

Does not include

The Nativity

Or stars,

The wise people

On their way.

It is the tree

The outdoors brought in.

The tree.

The tree.

For cats,

It is the tree.

In memory

Remembering Dad. Yes, Lane, I know a collection of squirrels is not an army, but a scurry. Still army seems more appropriate somehow.

It is Christmas Eve day.

It looks like spring.

I don’t have to worry.

The only decorations

Are nuts in a glass vase,

A reindeer on top,

The Christmas bell

On the door handle.

Christmas will come

No matter

The Whos from Whoville

Are nowhere to be seen;

I did not listen

To Lessons and Carols

From England.

The pumpkins from Halloween

Fed an army of squirrels.

Yesterday

The remains went out

With the trash.

It is Christmas Eve Day.

In honor of my father

Who died 19 years ago today,

Who always shopped for Christmas

On Christmas Eve,

In memory of him

We consider Christmas

Today.

Bother

One thing at a time... I tell my clients. One thing at a time... I tell myself.

I thought I’d written today

Then realized

That was yesterday.

The grief has begun its way

Into my head.

Oh

There it is.

I thought I’d escaped it.

Oh bother

I think

Like Winnie the Pooh

Even like Eeyore.

This timing is unfortunate.

The garbage and recycling trucks

Make their way through the neighborhood.

The cats on opposite chairs

Glare at each other.

So far I have decorated

By hanging a cowbell on the front door,

Filled a large glass vase

With nuts

Even perched a reindeer

On top.

That’s it.

I thought I’d written.

Now I have.

Good reasons all

Tis the season for oh so many things.

This is the time of year

People cancel

And add sessions:

Good reasons all.

Me

I do the same.

These days I try

To think ahead.

When I can’t get there,

I don’t go.

I practice doing other things.

There are books to be read,

Poems to be written

Prayers

Always prayers

They do not require place or posture

Sometimes I remember things

Long forgotten

I cancel and add at will

Sometimes at whim.

Good reasons all.

Complexity

Waiting for simpler things.

Complexity grows

This time of year.

We wait for the Baby.

We wait for snow.

We wait for light.

We wait for family to arrive,

However they come.

We wait for them

To leave.

Complexity grows

With all we have added,

Nativity pageants are larger

Than anything

We’ve ever seen.

Everything demands

A crowd.

I yearn

For Silent Night

Sung with simple guitar accompaniment

Followed by moon and stars

Maybe some snow.

Epiphany tableau

I love how the story is retold year by year.

I remember the church:

It held an Epiphany tableau

Instead of a Christmas pageant.

Instead of three kings

It offered Native American dancers

Down the aisle.

People left many things

At the manger.

One family left the church

For something “more formal”

As if

Nativity pageants ever offer

The way it probably was,

As if the pageant

Or tableau is not rewritten

Every year

No matter where it is.

My favorite is still the year

The triplets

Played the kings,

And their best friend

In the world

Played Herod.

She did not want to be left behind

So she visited the manger

With her friends,

Knelt with them

In homage to the baby Jesus.

With that picture

I saw the world begin to change.

Organization

Getting used to a more permanent organization.

I am now organized

In a different way.

This way requires others

To take me places

Or tells me

That thing

Is not so important.

In between,

Even sometimes,

All the time,

I pray.

Monday and Fridays

I stay local.

No

I can’t see you then

Unless it’s for coffee

At the local Starbucks.

God in a bag

God will not be contained.

Sometimes we think

We have God in a bag,

A reusable bag,

Of course.

We can take him anywhere;

We can take her

Anywhere.

We can shop the shelves

Of the finest store

With mangoes and kiwis.

We can shop

The local store

Which carries mostly things

Like Spaghettios.

When we look in our bag

God is not there

God was never there

And of course

God was always there,

Nestled among the mangoes and kiwis

And Spaghettios.

We bring God home

In our reusable bag

And find

She is already there,

At home.

He is already there,

At home.

We all do what we can do

I am home now Mondays and Fridays. I see clients Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. I am continuing to learn boundaries, at home and in the office. I do what I can do. It feels enough. Last week someone read my blog in Sri Lanka. Really? Sri Lanka! It sounds exotic.

We do what we can do:

Nothing more

Nothing less.

That’s all there is:

Nothing more

Nothing less.

There it is.

Sometimes we hear about it

Sometime not.

Sometimes it enters the ether,

Dissipates to points unknown,

Never to return.

Or perhaps

It returns on the lips

Of an unknown child

In Sri Lanka.

We will never know

Except

Sometimes

We do.

Hijab

It is Advent, the season in which we await the birth of Jesus. My MA alma mater has placed a professor on administrative leave. She decided to where a hijab in support of Muslim brothers and sisters. Really, Wheaton, really?

I can’t help but think

The hijab worn

In Wheaton hallways

Inspired fear,

Brought immediate response

Just as much as those airplanes

In New York,

At the Pentagon,

In that Pennsylvania field.

A simple headscarf

Worn for Advent

Brought a more immediate response

Than the impending

Birth of Jesus

A tiny baby,

Already King of the Universe.

He came to hold

All of our hands,

So we,

All of us,

Would know

No fear.

Walking minutes

I guess I'm getting used to walking. I have even begun to measure some things in walking minutes. 

Now all my dreams

Involve walking

In childhood places

Mixed with neighborhoods

I know now.

They all flow together

And I

I am walking everywhere.

In fact it seems

Everyone is walking.

We say

Good morning

Good afternoon

See you in church.

Everything is gauged

In walking minutes.

The world runs

So much slower.

Everyone

Walks.

Wired

I have a friend who said he would like "the kitten experience." We are living the dream.

The kitten woke up
Completely wired.
We all watch her:
Me
My beloved
The grandfather cat.
She has bottle caps
Milk rings
Hidden
All over the house.
She finds one.
It is the most fascinating thing
She has ever seen;
She has never seen it
Before;
It is completely new.
She brings me one.
We may play fetch;
Then again
Maybe not.

What's your specialty?

It's foggy today. It feels appropriate to my state of mind. I had a client once, let's say her name was, oh, Elizabeth. She said, I would like my diagnosis to be *Elizabeth*  I told her: That works for me.  I feel the same way about my specialty. I figure it's kind of a priest thing.

I am often asked

What’s your specialty?

I am learning to say

I don’t have one.

Thirty plus years as a priest.

Sixty years of living.

No specialty because that

Might omit

This new person,

These new people,

Who just walked through

The door,

Perched themselves

On the sofa.

I have learned to say

Let’s see

If we can work together.

You are not a diagnosis

Anyway.

Let’s see.

Squirrel Thanksgiving

Life continues. Keep looking.

The squirrels mine the pumpkins,

Fill up on seeds

Before the snow

Sure to come.

The metal can with birdseed

In back

Remains impenetrable.

The pumpkins offer

A feast in the front planters,

Thanksgiving left over

From Halloween.

The next sedge of cranes

Flies south.

Autumn life

Continues on

Even in December.

Waking up

I've had lots of practice waking up... in the morning...even now, in the Emergency Room, having been unconscious for a period of time. Best to put that practice to use.

I wake up every morning

And know

Something

Someone

Is waiting for me

Just as

I am waiting

For them.

OK

It has little to do

With any training

I have received

As a priest

As a therapist

And everything to do

With

Every morning

Waking up.

At least

I read of a man with epilepsy who, in the midst of a seizure, knocked on a stranger's door and demanded to see the giraffes in her backyard. Of course she called the police. Of course they arrested him. Then they found his epilepsy bracelet. At least I've never done something like that, I thought. Then I remembered my last visit to the ER, after I had an accident I don't remember, at an intersection I never drive to, having gotten there through five stoplights and a train crossing. I will not be driving again, even though I've never demanded to see the giraffes in anyone's backyard, even though I know giraffes live in Africa, or in zoos.

At least

I’ve never done that

At least

I’ve never said that

At least

I’ve never made

That mistake

No

No

No

I’ve made others

Equally bad

Equally weird.

Sometimes,

Actually often,

There are others there

To save me

From myself.

So we can cry

Maybe even laugh

Together.

Experiment

Hooray. Today the experiment worked. I will try it again on Thursday.

Today I began again.

It was an experiment to see

Whether this kind of dizzy

Plus a workout

Resulted in something more

Than dizzy.

It didn’t.

The experiment

Had positive results.

I will repeat it

On Thursday.

Results only matter

If doing the same thing

Brings the same outcome.

Today I began again.

Thursday I will

Begin again.

Duck lady

I understand, Duck Lady.

The duck lady

Across the creek

Has checked her garage

Every morning.

If my imagination is right

She misses

Her ducks

The excuse of snow

To feed them corn.

I’m sure the supply

In her garage

Is ample,

Ready for the snow

Sure to come.

I know she is praying

For snow.

I understand,

Duck Lady.

When things are different

From the way

They usually are,
We hope and pray

They will return.

The corn is in the garage.

Dizzy

I am on a range of medications which have a possible side effect of dizziness. Thankfully one of these has been subtracted (hooray) and one has been added (boo? hooray? we'll see). The new one seems to offer a new sort of dizzy. Still I'm upright, and not seizury and maintaining my sense of humor (hooray). The world spins for each of us at a different speed.

This new kind of dizzy

Helps me see

The dizziness of others.

Everyone has

His own kind

Her own kind

Of dizzy.

The world spins

For each of us

At a different speed.

It’s when we pretend

It’s all the same

That we get in trouble.

Uber plus some

My independence is challenged these days. Of course it is. It will remain challenged. Of course it will. 

I learn the ins and outs

Of Uber.

I learn where to pick up buses,

No routes are close

To where we live.

The train is close.

It goes straight downtown.

This would be good

If downtown

Was where I wanted to go.

Still

I could go straight downtown,

Transfer to another train station

This would take me

Two blocks

From my office.

At least a two hour trip.

I could read

A lot.

I learn the ins and outs

Of Uber.

Finally the ginkgoes

I wait for this every year. In college we had a ginkgo tree on the front lawn. It was the first time I noticed it lost all its leaves at once. I watch for ginkgoes every year, hoping to catch the "let loose" day. Most times I don't, but still, most times it's enough to walk out the door and find the ground fully covered in gold.

With the giving up

Comes the taking on.

The ginkgo outside the church

Finally let loose.

The ground is a sea of gold,

No matter the snow.

It is too late to rake.

The gold will remain

Under the snow

‘til spring.

It is the way

Of gingkoes

For those who see

Such things

And even for those

Who pay little attention,

It is still the way

Of gingkoes.

With the giving up

Comes the taking on

The watching for such things

As gingkoes loosing all their leaves

At once.

Adjustment

Making the next adjustment. Then the next one.

Adjustment takes tears

Many tears

Looking out the window

At the 92 year old colleague

Getting in

To drive his car

Watching him pull out

Of the parking lot.

Adjustment takes a lot

Of why me?

Then why not me?

Then

Why me, once more?

Then come the tears.

Finally again

The figuring out

What comes next,

And next

And next again.

Then more tears.

Then

The next thing.

Occasional services

What if this were the last day you could drive? So many face it every day. It is usually not scheduled. Such things come suddenly, or maybe they only seem sudden when they happen to us.

There are stages

To this letting go.

First comes the accident,

The emergency room,

The letter from the state.

Now comes

The farewell

To the driver’s license;

The hello

To the state ID.

The car keys

Go last.

I think they require a ceremony

For removal from the wallet.

I wonder if a liturgy

Has been written

For this occasion,

This odd poignant occasion.

I wonder if there is a book

For such occasional services

Which I know

Are more

Than occasional.

Basking

The Thanksgiving that was... and wasn't. I wouldn't have it any other way.

As I bask

In the glow of Thanksgiving,

The un-turkeyed Thanksgiving

The cranberry-less

Thanksgiving,

I see the cats

In a different light.

I see this morning

In a different light.

The woman in red

Is alive

Across the way

Ready to feed the ducks

When snow comes again.

As I bask

Despite the head cold,

As I bask in the glow

I am here

You are there

Turkeys and cranberries

Will most likely

Be on sale

This week.

The woman across the way

Awaits her ducks.

Best Thanksgiving

We have missed Thanksgiving with our son for a long time. It was time. Long past time. It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

We stayed in a hotel

That felt wrong

From the beginning.

No details here.

The dinner at the pricey restaurant

Had no turkey

On the menu,

Nothing with cranberries

Even.

The portions were small.

We left hungry.

Still

We laughed at the bill.

The next day

We ate like kings and queens,

Sat at the bar

And watched the son

And brother

In his element.

Black Friday

Was not Black.

It offered a spectrum

Of white light

Every color

Of the rainbow

And then some.

It was the best Thanksgiving

Ever.

Persimmon

None of us had ever had a persimmon, so we bought one.

The taste of the persimmon

Was sweet.

It dried out

The backs of all my teeth.

We each described it in different ways.

I am not interested

In eating another one

Ripe

Or over-ripe.

My teeth still

Feel it

One day later.

The sweetness

Has gone.

Exact

I am learning to change my punctuation, putting semi-colons where I once put periods. Life is so much more interesting with semi-colons. I am considering a semi-colon tattoo. I know this is a reflection in itself, and may have little to do with what follows. So be it.

Some people

Are exactly on time

For everything.

Exactly.

I am learning

To be less exact,

More gracious,

More understanding.

Here I am.

Here you are.

We are all

Never really exact at all,

Even if we pretend

We are.

Here I am.

Here you are.

Exactness is a figment

Even if we almost always

Arrive on time.

Goodbye exactitude.

Hello approximation.

Here I am.

Here you are.

Not a bad way

To start a new year.

Exactly

Not a bad way

To begin.

Not Black Friday

This is a perfect trip. Perfect because of the company.  Family.  Minneapolis is home turf for me. It's the combination of family and memories. Yes.

This is not at all

Black Friday.

In fact

I think

It’s a lovely maroon.

We all had lunch

Together.

The son is off to work.

The daughter will go

To the art museum.

Perhaps my beloved will go

With her.

I am staying

In the hotel room,

Maybe reading a book.

We will eat dinner

At seven,

Get a good night’s sleep,

Leave in the morning.

Not a Black Friday

At all,

More like maroon

Or maybe even teal.

Thanksgiving morning

Breakfast in the motel in Milwaukee before we pick up the daughter. Thank goodness the woman with little cigars disappears outside before coming back in to comment on every item on GMA. Time to go.

The air is filled

With Good Morning America

A woman with little cigars.

Everything

Thanksgiving plans changed piece by piece. I think I like this.

My sister is in a tiny house

Outside of Santa Fe.

My brother

Is in Vietnam

Having drawn the right number

Years ago

My sister-in-law

Is in Vietnam

With him

Playing dress-up,

Taking pictures.

My beloved and I will drive north

To Milwaukee

To pick up the daughter

At midnight,

Leave in the morning

To drive north again

To Minneapolis

To find the son

Eat turkey.

Who knows what else

Will transpire.

Everything changed

Over the weekend.

Everything.

And so the sandhill cranes

Signs of winter. Some here. Some to come.

And so the sandhill cranes

Appear again,

Signal the true end

Of fall

More than the snow.

They are late this year

Their calls

(my beloved heard them first)

Their calls

A joyous sound.

The first snow melts.

The backyard birds

Find the seed

Around the crabapple.

Soon the duck lady

In red

Or blue

May appear.

My beloved saw fox tracks

In the snow

You can tell

He said

Because they walk

In a line.

More kitten

Got to get back into writing. 

Thanksgiving plans have changed. We are driving north to find the son, picking up the daughter on the way, This will be good. Very good. We may even bring leftovers home to the cats.

The kitten has a tail

Bigger than the rest of her,

A black stripe

Down her nose,

A chirp which serves

A constant reminder

She is there

For leftovers.

The kitten

Loves the bran sludge

In the bottom

Of the cereal bowl,

And anything round

She can pick up and carry

Bottle caps,

Milk rings.

She adores shredding napkins

And leaving them

By the side of the bed

For us to find.

Hotel room dream

Funny things, these dreams.

In the hotel room

I dream of the kitten.

I dream of taking tests

In which I score 61

Though normal

Is 68.

The test-giver laughs

When I tell her

That’s not good enough.

But look!

She says

Look!

That same test says

You have absolutely no risk

Of a heart attack.

I wonder how this can be.

No

She says

No

These tests can’t lie.

So

I wake up.

Arriving early

I am learning new ways to navigate things like Convention.  Arriving early and establishing a nest is a new thing for me. It feels pretty good.

I arrived so early

The lobby was empty;

I reveled in the silence,

The sheer space

Before the fullness

Tomorrow.

Tonight I establish a nest

To return to

From the fullness

When the respite

Calls me.

Then and only after that

I will return

To the fullness.

Earth shoes

Still seeking the magical cure for everything.

A while back,

Long ago now,

It seemed everything

Could be cured

With Earth Shoes.

Not able to stand upright?

Earth Shoes.

Unbalanced?

Earth Shoes.

Forgot to eat breakfast?

Earth Shoes.

Didn’t get enough sleep?

Earth Shoes.

Not enough water?

Earth Shoes.

I still seek the equivalent

Of Earth Shoes

That magical way

Of keeping feet

Flat on the floor

Earth Shoes

The cure for everything.

We do what we can do

It's newly dark. I am figuring what needs to change...no more, no less. I do what I can do, as we all must. Hugs are wonderful things.

We do what we can do:

No more

No less.

Today requires

One cup of coffee:

No more

No less.

Today requires

The right amount

Of engagement:

No more

No less,

The hearing of jokes

Silly yet serious;

The hugs

Just because hugs

Connect us

In unworded ways.

Here we are

Doing what we can do.

The same things

Yet somehow different

No more

No less

Present as much as possible

With enough left over

For tomorrow.

No guarantee

I have one more daily pill to take. And no guarantee, absolutely no guarantee, I will not have another unforeseen seizure. Still... I will do what I can. I will find the humor where I can. I will enjoy the people who work in the neurologist's office. I will give thanks for what I know, and I will give thanks for those who care for me when I do not know, for those who tell me what happened in my absence.

There’s no guarantee

Of course there’s no guarantee

Still… this might help…still.

Not tempered

Change comes hard, even when it's written on the calendar.

I am still not tempered

To the evening sky

An hour earlier

Than it should be

Dark and darker

I wait for the hour

To slip back

Where it once was.

I know I am not in charge

Of time

This time or really

Any time.

Still

I keep hoping

For different things

To come to pass.

I do not want to wait.

I am not tempered

To this particular darkness.

Grok

For my dear friend, Laurie Michaels, she who groks. My beloved says this is one of the only good things about Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land... the term "grok." Thank you, Laurie.

At every point in life

It is vital

To find those

Who have experienced

Something similar.

At every point

In life

We must sit

With a warm cup of something,

Share the similar thing

And say

That thing is not the sum total

Of our being.

There is always more

To be claimed.