Soft & Sweet

[Westerly_2]

Thus is the spot to post our more sensitive sentiments - prose or poetry - and heave a heavy sigh or two.

[Marilyn]

Hippity hop! Makes me wish I lived in the country ...

[Bmichael]

I suppose, in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go.

But what always hurts the most

Is not taking a moment to say goodbye.

- The Life of Pi

[Bmichael]

...stupid cat.

[Bmichael]

It snowed again last night – the perfect opportunity to take some more photos. I got some great shots, but even better, some inspiration. (which has been somewhat lacking, lately)

 

Winter Nocturne

 

Sleep soundly, old forest

O’er long winter’s night

In snow clad pajamas

That aren’t too tight

 

Across your cold floor

Autumn leaves dot your dirt

Like the grapeness of jelly

On the front of my shirt

 

How long…oh how long

How long must we waits

Spring’s welcome reprieve

From these dire straits?

 

Not long,  I so hope

With an eye to the sky

Lamenting our luck

‘Cause this really suck.

 

Your Pal,

Bmichael

 

 

[Carol T]

The Bard couldn't have said it better.

[Bmichael]

I continue to be surprised and disappointed in the behavior of those closest to me. And perhaps more unsettling, is that I am becoming less tolerant.

[Westerly_2]

I am often disappointed, but rarely surprised. My tolerance level depends on how much I think they can help their behavior.

[Westerly_2]

For these many years since Mike died, Barbara was fine being single, thank you. Don’t be fixing me up with blind dates at your home. Don’t talk to me about dating online, all that nonsense people engage in now. She was no romantic, didn’t believe in it. She had no desire to meet up with some guy just because she lost the last one. She had the boys, filling the house with banter and bustle during their visits. She had her lively and sometimes disappointing grandkids, her friends, her garden and her reading.  Why go through all that getting to know you, when it ended up with wishing you didn’t know? Nope.

            So what was that bit of business last night at Connie’s open house? That widower who looked like James Dean made up to be old in “Giant.” Remember that? A geriatric James Dean. She had wanted a chance to sit down and talk, but there was standing room only. He met her eyes as though he knew her. His eyes had a story in them. How long ago had he lost her? She wanted to tell him her story. The wheelchair. The bed pads. Her aching back. She had a story too, one that needed air.

            And then he had gone. An old friend of Connie’s brother. Should she follow that lead? She was surprised she was even considering it.

[Bmichael]

What a day!

I woke up feeling not – so –great…nothing in particular was wrong, but I was not able to focus very well.

When this happens, I’ve learned to chill…or…just get through. It’s enough to just eat and nap excessively.

Last night I was awakened abruptly by a light in my eyes…the entire room was cast in an eerie glow. I struggled for those first few seconds…not comprehending…until I realized the light was coming from outside.

The clouds had broken for just a few moments, and in that short break was a brilliant full – or nearly full moon – shining directly at me. I went to the window – everything outside was cast into that glow…until suddenly it was gone. The clouds had returned.

Later, the winds picked up. I stood on the balcony and watched as gray clouds raced overhead…dislodging the leaves and whipping them across the yard -  pressing them to the ground with slashing rain.

It was cold…the wind made it colder…but not for me.

I love this… to watch the power of  earth as it changes.

It puts me in my place.

And gives me strength.

[Westerly_2]

:^ }

[Bmichael]

You are aware, I think, that I spent a few years working in a soup kitchen - it was without a doubt, one of the most special and enriching times of my life. 

 It was not planned or designed...it just happened. I often felt myself being led, and sometimes even pushed, in directions that... 

It was called the Open Hand Kitchen, on the campus of The Society of St. Vincent DePaul. 

Every year at this time I miss those special days - and the fond memories of the powerful gifts that I received...gifts of charity, hope, and love that poured down upon us.  

Looking back, I also remember other realities – the chemical dependencies, mental illness, loneliness, and despair that brought people to our door. As a privileged person in that world, I sometimes struggled to understand and make some sense of our mission. 

In time I found the following: 

“You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile. 

 It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting master you will see. 

 And the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.” 

St. Vincent DePaul 

 

Happy Holidays! 

Cheers! 

[Marilyn]

I LOVE "that the poor will forgive you for the bread you give to them."  I have never served in a soup kitchen, but have just added it to my "to do list" -- and not on Thanksgiving, when seemingly everybody does. Happy holidays to you!